Static. It was all static. As if some thick, sporadic fog of gray had moved in where there should be air. It was hard to breathe.
Slowly she stood; a frail, small young girl with messy long blond hair that nearly brushed against the ground and wide, scared blue eyes. A white dress adorned her lanky frame, simple much like the young girl. Fearful the child looked over her surroundings. Doors. There were doors everywhere, and boxes. Boxes with labels she couldn't quite read through the thick static. The doors all had numbers on them done in different fonts and colours but, still she could barely make them out.
Above her, it sounded as if someone, or someones were speaking a distance from a microphone, which projected from some overhead speaker hidden in the beautiful elaborate mosaic that made up the ceiling. Despite focusing on the image, she couldn't make out what it was aside from faintly glowing colours.
"How do we... Influence her?"
"What was the final idea you wanted to implant- word for word."
Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
In the background of all the static, all the talking and all the soft whispers that echoed the endless corridors of of doors was that soft, rhythmic beating. The lanky girl looked to the floor, spotting a well loved sheep doll, and quickly she picked it up, hugging it to her chest. As she touched it the mosaic above them flashed with images; the same sickly girl laying in a much to large for her bed, being given a similar version of this sheep by an exceptionally beautiful woman with the same colour hair.
Her name was Tuffs, she remembered this now. Her partner in crime, her cell mate during her time locked in that big lonely room. Now accompanied with her stuffed toy she took a step forward, the first step of the many she'd take as she navigated through the static.
Feedback from the ceiling, as if someone was shuffling and adjusting their mic. A soft, even and gentle male voice echoed from all around over the static.
"Hello, Abigail Leihen. I do hope you are sleeping well."
The tiny little girl squeaked, squeezing her sheep she jumped behind a stack of messy boxes, looking up into the ceiling.
"The following words I am about to say are not the words I am being paid for."
Who was this? The young girl swore he sounded familiar. She looked to Tuffs the sheep, who just stared back silently. Together the pair looked to the ceiling.
"This is a confession to you, one who has been wronged, and one who has been soiled. I am enabling their actions."
Sleep.
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Remember when
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Sleep.
Last edited by Remember when on Wed Apr 08, 2015 11:03 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
"Torm is to blame for your sickness."
What was that? The static rose in intensity, the girl began to quicken her pace. The rhythmic thumping increased in speed with her own.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
This child was devoted of Torm, just like her Mother, her Father, and all her brothers and sisters (except Bethany, but we don't talk about Bethany). A door to her side caught her attention. Big, black harsh letters read '004'. The door knob was cold.
Inside was a room, her room. It was big and white; white drapes white bedsheets white pillows white toy white clothes white dressers. In the bed lay the same lanky little girl, a mirror of herself. She looked sick as she laid in this bed, burning a fever and dark purple circles under her eyes. But out of everything in this room, what really stood out was the lack of static- the lack of sound- the lack of anything. Feedback from that mic again, the voice even followed her here.
"Torm, is to blame, for your sickness."
No, it couldn't be. Time past in double time before the young girl as she watched her reflection. Healers came in went, atop dressers where there should be toys there were potions, poltiuces, teas, serums, pills that waned and waxed. But no one ever stayed- not even that exceptionally beautiful woman who had given this little girl the sheep she so desperately clung to as she rested in bed. There was an intense feeling of loneliness.
"Torm- Torm the True, the one to whom you have sworn oaths, has cursed you in turn."
Blood. There was blood growing on the floor beneath her feet. In horror she raised Tuffs the sheep above her head, her gaze suddenly pulled to her other self who stood before an old window, looking outside longingly. She remembered those days, she remembered how badly she just wanted to touch the grass, to smell the trees. How badly she just wanted to hold the earth in her hands.
The blood rose to her ankles and the static suddenly fell into the room like a heavy unrelenting rain. A terrified shriek came from the little girl and she ran from the room, leaving her past self to stare wistfully out the window. In the hallway it was not much better, the static had grown thicker, it was so hard to breathe.
Thump.Thump.Thump.Thump.Thump.
At the end of the hall she saw a large black door with chains barring it shut. Black straight lines shoot out from the door, infecting the rest of the doors around it. It was so far away. But in a blink of an eye and a loss of breath the young timid girl found herself right before it, staring up at this imposing scary door. The static was so thick, so loud, the whisperings filling the halls were everywhere. She couldn't see the numbers on the door. There was a key hole; so she looked into it.
And oh how she did regret that.
Screaming was the first thing that hit her ears, pained screaming. Blood, there was so much blood, bodies eviscerated, cut open, sewn back together, the remains left to rise in some unholy undeath that shambled towards our young little girl as she stood in the darkness amidst the screams and wails of agony and pleas. She knew that face, she /knew/ that face. That was David, the boy who had collapsed during outside training. Sir Donald Galfrey. Yes, that was the man, he offered to take David to the infirmary, that was the last she saw of David.
Some of them she recognized as the young girl stared. Amellia the wife of the baker down the street, Borris the smith who didn't know how to make horse shoe. As she stared among the growing horde of dead her mouth fell agape in a silent scream, she heard the voice of Sir Donald.
"Abigail! Don't you fret, these are your friends, don't you see? I brought your friends here to keep you company, to keep ~US~ company, isn't this lovely?"
Stop. Stop. Sobs choked in her mouth, she shrank down into a ball, hiding Tuffs in her arms.
"Don't cry, don't cry! I've just made them beautiful, forever bathed in the light of Torm! Don't you want to be beautiful, Abigail? Don't you want to be pretty?"
Above and from all around, that soft, gentle male voice could be heard from again from the loud speakers.
"Your oaths are void. Your oaths are void. Your oaths are void."
Over and over again, she began sobbing, screaming, she could taste the blood.
What was that? The static rose in intensity, the girl began to quicken her pace. The rhythmic thumping increased in speed with her own.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
This child was devoted of Torm, just like her Mother, her Father, and all her brothers and sisters (except Bethany, but we don't talk about Bethany). A door to her side caught her attention. Big, black harsh letters read '004'. The door knob was cold.
Inside was a room, her room. It was big and white; white drapes white bedsheets white pillows white toy white clothes white dressers. In the bed lay the same lanky little girl, a mirror of herself. She looked sick as she laid in this bed, burning a fever and dark purple circles under her eyes. But out of everything in this room, what really stood out was the lack of static- the lack of sound- the lack of anything. Feedback from that mic again, the voice even followed her here.
"Torm, is to blame, for your sickness."
No, it couldn't be. Time past in double time before the young girl as she watched her reflection. Healers came in went, atop dressers where there should be toys there were potions, poltiuces, teas, serums, pills that waned and waxed. But no one ever stayed- not even that exceptionally beautiful woman who had given this little girl the sheep she so desperately clung to as she rested in bed. There was an intense feeling of loneliness.
"Torm- Torm the True, the one to whom you have sworn oaths, has cursed you in turn."
Blood. There was blood growing on the floor beneath her feet. In horror she raised Tuffs the sheep above her head, her gaze suddenly pulled to her other self who stood before an old window, looking outside longingly. She remembered those days, she remembered how badly she just wanted to touch the grass, to smell the trees. How badly she just wanted to hold the earth in her hands.
The blood rose to her ankles and the static suddenly fell into the room like a heavy unrelenting rain. A terrified shriek came from the little girl and she ran from the room, leaving her past self to stare wistfully out the window. In the hallway it was not much better, the static had grown thicker, it was so hard to breathe.
Thump.Thump.Thump.Thump.Thump.
At the end of the hall she saw a large black door with chains barring it shut. Black straight lines shoot out from the door, infecting the rest of the doors around it. It was so far away. But in a blink of an eye and a loss of breath the young timid girl found herself right before it, staring up at this imposing scary door. The static was so thick, so loud, the whisperings filling the halls were everywhere. She couldn't see the numbers on the door. There was a key hole; so she looked into it.
And oh how she did regret that.
Screaming was the first thing that hit her ears, pained screaming. Blood, there was so much blood, bodies eviscerated, cut open, sewn back together, the remains left to rise in some unholy undeath that shambled towards our young little girl as she stood in the darkness amidst the screams and wails of agony and pleas. She knew that face, she /knew/ that face. That was David, the boy who had collapsed during outside training. Sir Donald Galfrey. Yes, that was the man, he offered to take David to the infirmary, that was the last she saw of David.
Some of them she recognized as the young girl stared. Amellia the wife of the baker down the street, Borris the smith who didn't know how to make horse shoe. As she stared among the growing horde of dead her mouth fell agape in a silent scream, she heard the voice of Sir Donald.
"Abigail! Don't you fret, these are your friends, don't you see? I brought your friends here to keep you company, to keep ~US~ company, isn't this lovely?"
Stop. Stop. Sobs choked in her mouth, she shrank down into a ball, hiding Tuffs in her arms.
"Don't cry, don't cry! I've just made them beautiful, forever bathed in the light of Torm! Don't you want to be beautiful, Abigail? Don't you want to be pretty?"
Above and from all around, that soft, gentle male voice could be heard from again from the loud speakers.
"Your oaths are void. Your oaths are void. Your oaths are void."
Over and over again, she began sobbing, screaming, she could taste the blood.
Last edited by Remember when on Wed Apr 08, 2015 10:37 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
Curled up on the floor she sobbed, but for some reason, Tuffs was gone. In a panick she raised her head, and there she saw Tuffs. But that wasn't any little stuffed sheep. It looked more like a fluffy ram now, reared up against the scores of undead a voice that almost sounded like her own echoed in the darkness above the static the thumping and the overhead.
"I, am a humble shepherd pulled from the fields to do the holy work of the Loyal Fury! It is to He that I swear my life, my blade and my shield! It is to the families and the bastards, the daughters and the sons, the mothers and the fathers that I crusade for! I crusade to defend the land, to strike true in corruption and sunder malice where it breeds! And to traitors..."
Tuffs the Ram landed loudly on it's hooves, snorting as it prepared to plow down the horde.
"To traitors a quick, painful DEATH!"
A door before her now, large, tall and gilded in gold. There was no number on it's front, merely a gilded left handed gauntlet. Despite its' imposing size she wasn't afraid of it. In fact it seemed warm, welcoming, inviting even. A tiny hand opened up the door.
A bright light blinded her, warm inviting, kind- but so harsh. As she blinked to clear her eyes she found herself at an elegant table, polished stained and adorned with fancy engravings. Two tea sets sat on the table before her. One was polished obsidian with green trimming. The other was polished ivory. As her tiny hand reached for a cup, a hand sat upon hers, stopping her.
"Dame, allow me."
She turned to see who sat next to her, and to her surprise.. an Amnian? She wasn't sure why she recognized him, she had never met any of the Militants who had gone to war in Maztica, yet the man that now poured her a cup of tea from the black tea pot seemed to know her.
On the other side of her was her mother, the same exceptionally beautiful blond woman, whose hair concealed her face.
"Oh honey, let me."
It was so calm here. No static, no noise- but it didn't feel empty. These two familiar faces sat near her now, fetching her tea. The loud speakers gave their harsh feed back again, signalling another message from beyond.
"This is the turning point, Abigail Lehein."
Her mother had poured a herbal tea from the ivory pot, and now held out white pearly cup to her. It smelled like cinnamon. She offered it to her wordlessly. The young girl looked to her lap to consult Tuffs- but alas, the sheep was not there.
"You- you as you, your real yourself."
Now, both of them held tea cups to her, one black, one white. She studied the man's face again, but for some reason she couldn't make up the features.
"Not your oaths, your Damehood."
Life stood still.
"Do you lash out in anger? Do you hate Torm? Do you reject Him? Do you embrace Pelagius?"
She couldn't breathe. The static was back.
THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.
"Do you forge your own path? Do you live between the tyrant and the true?"
Silence. Everything was static now, she couldn't see anything, she couldn't breathe. She could feel something warm rushing between her feet and rising up towards her knees. When the girl looked down she saw blackness. The loud speaker again.
"You'll sleep, now. Dream deeply. Step into your personal wilderness, and find your own way out."
THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.
