Siren's Summit
01-13-2018, 10:36 AM
At some point, you just give up.
It's too much. The water, the darkness, the fact that you're attacked by a creature as unfair as a fish with arms, and that you'll die here, in the depths, far away from home, and everyone you loved—you stop thrashing. Your wings grow still, but your heart thunders on. Cold and clammy arms are folded around your neck, hugging you tight to the siren's scaled face; teeth are ripping through your muscles, blood trickling into the water, forming red ribbons.
You don't want to die, and somewhere, you don't mean to, either. You just need a moment, two, three, four, five, to simply be. You think, the siren is meant to drown its prey, not slowly eat it alive, but the damn plant keeps you breathing in the dark.
And you wonder what the point is, anyway. You're not sure anyone is trying to help you. It's like you're alone in the middle of the crowd, and no one, aside from the mare throwing out the orbs, seems to give a damn that you've been taken.
Everything seems to slow as bitterness takes hold. The world around you becomes distant. The sounds quieter. You're in the eye of the storm, uncertain of what to do, or where to go.
Light washes over you, so bright you close your eyes; you float in it, wondering if the siren got to your jugular without you noticing, and now killed you.
But as the burning light fades to a pleasant glow you open your eyes, and realize that you're still alive. The sirens are gone. And even though your heart hangs heavy in your chest, it's tinged by that peculiar feeling of things might end up being alright, anyway.
You're still too stunned to move, so you just hang there, until something in the back of your mind kicks in. Thunder rumbles overhead, and you light up with a fresh glow as the flesh and veins knit back together after the siren's attack; not all of it close, but you're not coloring the water around you red at quite the same pace.
You're tempted to remain where you are until someone remembers you exist and comes looking for you, but you don't want to test the limits of the malspira, nor be that childish. But still, in the aftermath of it, you feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. With a sigh, you reconnect with your body, and power yourself to the surface, to the shore, where you step onto the gravel beach—a lonely black shadow, water dripping down. The blood isn't very visible against your dark hairs.
You're not a beacon of hope, you're a vision of something dejected, standing by yourself with a tired, wary expression on your otherwise so expressive face.
It's too much. The water, the darkness, the fact that you're attacked by a creature as unfair as a fish with arms, and that you'll die here, in the depths, far away from home, and everyone you loved—you stop thrashing. Your wings grow still, but your heart thunders on. Cold and clammy arms are folded around your neck, hugging you tight to the siren's scaled face; teeth are ripping through your muscles, blood trickling into the water, forming red ribbons.
You don't want to die, and somewhere, you don't mean to, either. You just need a moment, two, three, four, five, to simply be. You think, the siren is meant to drown its prey, not slowly eat it alive, but the damn plant keeps you breathing in the dark.
And you wonder what the point is, anyway. You're not sure anyone is trying to help you. It's like you're alone in the middle of the crowd, and no one, aside from the mare throwing out the orbs, seems to give a damn that you've been taken.
Everything seems to slow as bitterness takes hold. The world around you becomes distant. The sounds quieter. You're in the eye of the storm, uncertain of what to do, or where to go.
Light washes over you, so bright you close your eyes; you float in it, wondering if the siren got to your jugular without you noticing, and now killed you.
But as the burning light fades to a pleasant glow you open your eyes, and realize that you're still alive. The sirens are gone. And even though your heart hangs heavy in your chest, it's tinged by that peculiar feeling of things might end up being alright, anyway.
You're still too stunned to move, so you just hang there, until something in the back of your mind kicks in. Thunder rumbles overhead, and you light up with a fresh glow as the flesh and veins knit back together after the siren's attack; not all of it close, but you're not coloring the water around you red at quite the same pace.
You're tempted to remain where you are until someone remembers you exist and comes looking for you, but you don't want to test the limits of the malspira, nor be that childish. But still, in the aftermath of it, you feel tears stinging the corners of your eyes. With a sigh, you reconnect with your body, and power yourself to the surface, to the shore, where you step onto the gravel beach—a lonely black shadow, water dripping down. The blood isn't very visible against your dark hairs.
You're not a beacon of hope, you're a vision of something dejected, standing by yourself with a tired, wary expression on your otherwise so expressive face.
