Post by Mirabelle Bonnet on Dec 30, 2016 15:57:22 GMT -5
The Songbird found herself in a cage not of her own making. Time moved at a crawl in her confines as what little light there was was artificial and offered little means otherwise to tell of the passing hours. Her ears strained for something, anything, to hear that wasn't the deafening silence of her own soul but to no avail. She could feel eyes on her, watching every move she made. The idea made her uneasy. They'd yet to speak a word to her, even in the face of what had landed her where she was. They were watching, waiting. Ever present, yet always silent.
Closing her eyes, Mirabelle allowed herself to fall into a state of meditation. She felt the blackness surround her, wrapping her in an embrace that chilled her to the bone. It seemed to expand around her endlessly to make up for the lack of sound. As she felt her feet touch down her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes opened once more.
It was normally here that she'd have met with Beldame, the worn circus ground beneath her feet and the scent of decaying flora permeating the air. What greeted her now was not the sight that'd become so familiar to her. The door to her cage lay across the hallway, shattered from some force long since passed. Dust had readily settled into the creases of her uniform's fabric from what appeared to be years of solitary confinement. Her muscles and bones ached as she stretched her body from its sitting state.
She was somewhat shocked to see the building in a state of disrepair as she made her way out of the building. Her stockinged feet slapped against the broken tiles and wooden boards of the halls as she navigated the debris littered floor. Fresh streaks of red began to mark her trek through the terrain as she moved, covering up the browned and otherwise aged signs of those who may have come before her. As she made her way along the rather barren streets outside the compound, Mirabelle couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. The wet slapping of her bleeding feet on the cold stone of the Seireitei's streets echoed on the walls around her was just enough cover for someone to sneak around. Maybe it was just paranoia, or maybe the Witch had broken free. She wasn't sure which was the case but from what she could see, the iron pillars of the bakudo stood tall.
"Hello?" the question came out rather small at first, her voice just barley audible. Moonlight bathed her already pale skin in a blue hue as she stopped at a crossing, slowly turning herself to look down every road in search of the eyes she felt burning themselves into her. The next question came out louder, more agitated, as she found no source for her feelings. "Hello!?"
The street that lead south bore but one lonely wanderer to answer her call. What began a faint silhouette grew into a ghastly apparition as the thing shuffled closer toward the shinigami. Blood and what could only assumed to be pus seemingly glued the tattered remnants of clothing to the shambling corpse. She couldn't bear to look its face, what little she'd been able to gain of it from her peripheral was more than enough to tell her that it was one of her comrades in the Third. While the features she'd been able to glean were defining, she was shocked to take note that they were missing their eyes. A bloodied finger pressed against the wall seemed to be the soul's guide as she watched them walk passed and make the corner only after they'd walked too far and had to back track until their finger again met the smooth stone.
The trail left behind by the wanderer's finger wasn't the only one on the wall. Countless others seemed to, for lack of a better term, decorate the otherwise barren walls. While most were simple bloody lines that marked where the being had gone, others did seem to be depictions of sorts. They were rather crude, she had to say, but she could tell they were meant to be a sort of macabre mural. The one closest to her was that of a flaming tent. Following one of the trails from that mural to the next, the Songbird found a depiction of a world shattered.
Fitting, she thought, that he Witch had her underlings, puppets, what-have-you, leave a record of the events of their lives together. She was sure that somewhere else in this rundown city there'd be murals of their happier times spent together. She made a mental note to find them and destroy them, if she could. But for now, she had a purpose to the visit.
"Come out." the command was simple. She'd grown tired of waiting and the introductions, as well as other niceties, could be dealt with at a later date. She didn't know how long she had.
[WC: 835][TWC: 835]
Closing her eyes, Mirabelle allowed herself to fall into a state of meditation. She felt the blackness surround her, wrapping her in an embrace that chilled her to the bone. It seemed to expand around her endlessly to make up for the lack of sound. As she felt her feet touch down her eyelashes fluttered as her eyes opened once more.
It was normally here that she'd have met with Beldame, the worn circus ground beneath her feet and the scent of decaying flora permeating the air. What greeted her now was not the sight that'd become so familiar to her. The door to her cage lay across the hallway, shattered from some force long since passed. Dust had readily settled into the creases of her uniform's fabric from what appeared to be years of solitary confinement. Her muscles and bones ached as she stretched her body from its sitting state.
She was somewhat shocked to see the building in a state of disrepair as she made her way out of the building. Her stockinged feet slapped against the broken tiles and wooden boards of the halls as she navigated the debris littered floor. Fresh streaks of red began to mark her trek through the terrain as she moved, covering up the browned and otherwise aged signs of those who may have come before her. As she made her way along the rather barren streets outside the compound, Mirabelle couldn't shake the feeling she was being watched. The wet slapping of her bleeding feet on the cold stone of the Seireitei's streets echoed on the walls around her was just enough cover for someone to sneak around. Maybe it was just paranoia, or maybe the Witch had broken free. She wasn't sure which was the case but from what she could see, the iron pillars of the bakudo stood tall.
"Hello?" the question came out rather small at first, her voice just barley audible. Moonlight bathed her already pale skin in a blue hue as she stopped at a crossing, slowly turning herself to look down every road in search of the eyes she felt burning themselves into her. The next question came out louder, more agitated, as she found no source for her feelings. "Hello!?"
The street that lead south bore but one lonely wanderer to answer her call. What began a faint silhouette grew into a ghastly apparition as the thing shuffled closer toward the shinigami. Blood and what could only assumed to be pus seemingly glued the tattered remnants of clothing to the shambling corpse. She couldn't bear to look its face, what little she'd been able to gain of it from her peripheral was more than enough to tell her that it was one of her comrades in the Third. While the features she'd been able to glean were defining, she was shocked to take note that they were missing their eyes. A bloodied finger pressed against the wall seemed to be the soul's guide as she watched them walk passed and make the corner only after they'd walked too far and had to back track until their finger again met the smooth stone.
The trail left behind by the wanderer's finger wasn't the only one on the wall. Countless others seemed to, for lack of a better term, decorate the otherwise barren walls. While most were simple bloody lines that marked where the being had gone, others did seem to be depictions of sorts. They were rather crude, she had to say, but she could tell they were meant to be a sort of macabre mural. The one closest to her was that of a flaming tent. Following one of the trails from that mural to the next, the Songbird found a depiction of a world shattered.
Fitting, she thought, that he Witch had her underlings, puppets, what-have-you, leave a record of the events of their lives together. She was sure that somewhere else in this rundown city there'd be murals of their happier times spent together. She made a mental note to find them and destroy them, if she could. But for now, she had a purpose to the visit.
"Come out." the command was simple. She'd grown tired of waiting and the introductions, as well as other niceties, could be dealt with at a later date. She didn't know how long she had.
[WC: 835][TWC: 835]