The blackness was up to her neck, she couldn't breathe, she was scared. Where was Tuffs? Where was Pelagius? Pelagius. That was his name. Images flashed on the just visible monsaic above her of the Amnian miliant and the glowing Dame together, combat or drinking before the static took that too.
"Bathed in light or cloaked in shadow- though for your sake, I suggest you do not disappoint Pelagius ~over much..."
Then everything stopped.
"I, am a humble shepherd pulled from the fields to do the holy work of the Loyal Fury! It is to He that I swear my life, my blade and my shield! It is to the families and the bastards, the daughters and the sons, the mothers and the fathers that I crusade for! I crusade to defend the land, to strike true in corruption and sunder malice where it breeds! And to traitors..."
Tuffs the Ram landed loudly on it's hooves, snorting as it prepared to plow down the horde.
"To traitors a quick, painful DEATH!"
A door before her now, large, tall and gilded in gold. There was no number on it's front, merely a gilded left handed gauntlet. Despite its' imposing size she wasn't afraid of it. In fact it seemed warm, welcoming, inviting even. A tiny hand opened up the door.
A bright light blinded her, warm inviting, kind- but so harsh. As she blinked to clear her eyes she found herself at an elegant table, polished stained and adorned with fancy engravings. Two tea sets sat on the table before her. One was polished obsidian with green trimming. The other was polished ivory. As her tiny hand reached for a cup, a hand sat upon hers, stopping her.
"Dame, allow me."
She turned to see who sat next to her, and to her surprise.. an Amnian? She wasn't sure why she recognized him, she had never met any of the Militants who had gone to war in Maztica, yet the man that now poured her a cup of tea from the black tea pot seemed to know her.
On the other side of her was her mother, the same exceptionally beautiful blond woman, whose hair concealed her face.
"Oh honey, let me."
It was so calm here. No static, no noise- but it didn't feel empty. These two familiar faces sat near her now, fetching her tea. The loud speakers gave their harsh feed back again, signalling another message from beyond.
"This is the turning point, Abigail Lehein."
Her mother had poured a herbal tea from the ivory pot, and now held out white pearly cup to her. It smelled like cinnamon. She offered it to her wordlessly. The young girl looked to her lap to consult Tuffs- but alas, the sheep was not there.
"You- you as you, your real yourself."
Now, both of them held tea cups to her, one black, one white. She studied the man's face again, but for some reason she couldn't make up the features.
"Not your oaths, your Damehood."
Life stood still.
"Do you lash out in anger? Do you hate Torm? Do you reject Him? Do you embrace Pelagius?"
She couldn't breathe. The static was back.
THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.THUMP.
"Do you forge your own path? Do you live between the tyrant and the true?"
Silence. Everything was static now, she couldn't see anything, she couldn't breathe. She could feel something warm rushing between her feet and rising up towards her knees. When the girl looked down she saw blackness. The loud speaker again.
"You'll sleep, now. Dream deeply. Step into your personal wilderness, and find your own way out."
THUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMPTHUMP.
The blackness was up to her neck, she couldn't breathe, she was scared. Where was Tuffs? Where was Pelagius? Pelagius. That was his name. Images flashed on the just visible monsaic above her of the Amnian miliant and the glowing Dame together, combat or drinking before the static took that too.
"Bathed in light or cloaked in shadow- though for your sake, I suggest you do not disappoint Pelagius ~over much..."
Then everything stopped.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
"Wake up."
Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
"It's time to wake up."
Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
The little girl laid out in the center of a circle room with stone floors, curled up in a ball. The static was still there, faintly obscuring her view, but not at all to the same degree as before. The girl pushed herself up right, the lanky little thing searching her surroundings. Doors again. None of them were closed though, just open archways that led forever in any direction. It was a rather large room, it would take some walking to reach any of the number of doors as she stood in the center of it all.
"Hey there squirt."
That voice. She turned around to look and suddenly all the doors were gone, all the walls the same. Now she stood on a patio, clouds atop her head rather than the looming mosaic and she could smell the air, not the static. A short few steps away was a gazebo, and inside a polished ivory piano with a tall woman playing some tune she couldn't recognize. Atop the lid of the piano sat a rather grumpy looking raven, who squawked as she made her approach.
As she got closer, the woman turned around on her seat to beam at the approaching child. She had wild brown frizzy hair, bright blue eyes, freckles across her cheeks and her face was shaped much like the childs, albeit much more defined and matured. Her clothing lacked modesty, her midriff exposed, wearing pants and draping colorful cloths, wrists bandaged up just the same.
"Been a while since I seen you Abby-dabby. Come take a seat."
...Bethany?
The little girl crawled over to the bench and pulled herself up onto the seat. Bright blue eyes marveled over the work of the piano. The keys looked like they were made of pearl themselves and the mage that sat next to her knew just how to make them sing. Bethany was a free spirit, and secretly she had always looked up to her, despite her heretical claims against the faith and being estranged from the family.
"You got yourself in quite the pickle, too bad it's the charming strong man that put you in the jar, he probably won't help you out of it."
Wide questioning eyes to her older sister. How did she know?
"Don't give me that look, you know I know everything, with my magic."
The mage pulled her fingers from the piano, somehow the keys continued to play while the older sister waggled her fingers in the face of the child, magical sparkles appearing between them. The little girl wrinkled her nose at her sister, lips drawn to a pout. Bethany let out a soft amused chuckle, turning back to the piano.
"Remember that talk we had, before I had to leave?"
Images sparked into her mind; arguments, shouting, crying. At least five broken good plates.
"No? I guess you were too young. But I think now's a good time to have that talk again while we still have the time."
The little girl looked over past Bethany, behind her sister she saw the beautiful city line of Tantras. Church bells rang as the sun lit the buildings in a warm golden light. This was their piano, the old one kept outside the house for entertaining company during garden parties.
"We all have a choice, Abby. We can chose to become whatever we want to be, nothing has to be any particular way. It's whatever we make of it- no priest, no Knight, no parent, no sibling, no God, has the right to tell you what to believe. In the end, none of them really care about you, none of them really know what's best for /you/. Only you know what's best for you."
"When I left home, I knew what I was doing. I didn't leave because I didn't agree with the scriptures, or because I couldn't bare to see the disappointment in my parent's faces. I left because that was what was best for me. And now it's your turn to decide what's best for you."
Wide blue eyes sat on the beautiful young mage as Bethany continued to play the keys of the self playing piano. Above them the loud speaker gave it's feedback, but the voice that came through wasn't the same gentle calm male voice.
"This is Fate, Abigail. Fate brought us together so I could guide you."
Frantically she looked to her sister, but she still seemed calm, perhaps she hadn't even heard that?
Thump. .. Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
"I'm not going to tell you what to believe. But I am going to tell you that there is no path, there is no road, and there is no Holy Scripture that is going to give you instructions from here. You don't need Torm anymore, you'll live on your own if you play your cards safe."
A tiny hand grabbed for her sister's skirt blue eyes wide with fear. But now the sun was gone from the horizon, the static was rising.
"I know it's scary sis. But you can do it. You're free now, so make the most of it."
Poof, Bethany disappeared in a swarm of little mechanical birds that all flew off, cackling wildly with the grumpy raven in tow. The young girl was left on the patio before the piano, the colours dimming. The loudspeaker gave it's feedback again, but she couldn't understand the words being said. It was getting so dark out; when she went to hop off the bench she found herself back in that round circular room lined with archways.
The piano was gone when she turned around again, but there was something else. Missus Tuffs. The sheep doll sat in the middle of the room and was quickly swept up by the little girl who hugged it tightly to herself. She looked about the white room thick with static, a glittering mosaic above her head and doors all around. The little Abigail looked to her sheep, hugging it closer to her chest.
But behind the little girl loomed an imposing figure, all green and black in military regalia. The character just stood there, watching, waiting. The static grew in intensity, it was so loud now. The figure reached a hand out, reaching for the girl's hair-
RUN.
And so the little girl ran, she ran down the first door she could get to with the figure in tow, chasing behind her. Little feet made the sound of pitter patters as she ran in desperation, faster then she had ever run before. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care. She was determined to not lose what she had just been given.
Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
"It's time to wake up."
Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
The little girl laid out in the center of a circle room with stone floors, curled up in a ball. The static was still there, faintly obscuring her view, but not at all to the same degree as before. The girl pushed herself up right, the lanky little thing searching her surroundings. Doors again. None of them were closed though, just open archways that led forever in any direction. It was a rather large room, it would take some walking to reach any of the number of doors as she stood in the center of it all.
"Hey there squirt."
That voice. She turned around to look and suddenly all the doors were gone, all the walls the same. Now she stood on a patio, clouds atop her head rather than the looming mosaic and she could smell the air, not the static. A short few steps away was a gazebo, and inside a polished ivory piano with a tall woman playing some tune she couldn't recognize. Atop the lid of the piano sat a rather grumpy looking raven, who squawked as she made her approach.
As she got closer, the woman turned around on her seat to beam at the approaching child. She had wild brown frizzy hair, bright blue eyes, freckles across her cheeks and her face was shaped much like the childs, albeit much more defined and matured. Her clothing lacked modesty, her midriff exposed, wearing pants and draping colorful cloths, wrists bandaged up just the same.
"Been a while since I seen you Abby-dabby. Come take a seat."
...Bethany?
The little girl crawled over to the bench and pulled herself up onto the seat. Bright blue eyes marveled over the work of the piano. The keys looked like they were made of pearl themselves and the mage that sat next to her knew just how to make them sing. Bethany was a free spirit, and secretly she had always looked up to her, despite her heretical claims against the faith and being estranged from the family.
"You got yourself in quite the pickle, too bad it's the charming strong man that put you in the jar, he probably won't help you out of it."
Wide questioning eyes to her older sister. How did she know?
"Don't give me that look, you know I know everything, with my magic."
The mage pulled her fingers from the piano, somehow the keys continued to play while the older sister waggled her fingers in the face of the child, magical sparkles appearing between them. The little girl wrinkled her nose at her sister, lips drawn to a pout. Bethany let out a soft amused chuckle, turning back to the piano.
"Remember that talk we had, before I had to leave?"
Images sparked into her mind; arguments, shouting, crying. At least five broken good plates.
"No? I guess you were too young. But I think now's a good time to have that talk again while we still have the time."
The little girl looked over past Bethany, behind her sister she saw the beautiful city line of Tantras. Church bells rang as the sun lit the buildings in a warm golden light. This was their piano, the old one kept outside the house for entertaining company during garden parties.
"We all have a choice, Abby. We can chose to become whatever we want to be, nothing has to be any particular way. It's whatever we make of it- no priest, no Knight, no parent, no sibling, no God, has the right to tell you what to believe. In the end, none of them really care about you, none of them really know what's best for /you/. Only you know what's best for you."
"When I left home, I knew what I was doing. I didn't leave because I didn't agree with the scriptures, or because I couldn't bare to see the disappointment in my parent's faces. I left because that was what was best for me. And now it's your turn to decide what's best for you."
Wide blue eyes sat on the beautiful young mage as Bethany continued to play the keys of the self playing piano. Above them the loud speaker gave it's feedback, but the voice that came through wasn't the same gentle calm male voice.
"This is Fate, Abigail. Fate brought us together so I could guide you."
Frantically she looked to her sister, but she still seemed calm, perhaps she hadn't even heard that?
Thump. .. Thump. ... Thump. ... Thump. ...
"I'm not going to tell you what to believe. But I am going to tell you that there is no path, there is no road, and there is no Holy Scripture that is going to give you instructions from here. You don't need Torm anymore, you'll live on your own if you play your cards safe."
A tiny hand grabbed for her sister's skirt blue eyes wide with fear. But now the sun was gone from the horizon, the static was rising.
"I know it's scary sis. But you can do it. You're free now, so make the most of it."
Poof, Bethany disappeared in a swarm of little mechanical birds that all flew off, cackling wildly with the grumpy raven in tow. The young girl was left on the patio before the piano, the colours dimming. The loudspeaker gave it's feedback again, but she couldn't understand the words being said. It was getting so dark out; when she went to hop off the bench she found herself back in that round circular room lined with archways.
The piano was gone when she turned around again, but there was something else. Missus Tuffs. The sheep doll sat in the middle of the room and was quickly swept up by the little girl who hugged it tightly to herself. She looked about the white room thick with static, a glittering mosaic above her head and doors all around. The little Abigail looked to her sheep, hugging it closer to her chest.
