Post by Mirabelle Bonnet on Jul 11, 2016 14:15:25 GMT -5
She walked an unfamiliar landscape, fog rolling over hills that time itself had forgotten. Petrified trees dotted the landscape, their gnarled branches reaching – no, clawing at the night sky as though to bring it into their midst. Tombstones ancient enough that they no longer bore any names threatened to topple her as she navigated the terrain.
Her breathing came in ragged gasps, a slender arm around her broken ribs. Gone was the grime of the Rukongai, but the pain remained. The face that had left her alone, the man who had pretended to be Hibiki, haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there ready to give her another dose of fear. Another reason to be afraid.
She could not rest, or perhaps wouldn’t. She had no indication as to where she was or how she got there, she simply was. Her attire was that of a life passed long ago, black robes billowing out around her as though they meant to swallow her whole.
There was no moon, no sun, and no stars. In short, no source of light and yet the world was bathed in a pale blue hue. Shadows danced in her peripheral constantly, making her journey look something like a strange ballet with the way she twirled trying to avoid their grasping hands. A weight hung at her side, constantly banging itself on its surroundings. Another testament to the life she used to live.
Time moved at a crawl in this world. There were no minutes, no seconds, only eternity. She walked endless miles, enough that her feet began to bleed. Her blood soaked the soil, the only evidence as to how far she had come.
Sweat poured out of her skin, the once billowing clothes now stuck firmly to her pale skin. Exhaustion bared down on her like a ton of bricks, her limbs moved in metronomic rhythm as she trudged through the rolling hills.
Psstchhh
Ting
A sound echoed over the hills, just over the horizon from where she stood. It was nearly painful after so long in the silence. In its wake, even her feet scrambling to propel her in the direction of the sound made no noise. Gentle plumes of silt trailed in the aftermath of her rampage over the freshly tilled soil.
At first glimpse from atop the hills crest, she thought all that lay before her was more of the same; more hills, more tombstones, more petrified trees. What she found was quite the contrary. A figure, the first solid one she’d seen, stood knee deep in a hole. In its hand was a shovel and she could only watch as it dug further into the ground.
It was a macabre scene to behold, the figure standing in the grave while the shadows that had once pursued her moved to circle an object next to the grave. They were a mob, gangly limbs all clamoring to claim whatever it was. The figure seemed to snarl something to them and they backed off to form a semicircle around the grave.
The gentle, spongy give of the dirt gave way to slick sturdiness of cobblestone as she made her way down the hill, her bare feet leaving crimson smears on the dark stone. As she moved closer to the grave, the temperature seemed to drop, the fog condensing to heavy drops of dew on the thick grass.
She paused briefly outside the shadows, contemplating if she should go any further, but she didn’t come this far only to give up her first chance at finding answers. Pushing passed the tangled limbs of the shadowy figures; she forced herself to the center of the gathering. She could see, now, that the figure was a woman. Her form was shapely, curves in all the right places, but there was something about her that sent a shiver down one’s spine.
Something caught her eye before she could seek the woman’s face. The woman had thrown a body into the grave. A length of hair was still caught in the weeds and roots just outside the hole. Closer inspection of the corpse unveiled pale skin that would have been beautiful if it weren’t marred by cracks that spider webbed their way over every expanse of visible flesh. Where there should have been a face there was a mask, radiating a noxious gas even as the corporeal figure flung dirt into the hole to cover it.
What began as mild unease turned into full on horror as she watched the figure in the grave spasm and writhe beneath the thin veil of dirt. Every so often a limb would protrude from the soil only to be smacked by the flat of the shovel until it returned from whence it came.
A ginger step backward and a twig gave way beneath her foot. The crackling was enough to gain the attention of the woman tending the grave. With the wave of her hand she issued the shadows around her toward her frightened foe. Like an inky web, the shadows clung to the frail form of the Songbird as she tried desperately to claw her way out from its confines much like the trees tried futilely to claw at the abysmal sky.
“Wretch, however did you get in here?” the Spider quipped at the Songbird, her form gliding gracefully toward her web. Her voice was gravely, and yet it held a distinct familiarity the Songbird couldn’t quite place. Much like a long forgotten memory, the Songbird looked up into the night sky and let a melancholy tune escape her lips before falling victim to the Spider and her web.
