The Portal
06-30-2018, 05:47 PM
beyond visions of wretched smiles and the dread that they've befriended
The claws of the Rift rip into her flesh, feeling like talons piercing through the blackened heart of the pale ghost in the rain. Her laugh breaks into a heavy screech, a shrill sound that could tear into your eardrums and curdle your blood if you were of weaker constitution. "Naughty," she yells, her voice wavering with dissatisfaction at the loss of one of her magics. Her dark eyes swirl around the area with vengeful purpose, intent to get back at the forces. "Take from the weak ones, pretty - not from Miin!"
Yet, the old croon knows she cannot.
The Rift would take as it pleased, and the fallen maiden could do nothing about it.
That did not stop her from screeching into the darkness.
All things considered, the often ravenous Rift did not strip her of much; the rest of her seemed mostly in tact. Still, the tearing of her soul's fabric burned and caused her to writhe forward with an ugly lurch. Miin cannot recall a time that the pretty one had taken something from her. The feeling remained familiar, only due to how disturbing it was to her, but the memory of her last trial remained so far away that she could not remember what had been lost.
Her eyes glaze over as she stumbles toward the trees, placing her impossibly thin frame against the sturdy trunk. Her sides heave and shiver, and quietly amid the falling of the rain, a wailing begins.
Loud, exhausted, and violent, the cries tear through the air and reverberate against the wood. Tears of massive proportion well up from her eyes and blend in with the rain as they fall down. "Cruel, so cruel, pretty."
""
Yet, the old croon knows she cannot.
The Rift would take as it pleased, and the fallen maiden could do nothing about it.
That did not stop her from screeching into the darkness.
All things considered, the often ravenous Rift did not strip her of much; the rest of her seemed mostly in tact. Still, the tearing of her soul's fabric burned and caused her to writhe forward with an ugly lurch. Miin cannot recall a time that the pretty one had taken something from her. The feeling remained familiar, only due to how disturbing it was to her, but the memory of her last trial remained so far away that she could not remember what had been lost.
Her eyes glaze over as she stumbles toward the trees, placing her impossibly thin frame against the sturdy trunk. Her sides heave and shiver, and quietly amid the falling of the rain, a wailing begins.
Loud, exhausted, and violent, the cries tear through the air and reverberate against the wood. Tears of massive proportion well up from her eyes and blend in with the rain as they fall down. "Cruel, so cruel, pretty."
""
miin