But behind the little girl loomed an imposing figure, all green and black in military regalia. The character just stood there, watching, waiting. The static grew in intensity, it was so loud now. The figure reached a hand out, reaching for the girl's hair-
RUN.
And so the little girl ran, she ran down the first door she could get to with the figure in tow, chasing behind her. Little feet made the sound of pitter patters as she ran in desperation, faster then she had ever run before. She didn't know where she was going, and she didn't care. She was determined to not lose what she had just been given.
-
We will build heroes
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- Joined: Fri Mar 27, 2015 10:20 pm
Re: Sleep.
Psychonautic Entosis Fluid
(( ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʙᴜʀɪᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ
ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ɢᴏɴᴇ
ᴡʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ ʜᴀɴᴅs
ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ
ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴍʏ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs
ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘsᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ sᴏᴜʟ ɪs ғʀᴇᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ
ᴛʜɪs ᴡʀᴇᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ʙᴏᴅʏ
ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ
[...]
ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴ
ᴀɴ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ
ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ
- Makeup & Vanity Set, 7.25.2148 (2013) ))
This concoction is colourless, odourless, and tasteless. It is kept in a stoppered phial, the top of which is stamped with a simple emblem - "ᴀᴄʟ ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ".
There is no label.
Extensive chymical testing or divination would identify the components - bull-rush, nightshade, mandrake, pattran, and serapias turbith. All of these are common and uncommon sedatives, exceptionally powerful. Rousing the subject within a day would be exceptionally difficult.
There is also another herb- caffar. Obscenely rare, forming a coffee-like base, which empowers latent psionic powers. More to the point, it can even produce them in otherwise "clean" minds.
Finally, the cerebrospinal fluid of the imbiber is contained within, to create a particularly focused concoction - specifically targeted.
Being forced to drink this is the ephemeral equivalent of having your mind opened with crowbars, without actually using crowbars, in a coma.
(( ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴊᴜsᴛ ʙᴜʀɪᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ
ɪɴᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ᴇᴀʀᴛʜ ɢᴏɴᴇ
ᴡʀᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴡᴇᴀʀʏ ʜᴀɴᴅs
ᴏᴠᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏᴠᴇʀ
ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ᴍʏ ғɪɴᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴍᴇɴᴛs
ʙᴇғᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʟʟᴀᴘsᴇ
ᴀɴᴅ ᴍʏ sᴏᴜʟ ɪs ғʀᴇᴇᴅ ғʀᴏᴍ
ᴛʜɪs ᴡʀᴇᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ ʙᴏᴅʏ
ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇʀ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ
ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ʙᴇɢɪɴɴɪɴɢ
[...]
ᴏɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴏɴ
ᴀɴ ɪɴғɪɴɪᴛᴇ ʜᴏʀɪᴢᴏɴ
ɢᴏɴᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ
- Makeup & Vanity Set, 7.25.2148 (2013) ))
This concoction is colourless, odourless, and tasteless. It is kept in a stoppered phial, the top of which is stamped with a simple emblem - "ᴀᴄʟ ᴄᴏʀᴘᴏʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ".
There is no label.
Extensive chymical testing or divination would identify the components - bull-rush, nightshade, mandrake, pattran, and serapias turbith. All of these are common and uncommon sedatives, exceptionally powerful. Rousing the subject within a day would be exceptionally difficult.
There is also another herb- caffar. Obscenely rare, forming a coffee-like base, which empowers latent psionic powers. More to the point, it can even produce them in otherwise "clean" minds.
Finally, the cerebrospinal fluid of the imbiber is contained within, to create a particularly focused concoction - specifically targeted.
Being forced to drink this is the ephemeral equivalent of having your mind opened with crowbars, without actually using crowbars, in a coma.
Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜʏ ʟᴇᴄᴛᴜʀᴇs ʟᴇᴀʀɴ'ᴅ ᴘʀᴏғᴇssᴏʀ,
Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜʏ ᴛᴇʟᴇsᴄᴏᴘᴇ ᴏʀ sᴘᴇᴄᴛʀᴏsᴄᴏᴘᴇ ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴇʀ ᴋᴇᴇɴ, ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴛʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄs,
Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ's sᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ, ᴀɴᴀᴛᴏᴍʏ, ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛʀʏ,
Tʜᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛɪᴇs ᴏғ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛɪᴇs, ᴇɪᴅᴏʟᴏɴs.
Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜʏ ᴛᴇʟᴇsᴄᴏᴘᴇ ᴏʀ sᴘᴇᴄᴛʀᴏsᴄᴏᴘᴇ ᴏʙsᴇʀᴠᴇʀ ᴋᴇᴇɴ, ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴍᴀᴛʜᴇᴍᴀᴛɪᴄs,
Bᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ's sᴜʀɢᴇʀʏ, ᴀɴᴀᴛᴏᴍʏ, ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜɪs ᴄʜᴇᴍɪsᴛʀʏ,
Tʜᴇ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛɪᴇs ᴏғ ᴇɴᴛɪᴛɪᴇs, ᴇɪᴅᴏʟᴏɴs.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
"Irrelevant."
"It's very relevant"
"I fail to see how."
"It is your driving force."
"It is what motivates you to take such desperate measures. You do not wish to lose her."
...
"A bit arrogant to assume you understand me based on one short conversation, brother Pneuma."
Static again. Who was that talking? She swore they sounded familiar as the voices echoed from the loudspeaker overhead. Bare feet padded softly against the cool ground, her face was damp with sweat. The static man wasn't chasing her anymore, but the halls had gotten so dark. She had tried so many doors, but they would not open. It was just her and Tuffs against this endless dark hallway lacking windows and lessening in doors.
It wasn't so scary anymore, just endless. Her tiny hand rested against the wall as she walked, fingers groping at the texture. It felt like cloth and metal at the same time in random patches, always changing. Finally a door knob gives, opening.
"Abigail?"
There he was again. His eyes were always softer when he looked at her.
"Hm, yes, my friend?"
The young knight leaned against the rampart; they were atop some tower of sorts over looking the ocean. The air tasted fresh and sweet. Her hands rubbed at her forearms self consciously; marked up with burnt in images of broken chain links wrapping about her arms. The mark of a failure, the mark of someone Fallen, the mark of an oath breaker.
"Have you put any thought into what you would like to do after this is finished?"
She hadn't thought about that. As she looked away from the man next to her and looked into the mist that lingered above the waves she saw it. The young blond knight being dragged by two towering, sneering paladins. The sky was an angry, golden color with crimson brushed in. She could hear the sound of men yelling, calling out.
And then she was there. She could feel the weight of her body dragging against the road as the towering paladins dragged her forward. Looking up she saw her fate- a chopping block already stained with past sins. She saw lined up around the block her family, her sisters, her brothers, her mother, her father, all but Bethany of course (because we don't talk about Bethany). The looks on their faces one of heartbreak, betrayal, hatred. The executioner stood tall, indifferent and waiting with his axe on his shoulder. He was the only one among them who did not look at her with hate, or anger.
The fallen paladin being dragged towards the man felt something of gratefulness for the indifference of her executioner. At least there was someone who did not hate her.
Thunk.
She didn't even notice it, but now she felt the wood of the chopping block pressed against her chest, her neck fitted into the dip of the wood.
Panic.
The young knight, though accepting her crimes did not want to die. To long did she fight for her right to live, to long did she struggle just to experience life, she did not want all this taken away from her here and now.
Lifting her head she saw the faceless crowd, but still heard their screams, their shouts, their calls for blood. People she knew, people she loved, people she fought to protect; now they all called for her head to be cleaved from her shoulders. Nothing else mattered other then the Scriptures.
To traitors a quick painful death.
Tears welled up in her eyes, she could smell smoke. She tried to speak, why, why are you doing this to me? But no, the words were trapped within her sobs. It was hard to breathe.
"Abigail?"
It wasn't real. Thank the Divines, it wasn't real. It was so hard to tell the difference now. The only thing she was certain of was the way he looked at her. The way he looked at her now; that she was certain of. How she hated him, but yet, his words were the only thing she felt she could cling to.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"If you had any questions, concerning His dogma?"
There was a loud blaring sound in her ears that drowned out all other sound. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear him. She felt like she was falling.
Static.
"It's very relevant"
"I fail to see how."
"It is your driving force."
"It is what motivates you to take such desperate measures. You do not wish to lose her."
...
"A bit arrogant to assume you understand me based on one short conversation, brother Pneuma."
Static again. Who was that talking? She swore they sounded familiar as the voices echoed from the loudspeaker overhead. Bare feet padded softly against the cool ground, her face was damp with sweat. The static man wasn't chasing her anymore, but the halls had gotten so dark. She had tried so many doors, but they would not open. It was just her and Tuffs against this endless dark hallway lacking windows and lessening in doors.
It wasn't so scary anymore, just endless. Her tiny hand rested against the wall as she walked, fingers groping at the texture. It felt like cloth and metal at the same time in random patches, always changing. Finally a door knob gives, opening.
"Abigail?"
There he was again. His eyes were always softer when he looked at her.
"Hm, yes, my friend?"
The young knight leaned against the rampart; they were atop some tower of sorts over looking the ocean. The air tasted fresh and sweet. Her hands rubbed at her forearms self consciously; marked up with burnt in images of broken chain links wrapping about her arms. The mark of a failure, the mark of someone Fallen, the mark of an oath breaker.
"Have you put any thought into what you would like to do after this is finished?"
She hadn't thought about that. As she looked away from the man next to her and looked into the mist that lingered above the waves she saw it. The young blond knight being dragged by two towering, sneering paladins. The sky was an angry, golden color with crimson brushed in. She could hear the sound of men yelling, calling out.
And then she was there. She could feel the weight of her body dragging against the road as the towering paladins dragged her forward. Looking up she saw her fate- a chopping block already stained with past sins. She saw lined up around the block her family, her sisters, her brothers, her mother, her father, all but Bethany of course (because we don't talk about Bethany). The looks on their faces one of heartbreak, betrayal, hatred. The executioner stood tall, indifferent and waiting with his axe on his shoulder. He was the only one among them who did not look at her with hate, or anger.
The fallen paladin being dragged towards the man felt something of gratefulness for the indifference of her executioner. At least there was someone who did not hate her.
Thunk.
She didn't even notice it, but now she felt the wood of the chopping block pressed against her chest, her neck fitted into the dip of the wood.
Panic.
The young knight, though accepting her crimes did not want to die. To long did she fight for her right to live, to long did she struggle just to experience life, she did not want all this taken away from her here and now.
Lifting her head she saw the faceless crowd, but still heard their screams, their shouts, their calls for blood. People she knew, people she loved, people she fought to protect; now they all called for her head to be cleaved from her shoulders. Nothing else mattered other then the Scriptures.
To traitors a quick painful death.
Tears welled up in her eyes, she could smell smoke. She tried to speak, why, why are you doing this to me? But no, the words were trapped within her sobs. It was hard to breathe.
"Abigail?"
It wasn't real. Thank the Divines, it wasn't real. It was so hard to tell the difference now. The only thing she was certain of was the way he looked at her. The way he looked at her now; that she was certain of. How she hated him, but yet, his words were the only thing she felt she could cling to.
"I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"If you had any questions, concerning His dogma?"
There was a loud blaring sound in her ears that drowned out all other sound. His lips were moving but she couldn't hear him. She felt like she was falling.
