| Subject: Lost but not Forgotten |
Author:
Tyrsis
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Date Posted: 05:39:59 08/13/02 Tue
There comes a certain level of fatigue, at that level the mind sees great things. Hallucinations, dreams while waking, countless things portrayed across one's psyche and poured out into an immeasureable landscape far too advanced for the primitive mind to conquer. Tyrsis' dreamed such now, on the brink of waking and sleeping, she twisted against the tree she had leaned against, not startling at the rough bark scarping away her flesh. The others could be miles from here and she would know nothing of them, too focused on these dreams and a desire to interpret them.
She turned again, a warm trickle of blood sliding earthward, away from heaven as it descended to its point of origin. Soft feathered wings encompassed her, leaving only that thin spot of unprotectedness between their roots, garnet red a deep contrast too the brightness of blood in dirt. Her hand raised, brushing away tears as an unconscious act, fighting sleep and too weary to understand how desperatly she needed it, or how peaceful it would be without a high diety's attention to focus those thoughts on her. The dagger clutched in her other hand, pressed against her stomach, flat to skin. She twisted again, dark mass of curls falling away from her forehead to reveal its blankness, she was not one of those who had been so openly born with her Coat-of-Arms displayed on her forehead. More and mroe Escalvone had not been, in the past years. She pulled her wings tighter around her, near feverish as she fought nearly a week's worth of sleepless nights. When had she lay down? Garnet wings, black in shadow and stale blood in sunlight, folded ungracefully around her, stretching tip to tip above her head before relaxing draped around her. She could no longer help but sleep, even as the dull ache of what had once been an infinity pulsed at her collarbone, telltale of the events transpiring. She had watched them with Damuthca, seen their outrage at his friendship with ones they had named blasphemers and betrayers of their goddess, seen him torn apart for his transgression and remade to serve again. Her protests should have remained silent, the burned-over symbol throbbed, scar tissue ruining an image held dearly by those she loved and had been cast out by. No longer of the Goddess' ilk, they had said. The dagger pressed closer against her stomach, a thin trail of blood escaping from skin gone white with the combination of pressure and metal. She wanted nothing more than to be home right now, even as her mind replayed Damuthca's fall, Dark Angel striking her kindred.
OOC: *blinks several times* Pointless, but fun nonetheless.
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