. (siri) wrote in emillion, @ 2014-03-22 22:33:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, !narrative, siri d'albis |
WHO: Siri d'Albis
WHEN: Backdated to this evening.
WHERE: Mages Tower.
WHAT: Dreaming.
STATUS: Complete
No. Siri bolts awake in what she assumes to be her bed, inside what she believes to be her room. Her throat is sore, always is after waking up from nightmares and she double checks the room to make sure there is nothing there(it doesn't matter, there is always something there). Breathing down her neck, fingers ghosting along her the nape of her neck, downward to curl in the divots of her spine. Still, she slips out of bed and steps on Earth and grass, dried and brittle, nothing like dew-damp leaves in Kerwon. No! The breeze brushes her hair, tangling and obscuring her view briefly, the world before fragmented and torn asunder. Siri lifts trembling fingers to watch it unfold, running while each stepped is shadowed by something much greater than its Keeper. Dirt and fire in each step, scorching the earth and marking its path. ‘It is where you belong. Adored. Loved.’ There is no love here despite those promises, only an explosion of violence and insanity that threatened to engulf the cloaked figure (they were doomed, the prophetess already knew— — but they still hoped). No The ground broke, like puzzle pieces being shaken from their box, leaving eternity below and above. Only a thin column remained between infinity and reality, a tenuous link that could be easily torn down with a swift blow of this woken beast. ‘Would you like to be placed upon a pedestal?’ Siri has nothing to hold but air (no anchors, no rope, nothing) but she maintains her balance, arms out as she uses the momentum to tip forward more firmly onto the pedestal. It senses her intrusion: trembles and shakes, the figure has no face but she has trespassed into their dream; this someone who saw her as flesh and bone, Hume and breakable. "This is not where you belong." (Siri couldn’t agree more). A shove and she has lost her footing, tumbling off into the darkness below. Dirt in her mouth, rocks in her chest (can’t breathe, burning ache with every scream that tries to escape). Hell is waiting, hungry and burning; the fire already licking her skin as it threatens to consume what is rightly his. She hits cool stone at the end. Siri shudders, back at the tower, her ribcage threatening to give under the weight of her beating heart. Her world is askew, and her shoulder sore from the fall off the bed. She swears she can still taste the dirt. |