Static.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
T̝̫̯̹̝͚͖͉̅̓ͭͫH̪ͬE̪͈̮̦̤̗̩̔͗͂͊̔͑ ̞̜̪͋ͭ̋S̪̯͈̟̣͇̱̰̉T͖͚̺ͥ̃̉ͨ͒͂͛́A̙͉̭̝̟͙͍͔ͯ̅T͙̫̞̗͙̺̥̪̔ͧ̍͌̉̅ͅÌ͕̭̱̩̗̮̲̍C̼͕̣̼̀̋ͥͩͨ͐͊͒̽ ̟͇̫̖̺̥ͧͣͧͥ̾͒̑͒ͅͅS̘̥̻̯͛ͫ̐P͉̰̪͔͚ͥ͌̉͋͊̃̚ͅE͕̿̑̎A͈̭ͮ̅ͬ̍K̻̰̻͖̖̞̟̯̘̇̒̅S͚̻̰̮̺̏ͯ̎̌̍̐͊ͭͩ ͈̳̘̯̻͒̇͂̂̋ͧM̼̮̰̠̥͍̙͍ͣ̾Ỵ̝̹͖̮ͭ̍ͣͥͫ̒͛ ̭̝͖̗̖͔̱ͩ̐̋ͧͅN̯̦̅ͮ̍̓̎̇͊A̞̘͍͈̥͆ͬͧ͂M̙̪̩̹͈͔̘̲ͥ̍E̱̜̥̟͇̝͎̋̈͛̂.͕͈̌̐̓͌̃
There was an eerie calm quiet. Doors no longer lined the hallways, now simply just empty walls with boxes piled against them. It was just a maze of halls and boxes. The static was thick, but it was comforting in a way. The little girl had come to rely on it, it was always there, harmless, welcoming even. She swore it spoke to her, even if she didn't understand what it said. Though she was also certain Tuffs spoke to her as well, so perhaps it wasn't out of the question.
The young Abigail had gotten used to the inability to breathe by now. It was as if the world was suspended in the static. The sort of calm stillness during a heavy snowfall. It was cold.
"Ą̵͜b̷̀i̷̷̢͝g̷̵̷̛à̛͜i̛͝l̴̷̶̛?͢҉̵̛"
What was that? She turned to look behind her but all she saw was static.
"̴̢A͜b̴́i͠͞~͘͢ģa̸͞l͝͝è̕͝.̶͟"͡
This time it sounded like it came from the other side. Quickly pivoting on her tiny foot she looked- only to see more static. As it seemed to grow thicker it also grew warmer, softer. It felt like she was melting- but in a good way. It was just so inviting, so calming.
""̢͔̯̺̯̀Ḍ͖̤̤̱̬o̹̫̝ ͕̲͘͝y̠͖̝̖̜̰ọ̴̤͍͈͓͢u̙̟̼͙̺̹̟ͅ ̵̝͍ẁ̧͏̞̞͍̣a͡҉͓̪̱̲̖ṉt̸̺͓ ̧̲̗̠̯͖̤̜̖͞t҉̙͚͓̠͜o̹̟͕̮̟͙͟ ̲̰͓͈̺͓̤̥̀͟͡g̡̣̳͕̝̩͎o̡̭̯̲̲͍͖͔̼̩ ̵͍͖̬̜͉͓͉͓͜t̢̛̳̞̀o̴̢͕̹̳̹͉ ̦̪͕͢͟s̷͚̗̭̬̳̣̬̲̩͘͡ļ̺̪̪e͔͓̯͓͚ȩ̷͚̗̙p̺̟,͉ ̷͖̠̼̭͓̣̙̤͕͘͢A̛̜̗̙͔b҉̰̳̭͎̦̬͜ͅi̷̟̼̪̦̤͈̟̤͈͝g͙͕̬̲͇̩͉̭͜͡ą̩̻̜͍͚͓͉̀i̡̳̹͇̬̰͈l̲̤̺?̷͚̙̜̟͚̫̥̭"҉̢̨̺̲̖̺̩͎̜
Sleep. That sounded nice. Peaceful even. She was greeted by an intense feeling of calm and stillness and a euphoria that could only be compared to the feeling of relief when one finally puts their head to their pillow after a long tiring day. But something interrupted this calm peacefulness.
"Wake up Abigail, you need to have your tea."
That was him. She could feel her chest flutter.
"̛̮̳̞͙̙͜W͙̱̣̹̤̩̱͡o̷̦̫̭̰̥̦ụ̵̡̱͍̼̝̳̣͝l̷̯͙̹̫͇͚̣d̳̘͟n̮̖͙̬͉̗̜ͅͅ'̶̣͘t͏̹͕̫̕ ̧̮̗̘̲͖̜̹͎y̬̝̫̞̝̣͢o̶̖͎̘͎͕͘ͅu̸̪̠͜ ̸͎̻̪̣͕͞r̨͔̮͠a̜̩͢t̛̖̭͎̰͖͉͜ͅh̷̷̤̝̞̟͟e͏͍͎r̴̞̭͡ ̵͍̻̻͓̯ṣ̢̖̳͇͈t͇̦̱̫ͅa̢̲̮̞y̴̶̬̱͚ ̳̫͇̺̲̯̕͘͞h̲̹͟e͏̝̜͎̟̮r̪̜̭̙̻͢e̶͕̮̱̯̯̙̳̮͜?̴̡̭̞̠̞"̡̟̱̥͔͍͉̝͉̀͠
Who was that? Or rather, what? It slowly dawned on her; it was the static. Now she was scared, she started to run down the hallway. She could see at the end a big white door, light shining from under it. Tuffs seemed scared too. But despite her flight she could feel it, the static didn't need to follow or give chase. It was everywhere, it was looming in the air itself.
She didn't want to go to sleep. She wanted to go have tea with him. He still had to take her on that walk, maybe today they'd do that.
Finally she reached the door, her tiny hand extended, desperately jiggling the door knob, trying to open it. But she found no strength to turn it. She was so sleepy, so tired.
"̬̞͚̝̗̤̤͉ͅL͚͙̟̖̹̖ͅe͈̝͉̰t̪͔̺̳̪̱̱'̫͇̣͖͍̜͔͍ͅs͚̦ ̙̫͖̭̯̙̥̻g͔̬̙͍̥͙o̪̺̥͎̟͈̦ͅ ̻t̩̮o̬̦͔ ͈̟̫̦͓̬s̼̮͚͕̬̭͇͚l̘̩̖̖̲e͍͖͙͉̦͈͔̼e͚p̜̙.̞͕̞̟͔̦͔ͅ"̞̯͍̥̪̥
So tired. So sleepy. Surely it wouldn't hurt to sleep for a little while longer.
----
A lanky, sickly looking woman lays in a bed. Though this bed is not her bed, and the room she lays in, not her own. She lives certainly, her breathing soft and wheezing, her expression at ease and flesh still warm with life. But despite all attempts to rouse her, none were successful. She simply, slept. At peace and at ease, suspended in her rest. No sign was given as to when she might wake, or if it was even possible for her to come back.
There was an eerie calm quiet. Doors no longer lined the hallways, now simply just empty walls with boxes piled against them. It was just a maze of halls and boxes. The static was thick, but it was comforting in a way. The little girl had come to rely on it, it was always there, harmless, welcoming even. She swore it spoke to her, even if she didn't understand what it said. Though she was also certain Tuffs spoke to her as well, so perhaps it wasn't out of the question.
The young Abigail had gotten used to the inability to breathe by now. It was as if the world was suspended in the static. The sort of calm stillness during a heavy snowfall. It was cold.
"Ą̵͜b̷̀i̷̷̢͝g̷̵̷̛à̛͜i̛͝l̴̷̶̛?͢҉̵̛"
What was that? She turned to look behind her but all she saw was static.
"̴̢A͜b̴́i͠͞~͘͢ģa̸͞l͝͝è̕͝.̶͟"͡
This time it sounded like it came from the other side. Quickly pivoting on her tiny foot she looked- only to see more static. As it seemed to grow thicker it also grew warmer, softer. It felt like she was melting- but in a good way. It was just so inviting, so calming.
""̢͔̯̺̯̀Ḍ͖̤̤̱̬o̹̫̝ ͕̲͘͝y̠͖̝̖̜̰ọ̴̤͍͈͓͢u̙̟̼͙̺̹̟ͅ ̵̝͍ẁ̧͏̞̞͍̣a͡҉͓̪̱̲̖ṉt̸̺͓ ̧̲̗̠̯͖̤̜̖͞t҉̙͚͓̠͜o̹̟͕̮̟͙͟ ̲̰͓͈̺͓̤̥̀͟͡g̡̣̳͕̝̩͎o̡̭̯̲̲͍͖͔̼̩ ̵͍͖̬̜͉͓͉͓͜t̢̛̳̞̀o̴̢͕̹̳̹͉ ̦̪͕͢͟s̷͚̗̭̬̳̣̬̲̩͘͡ļ̺̪̪e͔͓̯͓͚ȩ̷͚̗̙p̺̟,͉ ̷͖̠̼̭͓̣̙̤͕͘͢A̛̜̗̙͔b҉̰̳̭͎̦̬͜ͅi̷̟̼̪̦̤͈̟̤͈͝g͙͕̬̲͇̩͉̭͜͡ą̩̻̜͍͚͓͉̀i̡̳̹͇̬̰͈l̲̤̺?̷͚̙̜̟͚̫̥̭"҉̢̨̺̲̖̺̩͎̜
Sleep. That sounded nice. Peaceful even. She was greeted by an intense feeling of calm and stillness and a euphoria that could only be compared to the feeling of relief when one finally puts their head to their pillow after a long tiring day. But something interrupted this calm peacefulness.
"Wake up Abigail, you need to have your tea."
That was him. She could feel her chest flutter.
"̛̮̳̞͙̙͜W͙̱̣̹̤̩̱͡o̷̦̫̭̰̥̦ụ̵̡̱͍̼̝̳̣͝l̷̯͙̹̫͇͚̣d̳̘͟n̮̖͙̬͉̗̜ͅͅ'̶̣͘t͏̹͕̫̕ ̧̮̗̘̲͖̜̹͎y̬̝̫̞̝̣͢o̶̖͎̘͎͕͘ͅu̸̪̠͜ ̸͎̻̪̣͕͞r̨͔̮͠a̜̩͢t̛̖̭͎̰͖͉͜ͅh̷̷̤̝̞̟͟e͏͍͎r̴̞̭͡ ̵͍̻̻͓̯ṣ̢̖̳͇͈t͇̦̱̫ͅa̢̲̮̞y̴̶̬̱͚ ̳̫͇̺̲̯̕͘͞h̲̹͟e͏̝̜͎̟̮r̪̜̭̙̻͢e̶͕̮̱̯̯̙̳̮͜?̴̡̭̞̠̞"̡̟̱̥͔͍͉̝͉̀͠
Who was that? Or rather, what? It slowly dawned on her; it was the static. Now she was scared, she started to run down the hallway. She could see at the end a big white door, light shining from under it. Tuffs seemed scared too. But despite her flight she could feel it, the static didn't need to follow or give chase. It was everywhere, it was looming in the air itself.
She didn't want to go to sleep. She wanted to go have tea with him. He still had to take her on that walk, maybe today they'd do that.
Finally she reached the door, her tiny hand extended, desperately jiggling the door knob, trying to open it. But she found no strength to turn it. She was so sleepy, so tired.
"̬̞͚̝̗̤̤͉ͅL͚͙̟̖̹̖ͅe͈̝͉̰t̪͔̺̳̪̱̱'̫͇̣͖͍̜͔͍ͅs͚̦ ̙̫͖̭̯̙̥̻g͔̬̙͍̥͙o̪̺̥͎̟͈̦ͅ ̻t̩̮o̬̦͔ ͈̟̫̦͓̬s̼̮͚͕̬̭͇͚l̘̩̖̖̲e͍͖͙͉̦͈͔̼e͚p̜̙.̞͕̞̟͔̦͔ͅ"̞̯͍̥̪̥
So tired. So sleepy. Surely it wouldn't hurt to sleep for a little while longer.
----
A lanky, sickly looking woman lays in a bed. Though this bed is not her bed, and the room she lays in, not her own. She lives certainly, her breathing soft and wheezing, her expression at ease and flesh still warm with life. But despite all attempts to rouse her, none were successful. She simply, slept. At peace and at ease, suspended in her rest. No sign was given as to when she might wake, or if it was even possible for her to come back.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
When she came to she was surrounded by people. The doctor was there, the man with the endless black eyes who smelled like old hand bags and candy. He was speaking to her.
"Her name, Abigail."
Whose name? It was hard to remember where she was, or what was going on. Her ears were ringing.
Now the man moved in, his hands cupping either cheek and bringing her face closer to his. What lovely brown eyes she thought.