[WC: 942][Complete Thread]
Her breathing came in ragged gasps, a slender arm around her broken ribs. Gone was the grime of the Rukongai, but the pain remained. The face that had left her alone, the man who had pretended to be Hibiki, haunted her. Every time she closed her eyes, he was there ready to give her another dose of fear. Another reason to be afraid.
She could not rest, or perhaps wouldn’t. She had no indication as to where she was or how she got there, she simply was. Her attire was that of a life passed long ago, black robes billowing out around her as though they meant to swallow her whole.
There was no moon, no sun, and no stars. In short, no source of light and yet the world was bathed in a pale blue hue. Shadows danced in her peripheral constantly, making her journey look something like a strange ballet with the way she twirled trying to avoid their grasping hands. A weight hung at her side, constantly banging itself on its surroundings. Another testament to the life she used to live.
Time moved at a crawl in this world. There were no minutes, no seconds, only eternity. She walked endless miles, enough that her feet began to bleed. Her blood soaked the soil, the only evidence as to how far she had come.
Sweat poured out of her skin, the once billowing clothes now stuck firmly to her pale skin. Exhaustion bared down on her like a ton of bricks, her limbs moved in metronomic rhythm as she trudged through the rolling hills.
Psstchhh
Ting
A sound echoed over the hills, just over the horizon from where she stood. It was nearly painful after so long in the silence. In its wake, even her feet scrambling to propel her in the direction of the sound made no noise. Gentle plumes of silt trailed in the aftermath of her rampage over the freshly tilled soil.
At first glimpse from atop the hills crest, she thought all that lay before her was more of the same; more hills, more tombstones, more petrified trees. What she found was quite the contrary. A figure, the first solid one she’d seen, stood knee deep in a hole. In its hand was a shovel and she could only watch as it dug further into the ground.
It was a macabre scene to behold, the figure standing in the grave while the shadows that had once pursued her moved to circle an object next to the grave. They were a mob, gangly limbs all clamoring to claim whatever it was. The figure seemed to snarl something to them and they backed off to form a semicircle around the grave.
The gentle, spongy give of the dirt gave way to slick sturdiness of cobblestone as she made her way down the hill, her bare feet leaving crimson smears on the dark stone. As she moved closer to the grave, the temperature seemed to drop, the fog condensing to heavy drops of dew on the thick grass.
She paused briefly outside the shadows, contemplating if she should go any further, but she didn’t come this far only to give up her first chance at finding answers. Pushing passed the tangled limbs of the shadowy figures; she forced herself to the center of the gathering. She could see, now, that the figure was a woman. Her form was shapely, curves in all the right places, but there was something about her that sent a shiver down one’s spine.
Something caught her eye before she could seek the woman’s face. The woman had thrown a body into the grave. A length of hair was still caught in the weeds and roots just outside the hole. Closer inspection of the corpse unveiled pale skin that would have been beautiful if it weren’t marred by cracks that spider webbed their way over every expanse of visible flesh. Where there should have been a face there was a mask, radiating a noxious gas even as the corporeal figure flung dirt into the hole to cover it.
What began as mild unease turned into full on horror as she watched the figure in the grave spasm and writhe beneath the thin veil of dirt. Every so often a limb would protrude from the soil only to be smacked by the flat of the shovel until it returned from whence it came.
A ginger step backward and a twig gave way beneath her foot. The crackling was enough to gain the attention of the woman tending the grave. With the wave of her hand she issued the shadows around her toward her frightened foe. Like an inky web, the shadows clung to the frail form of the Songbird as she tried desperately to claw her way out from its confines much like the trees tried futilely to claw at the abysmal sky.
“Wretch, however did you get in here?” the Spider quipped at the Songbird, her form gliding gracefully toward her web. Her voice was gravely, and yet it held a distinct familiarity the Songbird couldn’t quite place. Much like a long forgotten memory, the Songbird looked up into the night sky and let a melancholy tune escape her lips before falling victim to the Spider and her web.
[WC: 942][Complete Thread]