"Her name, what was the name of your doctor?"
Images of a beautiful woman with ginger red hair. Flames danced out from her head, accenting her firy locks. What a lovely lady- but what was her name? She couldn't recall.
"̵͎͔̗͙W҉̬̲ͅe̸̜̻̜ ̛̬a͎̠͜r̼̫͍̗͉͟e͇͎̥̣̻̯͠n̮'͘t ̮̫g̷͎̲͓̭̮͕̙oi͈̗͎͍ń̮̮̲̼ǵ ͔̱̳̗̳̤͔t̵͉̟̭̝̟͉o̡͖̬ ̳̣̭̬̩̳k̵͍̫̪i̛̳͉̲c̞͍͇̣͔k̞̼̮͙̫̥͟ ̯͚̥̯̭͘y͘ou̼̥͈̺̭ ͚͎͇͇̱̟͍o̲̹̦̹̣̻͇u̘̥t̼̜͔,̡ A̡̩̰̪͖ͅḅ̸̰ͅi̢͓̪̺͘g̸̮͙̣͡a̮̻̤̜͈̼͓i̵͚̩̩̫̜l͔̱͈͓̪̤̝̮͠͠,̶҉͔͎̗ ̡̖̗͍̳̥͙̫̝͘ͅi̠͙͞f̷̧̖̟̬̻͘ ̵̬̝͚̖̘̱̱ͅy̼̯o̢͈̭͜ú̫͍͖̬͖͚̗ͅ ͍̹̥̻̱͖͘̕w̵̨̨͎̼̳͓̺̜o҉͜҉͙̘͙̘͔̻̘ư̡̯̘̭̗͍̤͘l̶͇ͅd̷̛͙̱̬̺̫͖͙̲͚ ͈̖́͞ͅj̸͉̳̞͎ṵ̵͈̦̠̺͙̫͝s̴҉̦t̶̖̰͕͙̻̕ ͖̦̬̱͢͜t̨̢͈̜̥̹̱̘͍̩ę̨͓͖̼̘͉͍͞ͅḷ͎͠ͅl̷̦̩̣̞̣̲̖̰̖ ̪͖̱̰͖̣̯̘͠u̹̖̮͙̝̰͘s̰͕͙͖̪̼̞̯͜͠ ͙w͚̥̦̲͟h̸̡̛̟͈̳̞̮ͅa̴̯̜̭ṯ͈͉̣͓ ̵͏̣̱̫͇̲̟̩̕ͅ ̵̵͙̯̯ͅ ͍̻͘ ͍̞̮͖́ ̰̗̗̬͓͟ ̹̙̘͝ ̴̴̼̬̹̲̱͓̺
Where was she? The Temple now. When did she get here? She didn't remember getting here, infact she didn't remember why she had come here in the first place. Familiar faces stood lined up neatly, staring at her with concern and openness in their eyes. It scared her. The man with soft brown hair and a gentle expression spoke, but the ringing in her ears blared as he did so.
Within moments Abigail found herself seated next to a comely woman with a tangled brown mane for hair; her face that of a lion.
"͙͙͔̦̠͎͍͈́͠W҉͎͔̣͔͓̲̼͘ͅè̢̠̥ ̶̜̣̮̱͙̰͖̥́c̠͇̘̭̝̱͉͚͜a͏̦̗̲̙͎̖̝͉̰͡ń͈̱̩̹̕n̛̻͍̳̺̜̜̤̥ờ̧̺̦̯͖͔ͅt̢̙̪̀͞ ̸̰̕͜ͅͅh̵͍͉͕͙̮̦̝͚̱ḛ̴̺͕ĺ̴̢̮̬̹̩̰̹͔p̝̦͚̝̯͟͡ ̷͚͔͕ỳ̤͙̳̤͍̫̗͡o̪̹̙͔͢ú̘̤̬̪̣̻̙͞ͅ ͇̫̜̯̝͓̜̝͔͘i̛̼̼̪͖͉̹͢͝f̶̸̧̲̯͍̤̳̥̟ ̵̡̠̲͉̹̭̱͙̘ͅý̴͉̝̗̥͙̺͡o̤̥u͚͓̜ ̡̛͕͉̺̟̦͍͚͈̹́d̷̸̯̝̞̞̠o̦̤̩̝͢ͅ ̵̗̺̼͓̗͢n̺͍̹̞̠̟̳̟͜o̯t̲͢ ̷̲̭̤͇e͝҉̶̱͉͖̲̦̥x̸̭̦͖̖͇̦p͎̞̖͜ͅl̬͙̗̱̯ͅa̜̻̝į̠̝͢n͏͏̗̭̺-̶͎͓̦̩̹̪"̛̻̺͈̫͙̣̘͠ ̠̺͇̕͘ ̢̹̮̩̹̯͟͡͠ ͞҉̦̦̜̭̞̞͡ ̵̛̙̗͓͚̟̺̮̜͈͜͠ ̨̛̮̳͎͕̘͓̯̭̲͖̜ ̵̢̣̖̳̬̥̟̼̖͓̹̩͎̗̤̹̘͇̟̹́́ ̨̗̖͚̹̹̺̩̫͕̭̠̪͘͟ ̛̭̬͙͕̗̲̭͔̪͎̲͝ ̢͏̣̞͙͎̣͍̠̜̝͓̪̰̱ ҉̦̜̳̺̳̼͡ ̛͎̙̘̱̩͖̱͖͍͚̻̝͕̯͘͟ ̶̀͏̰͖̱̝ ̴̸̀͏͚͙̜̪̹̥͔̞͝ ̵̧̨̣͈̯̗̘̫̫̥̙͕́ ̸̛̤͍͙͙̣͖̖͟ͅ ̛̛̮̮̞̣̹̤̻̠̝̰͎͔͉͟͞͡ͅ ̢̩̟̞̲͎̱̖̲̩̣͎́̀͘͡ ̵̢͏͓͔̭̻̙̜̜̪̜͍͉ͅ ̶̛̩̳̯̲̝͔͚̯͢͡͝ ̨̛̲͕̺̠̟̮͓̙͚̝̝̺̳͉̙̰̼̕ͅ ̶̨̼̝͎̻͢ ̴̷̕҉̭̤͇͖͕̞̼̗̱̙̩͓̘͍̼̺͕ ̢҉̥̝͓̟̫̟͘͟͡ͅ ̵̵̧̤͔̭͎͔̯̠͈͕̺
Static.
"WELL well well, what have we here?"
Sencliff? She was just in the Temple, how was she back in these narrow dank halls? A man approached, the same one who spoke. All dressed up in fine white silks with a horned helmet, but he did not walk like any man should. He jerked, twitched, each step like watching a puppet attempt and fail at mimicking fluid human movements. The voice the man spoke with was not natural, as if some other being spoke as it's host did.
"A lost shepherd without her flock?"
The man laughed. Suddenly she felt like a little girl again, fearful as she stared at this strange, being that pretended to be a man. She backed up to the fence behind her, a pool of nothingness on the other side. The ringing came up again in her ears.
"Where is Pelagius?"
"The Boy-Conqueror prays above."
The odd man responded promptly, now he moved to straddle the fence, swinging his legs on either side. Pulling off his glove and discarding it to the side, he extended his hand palm up towards the girl. But his hand; it twitched and moved in unnatural directions, as if a horde of bugs were inside the skin, manipulating the limbs of this poor shell of a man.
"Come with me. I have so much I could show you."
The most-likely-not-a-man spoke cheerfully, perhaps even giddy.
"Why are your hands d-doing that...?"
"They just don't want to listen! Silly hands aren't they?"
A cackling laughter that sounded more akin to fine being tossed off shelves emitted from the helmet. The girl swore she heard someone scream, or maybe that was just her. She launched herself over the rails and into the dark chasm of water, hoping to find sanctuary in the dark.
Static.
This was her old room, at least for her Order. She recognized the musky scent the Mayfield's Inn carried. In front of her was- the Doctor again. He still smelled like potatoes and honey. The man looked at her with a soft expression that begetted concern, a pocket watch in his hand. She heard the microphone feed back over head speaking; the same eerily calm, soft male voice from before.
"Pelagius knows what's best for you, he is only trying to assist. He is the way to your Salvation."
As the voice spoke she saw the Doctor's expression fall; a look of defeat. He pulled away gently, moving back towards the opposite wall. Why was he leaving? Was it something she said? Why did he look so sad? Questions swirled in her mind, which only added to the chaos the looming static brought.
The hallways again. It was just hallways with doors and boxes for miles and miles. Above she could hear speaking.
"It's quite simple; first you would swear an oath to the Dark Lord.."
"An oath?"
Voices she did and didn't recognize. Looking forward she saw nothing but the long endless hallways. It was so lonely. At least here she had Tuffs, the tiny stuffed ram remained with her, even now. So she did the only thing she could do here; walk. And walk she did. Endless doors, endless boxes, she was so tired of it all now. When would this madness finally end?
"Instead of making your way to the lights on the horizon, instead seek to part the fog."
As she turned around to look she was sitting atop a mountain side, to her side was a beautiful torrent of waterfalls. The crystal blue water cascaded down into the valley below, mist hanging above the pool peacefully. It was so calm. Looking to her otherside he stood there, dressed in a clean fresh pressed red uniform. The man turned to look at her, a hand out stretched.
"All that you see now could be yours; a comfortable life, an honorable one of a Crusader, doing the noble work of the Dark Lord. As long as you say, I shall ever be by your side."
Her eyes widened, just staring. Something warm and soft brushed against her hand; when she looked it was the Ram again, snorting in distaste.
"We will accept you back, Abigail. You need only step forward back into the arms of the Light, and we will help you. I have not left you, Abigail of Torm. But I cannot save you if you do not come forward."
It felt like the world was spinning, her ears were ringing. Finally she spoke.
"Am I awake?"
A hand lightly rested on her shoulder, gentle even. When she turned to look she saw- Bethany? The gentle faced woman with wild eyes gave her sister a concerned, but comforting smile.
"No you're not, cotton brains."
Air. She was alone in her room, a shabby broom closet in the Shanty. The blankets were still warm though; wasn't someone suppose to be sleeping next to her. Reaching out, all her hands found was a small stuffed fluffy ram toy, strikingly similar to Tuffs. Slowly she dragged the doll to her chest, holding it in her arms. Nothing made sense anymore.
"Her name, Abigail."
Whose name? It was hard to remember where she was, or what was going on. Her ears were ringing.
Now the man moved in, his hands cupping either cheek and bringing her face closer to his. What lovely brown eyes she thought.
"Her name, what was the name of your doctor?"
Images of a beautiful woman with ginger red hair. Flames danced out from her head, accenting her firy locks. What a lovely lady- but what was her name? She couldn't recall.
"̵͎͔̗͙W҉̬̲ͅe̸̜̻̜ ̛̬a͎̠͜r̼̫͍̗͉͟e͇͎̥̣̻̯͠n̮'͘t ̮̫g̷͎̲͓̭̮͕̙oi͈̗͎͍ń̮̮̲̼ǵ ͔̱̳̗̳̤͔t̵͉̟̭̝̟͉o̡͖̬ ̳̣̭̬̩̳k̵͍̫̪i̛̳͉̲c̞͍͇̣͔k̞̼̮͙̫̥͟ ̯͚̥̯̭͘y͘ou̼̥͈̺̭ ͚͎͇͇̱̟͍o̲̹̦̹̣̻͇u̘̥t̼̜͔,̡ A̡̩̰̪͖ͅḅ̸̰ͅi̢͓̪̺͘g̸̮͙̣͡a̮̻̤̜͈̼͓i̵͚̩̩̫̜l͔̱͈͓̪̤̝̮͠͠,̶҉͔͎̗ ̡̖̗͍̳̥͙̫̝͘ͅi̠͙͞f̷̧̖̟̬̻͘ ̵̬̝͚̖̘̱̱ͅy̼̯o̢͈̭͜ú̫͍͖̬͖͚̗ͅ ͍̹̥̻̱͖͘̕w̵̨̨͎̼̳͓̺̜o҉͜҉͙̘͙̘͔̻̘ư̡̯̘̭̗͍̤͘l̶͇ͅd̷̛͙̱̬̺̫͖͙̲͚ ͈̖́͞ͅj̸͉̳̞͎ṵ̵͈̦̠̺͙̫͝s̴҉̦t̶̖̰͕͙̻̕ ͖̦̬̱͢͜t̨̢͈̜̥̹̱̘͍̩ę̨͓͖̼̘͉͍͞ͅḷ͎͠ͅl̷̦̩̣̞̣̲̖̰̖ ̪͖̱̰͖̣̯̘͠u̹̖̮͙̝̰͘s̰͕͙͖̪̼̞̯͜͠ ͙w͚̥̦̲͟h̸̡̛̟͈̳̞̮ͅa̴̯̜̭ṯ͈͉̣͓ ̵͏̣̱̫͇̲̟̩̕ͅ ̵̵͙̯̯ͅ ͍̻͘ ͍̞̮͖́ ̰̗̗̬͓͟ ̹̙̘͝ ̴̴̼̬̹̲̱͓̺
Where was she? The Temple now. When did she get here? She didn't remember getting here, infact she didn't remember why she had come here in the first place. Familiar faces stood lined up neatly, staring at her with concern and openness in their eyes. It scared her. The man with soft brown hair and a gentle expression spoke, but the ringing in her ears blared as he did so.
Within moments Abigail found herself seated next to a comely woman with a tangled brown mane for hair; her face that of a lion.
"͙͙͔̦̠͎͍͈́͠W҉͎͔̣͔͓̲̼͘ͅè̢̠̥ ̶̜̣̮̱͙̰͖̥́c̠͇̘̭̝̱͉͚͜a͏̦̗̲̙͎̖̝͉̰͡ń͈̱̩̹̕n̛̻͍̳̺̜̜̤̥ờ̧̺̦̯͖͔ͅt̢̙̪̀͞ ̸̰̕͜ͅͅh̵͍͉͕͙̮̦̝͚̱ḛ̴̺͕ĺ̴̢̮̬̹̩̰̹͔p̝̦͚̝̯͟͡ ̷͚͔͕ỳ̤͙̳̤͍̫̗͡o̪̹̙͔͢ú̘̤̬̪̣̻̙͞ͅ ͇̫̜̯̝͓̜̝͔͘i̛̼̼̪͖͉̹͢͝f̶̸̧̲̯͍̤̳̥̟ ̵̡̠̲͉̹̭̱͙̘ͅý̴͉̝̗̥͙̺͡o̤̥u͚͓̜ ̡̛͕͉̺̟̦͍͚͈̹́d̷̸̯̝̞̞̠o̦̤̩̝͢ͅ ̵̗̺̼͓̗͢n̺͍̹̞̠̟̳̟͜o̯t̲͢ ̷̲̭̤͇e͝҉̶̱͉͖̲̦̥x̸̭̦͖̖͇̦p͎̞̖͜ͅl̬͙̗̱̯ͅa̜̻̝į̠̝͢n͏͏̗̭̺-̶͎͓̦̩̹̪"̛̻̺͈̫͙̣̘͠ ̠̺͇̕͘ ̢̹̮̩̹̯͟͡͠ ͞҉̦̦̜̭̞̞͡ ̵̛̙̗͓͚̟̺̮̜͈͜͠ ̨̛̮̳͎͕̘͓̯̭̲͖̜ ̵̢̣̖̳̬̥̟̼̖͓̹̩͎̗̤̹̘͇̟̹́́ ̨̗̖͚̹̹̺̩̫͕̭̠̪͘͟ ̛̭̬͙͕̗̲̭͔̪͎̲͝ ̢͏̣̞͙͎̣͍̠̜̝͓̪̰̱ ҉̦̜̳̺̳̼͡ ̛͎̙̘̱̩͖̱͖͍͚̻̝͕̯͘͟ ̶̀͏̰͖̱̝ ̴̸̀͏͚͙̜̪̹̥͔̞͝ ̵̧̨̣͈̯̗̘̫̫̥̙͕́ ̸̛̤͍͙͙̣͖̖͟ͅ ̛̛̮̮̞̣̹̤̻̠̝̰͎͔͉͟͞͡ͅ ̢̩̟̞̲͎̱̖̲̩̣͎́̀͘͡ ̵̢͏͓͔̭̻̙̜̜̪̜͍͉ͅ ̶̛̩̳̯̲̝͔͚̯͢͡͝ ̨̛̲͕̺̠̟̮͓̙͚̝̝̺̳͉̙̰̼̕ͅ ̶̨̼̝͎̻͢ ̴̷̕҉̭̤͇͖͕̞̼̗̱̙̩͓̘͍̼̺͕ ̢҉̥̝͓̟̫̟͘͟͡ͅ ̵̵̧̤͔̭͎͔̯̠͈͕̺
Static.
"WELL well well, what have we here?"
Sencliff? She was just in the Temple, how was she back in these narrow dank halls? A man approached, the same one who spoke. All dressed up in fine white silks with a horned helmet, but he did not walk like any man should. He jerked, twitched, each step like watching a puppet attempt and fail at mimicking fluid human movements. The voice the man spoke with was not natural, as if some other being spoke as it's host did.
"A lost shepherd without her flock?"
The man laughed. Suddenly she felt like a little girl again, fearful as she stared at this strange, being that pretended to be a man. She backed up to the fence behind her, a pool of nothingness on the other side. The ringing came up again in her ears.
"Where is Pelagius?"
"The Boy-Conqueror prays above."
The odd man responded promptly, now he moved to straddle the fence, swinging his legs on either side. Pulling off his glove and discarding it to the side, he extended his hand palm up towards the girl. But his hand; it twitched and moved in unnatural directions, as if a horde of bugs were inside the skin, manipulating the limbs of this poor shell of a man.
"Come with me. I have so much I could show you."
The most-likely-not-a-man spoke cheerfully, perhaps even giddy.
"Why are your hands d-doing that...?"
"They just don't want to listen! Silly hands aren't they?"
A cackling laughter that sounded more akin to fine being tossed off shelves emitted from the helmet. The girl swore she heard someone scream, or maybe that was just her. She launched herself over the rails and into the dark chasm of water, hoping to find sanctuary in the dark.
Static.
This was her old room, at least for her Order. She recognized the musky scent the Mayfield's Inn carried. In front of her was- the Doctor again. He still smelled like potatoes and honey. The man looked at her with a soft expression that begetted concern, a pocket watch in his hand. She heard the microphone feed back over head speaking; the same eerily calm, soft male voice from before.
"Pelagius knows what's best for you, he is only trying to assist. He is the way to your Salvation."
As the voice spoke she saw the Doctor's expression fall; a look of defeat. He pulled away gently, moving back towards the opposite wall. Why was he leaving? Was it something she said? Why did he look so sad? Questions swirled in her mind, which only added to the chaos the looming static brought.
The hallways again. It was just hallways with doors and boxes for miles and miles. Above she could hear speaking.
"It's quite simple; first you would swear an oath to the Dark Lord.."
"An oath?"
Voices she did and didn't recognize. Looking forward she saw nothing but the long endless hallways. It was so lonely. At least here she had Tuffs, the tiny stuffed ram remained with her, even now. So she did the only thing she could do here; walk. And walk she did. Endless doors, endless boxes, she was so tired of it all now. When would this madness finally end?
"Instead of making your way to the lights on the horizon, instead seek to part the fog."
As she turned around to look she was sitting atop a mountain side, to her side was a beautiful torrent of waterfalls. The crystal blue water cascaded down into the valley below, mist hanging above the pool peacefully. It was so calm. Looking to her otherside he stood there, dressed in a clean fresh pressed red uniform. The man turned to look at her, a hand out stretched.
"All that you see now could be yours; a comfortable life, an honorable one of a Crusader, doing the noble work of the Dark Lord. As long as you say, I shall ever be by your side."
Her eyes widened, just staring. Something warm and soft brushed against her hand; when she looked it was the Ram again, snorting in distaste.
"We will accept you back, Abigail. You need only step forward back into the arms of the Light, and we will help you. I have not left you, Abigail of Torm. But I cannot save you if you do not come forward."
It felt like the world was spinning, her ears were ringing. Finally she spoke.
"Am I awake?"
A hand lightly rested on her shoulder, gentle even. When she turned to look she saw- Bethany? The gentle faced woman with wild eyes gave her sister a concerned, but comforting smile.
"No you're not, cotton brains."
Air. She was alone in her room, a shabby broom closet in the Shanty. The blankets were still warm though; wasn't someone suppose to be sleeping next to her. Reaching out, all her hands found was a small stuffed fluffy ram toy, strikingly similar to Tuffs. Slowly she dragged the doll to her chest, holding it in her arms. Nothing made sense anymore.
Last edited by Remember when on Sat Apr 25, 2015 4:10 pm, edited 2 times in total.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
A little girl walked alone down a long, lonely hallway. Long blond hair nearly brushed against the floor as she walked, her dress still as white and clean. There was no sheep in her arm, no toy to be held; no, this little girl was now all alone with nothing but the static to keep her company. As she walked it seemed like paint was peeling from the walls, chips of the door frames breaking away, lifting up and up and disappearing into the vast, mosaic above like released balloons.
The mosaic, she came to notice looked as if it were framed by bent, torn open pieces of metal. As if someone had pried the roof apart to expose the swirling mix of images, colours and manifested emotions. Static seemed to originate from there, seeping through the walls, the floors, the doors, the boxes stacked and piled high. Still it spoke to her, the static. Ever following behind her, whispering sweet nothings to convince her to just,
Let go.
A sharp inhale, she found herself in the 'office' again, sitting on an old beat up couch with many a dubious stain. Across from her was the doctor;
What lovely brown eyes.
He was speaking. A procedure, to make the ringing stop, to make the headaches cease. For some reason she felt like she could trust this man with endless brown eyes whose voice was like velvet.
"Hm? Yes, of course Doctor. I'm willing to give it a try."
The man who smelled like candy and old leather pulled out a golden pocket watch, beginning to swing it in front of her face.
What an odd design.
The girl found herself blinking to clear her eyes, the world felt warm and heavy. She sat on a swing that was set up on a small island that floated in the static, bit by bit more of the land disappeared. But oddly she felt at ease with this. Instead of impending doom she felt a sense of, anticipation; relief. Suddenly she felt a hand lightly touch her back.
"Hello Abigail."
The Doctor? No. No he was too young, and his gawdy golden robe didn't look like anything the Doctor would wear. Yet he smiled just the same, just as calm just as welcoming. What a charming smile. He gave her a light push on the swing, sending her lightly rocking forward and back.
W̴̞͕̰̺̞̻̮͘ͅe̺̱̪̭̜̦̟͢'͍́l̨̮͉̖̺ĺ̫̳͉̖̘̝ͅ ͈̺͟j̵͕̝̖̳̦̙͔͠ų̥̗͔͕̣͎͖̀s͙͈͓̪̤̻̦ṭ̝͚͍̬́͘ ̹͢h̸҉̗̥͉̻͇͓a̴̩̗͝v͠͝͏̤̦e̜̺̼̹̟̩̱͔͟ ͏͍͍̩̕t̺̫͉͈̦o͍͞ͅ ̸̶̦̫͖͈̲͈̯̀ͅ ̢̗̝̞̜͉̤̜̘ͅ ̪̲͎ ̩͟͞ ̺̤͔̭͔̰̕ͅ ̡̪̘͉̯͞ ̡̤̤̫̫̹̬̻̘̝ ̴̩̙͚͉̩̭͠͞ ̰͚̼̤̤̬̙̦ ̵̷̗͇͚̺̲
Static.
"̩͓̗̥̣̭͞Ab̡i͎̪̙̪̥͡g̡͈̲̪̥̙͙̟a̻̰̠ͅi̖̱̰̟͚̳l̷͍̣.͈͕̭͔̘̗̩ ̼̯Y͉̝̳o̫u҉ ̸h̪̱̠̳̳͘a̷̝̠͍̜ͅv̤̯͖̞͓́e̥ ̹̥͎̻̮t̳͍̣̮̝̟o̴̮̝͇͔ ͇̖̻l̼̙͎̠͈i͞s̰̝̞̪͉t̟͇̘͉͍͕ͅe̴̖n͓̥̣͙͖͔͖,̗̩̹̞͟ͅ ̼̯̪̹̠̮i̱͔̱͘t͎͖͝'̧̗̣͈̰̩̮s̰̲͔̻̺͉͚ ͈̰͕̝i̥̘m̶̝̣̞̞̥͓͔p̖͓̰̟̦o̦̠̳͓r̷t͈͎̰͖̘͢a̬n̨̪t̪͓̤̰̞͜ͅͅ ̭͖̱̗͍͢t͎̳h̜at͔ ̮̤y̤̮͕̥ó͇͍̗̹͙ų̣̜̰̺̞̬ ̤̜́d͇͚͉̰̺o̤̣͍.͏ ͙̣͓̯́/̝̫̪Y̮̣̬͉̪̭̗͝o̫̪͓͎̼͚u̺͔͙̱̝͓/̞͔͖̯̹͞ ̘̯̺̮̹̬̦h͏a̢v̮͎̖̝̤͍e̲̭̙ ̣͖t͜o̙̦̳͔̟̳̲ ̘͓͕̩̕b̥re͇̱̱̼̘͟a̟̙̤̳̺͓͔͞k͇̩͖̭ ͕̣̮̪̬̣́ͅy̯̰̲o̠̼͔̹u̖͍ŕ̺̺͍͉̰̱s̷̟̯̪̹̥̰ͅe͝l̴̲f͈̝͍͝ free."
The man handed a stick over to the little girl. And as the swing stopped she picked it up in her hand. As soon as she did it exploded in light, turning into a gilded hand and a half sword made just for her size. Strangely enough it felt light of a feather, perfectly balanced, it moved just as she wished it too. The doctor only smiled on, as if proud.
"My lady?"
As she turned to look she saw him. His eyes were soft, full of concern; dressed in a clean pressed green and black military uniform.
"What do you intend to do with that sword my lady? You need not carry it; I can protect you, we can protect you. Put it down and come to me."
The blonde Amnian extended a hand. She couldn't see his face. Behind him stood an even more imposing knight clad in armor- his torso looked like a bird cage. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder, murmuring some encouragment. But the little girl- she was no hero, she was no fighter, she was no knight. She could not fight this man who looked at her so kindly, so softly. The ringing in her ears was deafening, but even still his voice came through clear. The little girl spoke.
"I, I don't want to hurt you- please, please get out of my head!"
"My lady, I don't wish you any harm. I am here to help."
"I don't want you here anymore! Get out!"
It hurt to speak these words. She could pin point the exact moment when her words hit the man's heart.
"Abigail, we are bound by Fate, Fate brought us together, you cannot fight it."
"This is, my head, my mind, my rules, and I want you, GONE!"
She pushed off her feet, the little girl charged, standing on her own. As she ran at him, the Amnian turned into nothing but black static, meshing with the bird-cage creature behind him into some horrible monster. The fight was in flashes; broken up into fragments.
Jump. Swing. Parry. Roll. Dodge. Thrust.
The little girl sat kneeling upon bloodied grass, her sword impaled into the earth. There was so much blood and yet, no body. As she looked up she saw the static beginning to fade, and bricks beginning to appear over the mosaic slowly, patching up the hole. It was quiet. Still.
Her eyes fell to the field. Slowly the world seemed to be putting itself back together; everything was so calm.
So empty.
Why was she in this field? Where did all this blood come from? What was going on? Everything was in blocks in pieces, frayed apart and missing pieces. Someone, something had fiddled with her head again.
As she cleared her eyes she found herself leaned up against the Doctor, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. She used to wake up to find herself like this before, but it wasn't the Doctor who she slept against. ...No, not it must have been, she couldn't recall anyone else she would have done such with. The Doctor stirred, a tired smile to his expression as he looked to her, his endless eyes staring into hers. It must have been him.
What lovely brown eyes.
The mosaic, she came to notice looked as if it were framed by bent, torn open pieces of metal. As if someone had pried the roof apart to expose the swirling mix of images, colours and manifested emotions. Static seemed to originate from there, seeping through the walls, the floors, the doors, the boxes stacked and piled high. Still it spoke to her, the static. Ever following behind her, whispering sweet nothings to convince her to just,
Let go.
A sharp inhale, she found herself in the 'office' again, sitting on an old beat up couch with many a dubious stain. Across from her was the doctor;
What lovely brown eyes.
He was speaking. A procedure, to make the ringing stop, to make the headaches cease. For some reason she felt like she could trust this man with endless brown eyes whose voice was like velvet.
"Hm? Yes, of course Doctor. I'm willing to give it a try."
The man who smelled like candy and old leather pulled out a golden pocket watch, beginning to swing it in front of her face.
What an odd design.
The girl found herself blinking to clear her eyes, the world felt warm and heavy. She sat on a swing that was set up on a small island that floated in the static, bit by bit more of the land disappeared. But oddly she felt at ease with this. Instead of impending doom she felt a sense of, anticipation; relief. Suddenly she felt a hand lightly touch her back.
"Hello Abigail."
The Doctor? No. No he was too young, and his gawdy golden robe didn't look like anything the Doctor would wear. Yet he smiled just the same, just as calm just as welcoming. What a charming smile. He gave her a light push on the swing, sending her lightly rocking forward and back.
W̴̞͕̰̺̞̻̮͘ͅe̺̱̪̭̜̦̟͢'͍́l̨̮͉̖̺ĺ̫̳͉̖̘̝ͅ ͈̺͟j̵͕̝̖̳̦̙͔͠ų̥̗͔͕̣͎͖̀s͙͈͓̪̤̻̦ṭ̝͚͍̬́͘ ̹͢h̸҉̗̥͉̻͇͓a̴̩̗͝v͠͝͏̤̦e̜̺̼̹̟̩̱͔͟ ͏͍͍̩̕t̺̫͉͈̦o͍͞ͅ ̸̶̦̫͖͈̲͈̯̀ͅ ̢̗̝̞̜͉̤̜̘ͅ ̪̲͎ ̩͟͞ ̺̤͔̭͔̰̕ͅ ̡̪̘͉̯͞ ̡̤̤̫̫̹̬̻̘̝ ̴̩̙͚͉̩̭͠͞ ̰͚̼̤̤̬̙̦ ̵̷̗͇͚̺̲
Static.
"̩͓̗̥̣̭͞Ab̡i͎̪̙̪̥͡g̡͈̲̪̥̙͙̟a̻̰̠ͅi̖̱̰̟͚̳l̷͍̣.͈͕̭͔̘̗̩ ̼̯Y͉̝̳o̫u҉ ̸h̪̱̠̳̳͘a̷̝̠͍̜ͅv̤̯͖̞͓́e̥ ̹̥͎̻̮t̳͍̣̮̝̟o̴̮̝͇͔ ͇̖̻l̼̙͎̠͈i͞s̰̝̞̪͉t̟͇̘͉͍͕ͅe̴̖n͓̥̣͙͖͔͖,̗̩̹̞͟ͅ ̼̯̪̹̠̮i̱͔̱͘t͎͖͝'̧̗̣͈̰̩̮s̰̲͔̻̺͉͚ ͈̰͕̝i̥̘m̶̝̣̞̞̥͓͔p̖͓̰̟̦o̦̠̳͓r̷t͈͎̰͖̘͢a̬n̨̪t̪͓̤̰̞͜ͅͅ ̭͖̱̗͍͢t͎̳h̜at͔ ̮̤y̤̮͕̥ó͇͍̗̹͙ų̣̜̰̺̞̬ ̤̜́d͇͚͉̰̺o̤̣͍.͏ ͙̣͓̯́/̝̫̪Y̮̣̬͉̪̭̗͝o̫̪͓͎̼͚u̺͔͙̱̝͓/̞͔͖̯̹͞ ̘̯̺̮̹̬̦h͏a̢v̮͎̖̝̤͍e̲̭̙ ̣͖t͜o̙̦̳͔̟̳̲ ̘͓͕̩̕b̥re͇̱̱̼̘͟a̟̙̤̳̺͓͔͞k͇̩͖̭ ͕̣̮̪̬̣́ͅy̯̰̲o̠̼͔̹u̖͍ŕ̺̺͍͉̰̱s̷̟̯̪̹̥̰ͅe͝l̴̲f͈̝͍͝ free."
The man handed a stick over to the little girl. And as the swing stopped she picked it up in her hand. As soon as she did it exploded in light, turning into a gilded hand and a half sword made just for her size. Strangely enough it felt light of a feather, perfectly balanced, it moved just as she wished it too. The doctor only smiled on, as if proud.
"My lady?"
As she turned to look she saw him. His eyes were soft, full of concern; dressed in a clean pressed green and black military uniform.
"What do you intend to do with that sword my lady? You need not carry it; I can protect you, we can protect you. Put it down and come to me."
The blonde Amnian extended a hand. She couldn't see his face. Behind him stood an even more imposing knight clad in armor- his torso looked like a bird cage. The doctor put his hand on her shoulder, murmuring some encouragment. But the little girl- she was no hero, she was no fighter, she was no knight. She could not fight this man who looked at her so kindly, so softly. The ringing in her ears was deafening, but even still his voice came through clear. The little girl spoke.
"I, I don't want to hurt you- please, please get out of my head!"
"My lady, I don't wish you any harm. I am here to help."
"I don't want you here anymore! Get out!"
It hurt to speak these words. She could pin point the exact moment when her words hit the man's heart.
"Abigail, we are bound by Fate, Fate brought us together, you cannot fight it."
"This is, my head, my mind, my rules, and I want you, GONE!"
She pushed off her feet, the little girl charged, standing on her own. As she ran at him, the Amnian turned into nothing but black static, meshing with the bird-cage creature behind him into some horrible monster. The fight was in flashes; broken up into fragments.
Jump. Swing. Parry. Roll. Dodge. Thrust.
The little girl sat kneeling upon bloodied grass, her sword impaled into the earth. There was so much blood and yet, no body. As she looked up she saw the static beginning to fade, and bricks beginning to appear over the mosaic slowly, patching up the hole. It was quiet. Still.
Her eyes fell to the field. Slowly the world seemed to be putting itself back together; everything was so calm.
So empty.
Why was she in this field? Where did all this blood come from? What was going on? Everything was in blocks in pieces, frayed apart and missing pieces. Someone, something had fiddled with her head again.
As she cleared her eyes she found herself leaned up against the Doctor, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. She used to wake up to find herself like this before, but it wasn't the Doctor who she slept against. ...No, not it must have been, she couldn't recall anyone else she would have done such with. The Doctor stirred, a tired smile to his expression as he looked to her, his endless eyes staring into hers. It must have been him.
What lovely brown eyes.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
This wasn't right. The little girl began to hurriedly walk onwards, leaving the gilded sword behind in the field as she rushed forward. A doorway appeared where she ran and within moments she was back in the endless hallways. But still something was missing, something was empty- everything was so clean so white so orderly so neat. This wasn't right. Where did it go? What had she lost?
Panicked she ran, looking everywhere for something, anything that might tell her what she had lost. As she tried several doors she found them sealed shut, nothing would budge, not even the knob. She felt herself on the verge of tears
"Aren't you sick of this?"
She turned. Standing in the hallway there was some looming figure, whose features she couldn't make out. She couldn't even tell the colour of their hair.
"Aren't you sick of people playing inside your head? Aren't you sick of not being in control of your own Destiny?"
The little girl just stared. Static briefly, she found herself standing in one of the streets of Cordor. It was night time, alone and dark. What was she doing...? Oh, yes, looking for something. She was certain she had lost something. Despite even her best attempts, she could not recall what it was. With her luck, it was likely a sock or a cloak or maybe one of the rags to polish her hammer with. 'I'll probably realize what it is when I need it most' she told herself, shrugging off the brief lapse of reality as she continued to walk along on her search.
Static.
"Don't give me that look- did that look save you from all of Them? Bah! Pathetic."
Before her she remembered; a blond man charging for her, swooping her up and tossing her frame over his shoulders. Panic, shouting, arguments; yet all the while the Amnian that carried her off remained calm. Though she could not hear herself she heard herself pleading with the man to let her go; she didn't want to go where he was going. She was capable of taking care of herself, without anyone's help.
Then she found herself lying in the same man's arms, though his face kept changing between different characters. The Doctor, the Amnian, Bethany, other faces she did not recognize. She felt so tired, so drained, so weak, so discouraged so... so angry. Why were they doing this to her.
The figure was now in front of her; back in the white hallway again. It took a single step forward, and in that step it was suddenly right in front of her, it's featureless face to hers.
"Don't you want to be free? Don't you want to take what you deserve, own what you've worked for?"
As her eyes focused in she saw herself staring at a beautiful marble floor, her hand atop a scrub brush. Her sleeves were rolled up as were her pants, and she seemed to be in the middle of scrubbing the floors. Warmth rushed to her cheeks as she scrubbed, embarrassed.
"You missed a spot."
A condescending tone, a snide snicker. Turning over her shoulder she saw the blond lanky elf, smug as the woman busily sat to scrubbing the floors of the Temple. A twinge of anger, of outrage in her chest but she let it go with a breath. It wasn't right to behave such against a Brother in the Faith.
Images flashed before her. A green mantle that felt so warm and smelled like.. what was that smell? She saw the cloak fade to dust in her fingers. A Ram was next, as majestic as such creatures can be. However that too faded, disappearing into nothingness.
She felt a finger trace up the side of her jaw, this frustration manifested in humanoid form stood behind her now, whispering in the girl's ear.
"All you have to do is take it. Make them fear your wrath, teach them that your rights will be respected, or they shall learn true fear. You can bring order to your life if you only just..."
More images of the same little girl, now older and mature donning darker armor, polished and cleaned being saluted as she strode down a neat line of similarly dressed crusaders. Green and black banners hung in the air.
A hand slid down the girl's tiny forearm, lightly holding her hand. Firmly, this other hand curled the girl's fingers gently.
"Close your fist."
Tiny fingers clenched as the scared, lost little girl made a fist. Almost immediately she felt, empowered, strengthened. The voice was right. She didn't deserve this treatment, she deserved to know what was going on, to make her own choices, to be treated with respect, with dignity, like a human being. Not some, dying cat. Anger swelled up in her chest. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. These people, all of these people, have been stealing from her, manipulating her; all under the guise they were here to bring aid.
Well no more. No more would she allow herself to be someone else's puppet.
They would learn to fear her name. They would learn their place below her boot.
They will know retribution.
They will know fear.
Panicked she ran, looking everywhere for something, anything that might tell her what she had lost. As she tried several doors she found them sealed shut, nothing would budge, not even the knob. She felt herself on the verge of tears
"Aren't you sick of this?"
She turned. Standing in the hallway there was some looming figure, whose features she couldn't make out. She couldn't even tell the colour of their hair.
"Aren't you sick of people playing inside your head? Aren't you sick of not being in control of your own Destiny?"
The little girl just stared. Static briefly, she found herself standing in one of the streets of Cordor. It was night time, alone and dark. What was she doing...? Oh, yes, looking for something. She was certain she had lost something. Despite even her best attempts, she could not recall what it was. With her luck, it was likely a sock or a cloak or maybe one of the rags to polish her hammer with. 'I'll probably realize what it is when I need it most' she told herself, shrugging off the brief lapse of reality as she continued to walk along on her search.
Static.
"Don't give me that look- did that look save you from all of Them? Bah! Pathetic."
Before her she remembered; a blond man charging for her, swooping her up and tossing her frame over his shoulders. Panic, shouting, arguments; yet all the while the Amnian that carried her off remained calm. Though she could not hear herself she heard herself pleading with the man to let her go; she didn't want to go where he was going. She was capable of taking care of herself, without anyone's help.
Then she found herself lying in the same man's arms, though his face kept changing between different characters. The Doctor, the Amnian, Bethany, other faces she did not recognize. She felt so tired, so drained, so weak, so discouraged so... so angry. Why were they doing this to her.
The figure was now in front of her; back in the white hallway again. It took a single step forward, and in that step it was suddenly right in front of her, it's featureless face to hers.
"Don't you want to be free? Don't you want to take what you deserve, own what you've worked for?"
As her eyes focused in she saw herself staring at a beautiful marble floor, her hand atop a scrub brush. Her sleeves were rolled up as were her pants, and she seemed to be in the middle of scrubbing the floors. Warmth rushed to her cheeks as she scrubbed, embarrassed.
"You missed a spot."
A condescending tone, a snide snicker. Turning over her shoulder she saw the blond lanky elf, smug as the woman busily sat to scrubbing the floors of the Temple. A twinge of anger, of outrage in her chest but she let it go with a breath. It wasn't right to behave such against a Brother in the Faith.
Images flashed before her. A green mantle that felt so warm and smelled like.. what was that smell? She saw the cloak fade to dust in her fingers. A Ram was next, as majestic as such creatures can be. However that too faded, disappearing into nothingness.
She felt a finger trace up the side of her jaw, this frustration manifested in humanoid form stood behind her now, whispering in the girl's ear.
"All you have to do is take it. Make them fear your wrath, teach them that your rights will be respected, or they shall learn true fear. You can bring order to your life if you only just..."
More images of the same little girl, now older and mature donning darker armor, polished and cleaned being saluted as she strode down a neat line of similarly dressed crusaders. Green and black banners hung in the air.
A hand slid down the girl's tiny forearm, lightly holding her hand. Firmly, this other hand curled the girl's fingers gently.
"Close your fist."
Tiny fingers clenched as the scared, lost little girl made a fist. Almost immediately she felt, empowered, strengthened. The voice was right. She didn't deserve this treatment, she deserved to know what was going on, to make her own choices, to be treated with respect, with dignity, like a human being. Not some, dying cat. Anger swelled up in her chest. It wasn't fair, none of this was fair. These people, all of these people, have been stealing from her, manipulating her; all under the guise they were here to bring aid.
Well no more. No more would she allow herself to be someone else's puppet.
They would learn to fear her name. They would learn their place below her boot.
They will know retribution.
They will know fear.
-
Remember when
- Posts: 33
- Joined: Thu Mar 12, 2015 9:25 pm
- Location: The road
Re: Sleep.
Rays of light shone through a small opening in the upper wall. Like gold streaks through the air and just as lovely, dust could be seen dancing in dawn's light. A stark contrast against the cold stone walls of the jail cell, which begetted no such softness or light.
It is there in that cell that the Fallen Knight Abigail sat, shackled to the wall, bloodied and bruised in her final hours. Her hair had been shorn short, and though Tormish Knights boast their honor, there is none to be shown to a traitor to the Cause. Not that Abigail had expected anything less. She was cured, and to their knowledge, at the same time she had had a change in heart of her faith.
They couldn't have something like that just waltzing around, no, it would shake the Faith, plant seeds of doubt. But that is just what she hoped to do. Even now as she faced death for the second time, she was not afraid.
"They simply do not know any better Dame. But they will learn, just as you had."
The words of her companion still echoed in her mind, even at this great distance her trusted adviser could still put her mind at ease. She thought then of all the things she had yet to see, to taste, to experience, and how she would never get to do those things now. She thought of Pelagius and his Tome, she thought of Father Leo and his Tome.
The Fallen Dame thought, and thought, and thought. As really there isn't much else to do when one waits their turn for Judgment. She reassured herself that this was the right choice to make, that Pelagius, Ann, Toryn, even that odd bug man, would be proud of her choice. Willingly she brought herself to trial, not only to protect her family from repercussions of her actions, but because she truly believed that her death would shake the foundation.
All it takes is a little suggestion, a little idea, that something in their perfect world of white marble temples and golden scriptures wasn't so perfect. And after that seed takes hold it will flourish into thought, into breaking down the barriers, into constructing original thought. Perhaps then they could see what she has seen.
But that's all she could hope for. Time seemed to move slowly as dust waltzed through the streaks of sunlight, heralding her time coming soon. A knot weighted in her stomach. Would this be a public affair? Grandiose, a spectacle? Would they try to shake her Faith before a crowd to prove her wrong? Or would she just be dragged down the hall to the room where people tend to not come out of.
Her imagination played out each and every possible scene but they all ended the same. The more she dwelled on it, the more tears welled up in her soft blue eyes. Even crusaders are afraid of the end. Especially when they stand to face it alone.
Heavy metal boots began to make their way down old rickety wooden stairs above.
It was time.
For a brief moment she felt the panic. Maybe if she repented, they would be more forgiving? She could explain this was all a mistake- just an accident, she was a vic-
No.
Stiffening up her lip and cutting back her sobs and panic, Abigail hardened herself. If this was to be the end, she would meet it with the dignity of a Tyrant.
"I am the true, the brave, the unwavering of the Tyrant, and I will /not/ weep in the face of my death."
Easier said then done. It took no small measure of effort to calm her nerves. She thought of some place better, some place far from here.
A picnic atop cliffs overlooking the sea, a rare smile and a genuine peaceful moment.
The sound of the cell door groaning open on it's hinges tore her from her last moments of peace. Abigail couldn't bring herself to look at the soldier about to deliver her to her fate, instead she contemplated their leather moccasins through her black eye.
As they stepped into her enclosure she turned her head to stare at the waltzing specks of dust, and dreamed of trading places, to dance in the dawnlight frozen in time.
The End.
It is there in that cell that the Fallen Knight Abigail sat, shackled to the wall, bloodied and bruised in her final hours. Her hair had been shorn short, and though Tormish Knights boast their honor, there is none to be shown to a traitor to the Cause. Not that Abigail had expected anything less. She was cured, and to their knowledge, at the same time she had had a change in heart of her faith.
They couldn't have something like that just waltzing around, no, it would shake the Faith, plant seeds of doubt. But that is just what she hoped to do. Even now as she faced death for the second time, she was not afraid.
"They simply do not know any better Dame. But they will learn, just as you had."
The words of her companion still echoed in her mind, even at this great distance her trusted adviser could still put her mind at ease. She thought then of all the things she had yet to see, to taste, to experience, and how she would never get to do those things now. She thought of Pelagius and his Tome, she thought of Father Leo and his Tome.
The Fallen Dame thought, and thought, and thought. As really there isn't much else to do when one waits their turn for Judgment. She reassured herself that this was the right choice to make, that Pelagius, Ann, Toryn, even that odd bug man, would be proud of her choice. Willingly she brought herself to trial, not only to protect her family from repercussions of her actions, but because she truly believed that her death would shake the foundation.
All it takes is a little suggestion, a little idea, that something in their perfect world of white marble temples and golden scriptures wasn't so perfect. And after that seed takes hold it will flourish into thought, into breaking down the barriers, into constructing original thought. Perhaps then they could see what she has seen.
But that's all she could hope for. Time seemed to move slowly as dust waltzed through the streaks of sunlight, heralding her time coming soon. A knot weighted in her stomach. Would this be a public affair? Grandiose, a spectacle? Would they try to shake her Faith before a crowd to prove her wrong? Or would she just be dragged down the hall to the room where people tend to not come out of.
Her imagination played out each and every possible scene but they all ended the same. The more she dwelled on it, the more tears welled up in her soft blue eyes. Even crusaders are afraid of the end. Especially when they stand to face it alone.
Heavy metal boots began to make their way down old rickety wooden stairs above.
It was time.
For a brief moment she felt the panic. Maybe if she repented, they would be more forgiving? She could explain this was all a mistake- just an accident, she was a vic-
No.
Stiffening up her lip and cutting back her sobs and panic, Abigail hardened herself. If this was to be the end, she would meet it with the dignity of a Tyrant.
"I am the true, the brave, the unwavering of the Tyrant, and I will /not/ weep in the face of my death."
Easier said then done. It took no small measure of effort to calm her nerves. She thought of some place better, some place far from here.
A picnic atop cliffs overlooking the sea, a rare smile and a genuine peaceful moment.
The sound of the cell door groaning open on it's hinges tore her from her last moments of peace. Abigail couldn't bring herself to look at the soldier about to deliver her to her fate, instead she contemplated their leather moccasins through her black eye.
As they stepped into her enclosure she turned her head to stare at the waltzing specks of dust, and dreamed of trading places, to dance in the dawnlight frozen in time.
The End.