she held on to all she had left of him [open thread]
Who: Gemma [implored] and anybody.
What: Wandering around outside the cathedral.
Where: Cathedral.
When: A few hours after the meteor's impact.
Cold. Dark. Malicious. All were accurate words when used to describe the place that Gemma had so unceremoniously been thrown to, but they were not particularly pleasing words. Novel. Exhilarating. Peculiar. Those were the much more appealing aspects, and the aspects that she decided to concentrate on as she quietly weaved her way through the trees. She did not know if anyone would be upset that she was going outside, though several people had insisted that she should stay indoors. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, as she hadn’t seen much more than one path in these woods and the inside of the warehouse where she had spent the night.
Besides, she wanted to know whether or not she had any magic from the realms left flowing through her veins. Yes, she had bound it to herself, to her very soul, but the spark that usually accompanied that burst of raw power was dormant, and she longed to let it flare back to life.
One step and then another. Nothing. No restless spirits, no wayward corpses. No wraiths in white. No creatures attempting to sacrifice her for a mere taste of magical authority. And most upsetting of all, no flicker of magic. A strong wind swept by, and she tugged her midnight blue cloak closer around her shoulders, procuring what little warmth she had managed to create. The illusionist wandered around the edge of the clearing, verdant eyes flicking from one mottled brown tree trunk to the next.
She stopped near a small grove of poppies, the sight of the blood-red petals making her stomach churn. Azreal. The Poppy Warriors.
"We’re lost..."
"Aren’t we all, poppet? Aren’t we all."
Eyes fluttering shut, she reached up to grip her crescent eye necklace. She didn’t want this. This wasn’t what she had come for. Her fingers tightened around the amulet with each passing moment. The door. She wanted the door of light so she could leave this place and go back home, where she would be adored, loved, needed. Even if it was only a dream, she wanted to be lost in that fantasy.
"Foolish poppet. What did you promise-omise them?"
No, she hadn’t promised anything. It was a gift-the bow and arrow had been a gift, given to her out of good faith. Faith she did not know if she could return, especially since she was no longer in her own world. Cawing, cackling laughter. Lies, they chanted. Lies, lies, lies. It was all lies-everything anyone had ever told her, ever given her. Falling, falling through herself, down into the world, so deep that she couldn’t see where she was going or where she would end.
"Such spirit. 'Twill be almost a shame to break you. Almost."
"No!" Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at the moss-covered ground. On her knees, one hand in the dirt, she felt a sharp pain in her palm. Lifting her hand from her throat, she saw that she had gripped the pendant there tight enough to split her skin and draw blood. Face pale, she scrambled to her feet, hastily grabbing a corner of her cloak and yanking it from her shoulders, the tie nearly snapping from around her neck. She pressed the velvety material to the oozing gash, breathing through her mouth to calm her nerves. It hadn’t been a vision, but it had been absurdly close to one, and she had been far more unprepared than she could have thought possible.
What: Wandering around outside the cathedral.
Where: Cathedral.
When: A few hours after the meteor's impact.
Cold. Dark. Malicious. All were accurate words when used to describe the place that Gemma had so unceremoniously been thrown to, but they were not particularly pleasing words. Novel. Exhilarating. Peculiar. Those were the much more appealing aspects, and the aspects that she decided to concentrate on as she quietly weaved her way through the trees. She did not know if anyone would be upset that she was going outside, though several people had insisted that she should stay indoors. Curiosity had gotten the best of her, as she hadn’t seen much more than one path in these woods and the inside of the warehouse where she had spent the night.
Besides, she wanted to know whether or not she had any magic from the realms left flowing through her veins. Yes, she had bound it to herself, to her very soul, but the spark that usually accompanied that burst of raw power was dormant, and she longed to let it flare back to life.
One step and then another. Nothing. No restless spirits, no wayward corpses. No wraiths in white. No creatures attempting to sacrifice her for a mere taste of magical authority. And most upsetting of all, no flicker of magic. A strong wind swept by, and she tugged her midnight blue cloak closer around her shoulders, procuring what little warmth she had managed to create. The illusionist wandered around the edge of the clearing, verdant eyes flicking from one mottled brown tree trunk to the next.
She stopped near a small grove of poppies, the sight of the blood-red petals making her stomach churn. Azreal. The Poppy Warriors.
"We’re lost..."
"Aren’t we all, poppet? Aren’t we all."
Eyes fluttering shut, she reached up to grip her crescent eye necklace. She didn’t want this. This wasn’t what she had come for. Her fingers tightened around the amulet with each passing moment. The door. She wanted the door of light so she could leave this place and go back home, where she would be adored, loved, needed. Even if it was only a dream, she wanted to be lost in that fantasy.
"Foolish poppet. What did you promise-omise them?"
No, she hadn’t promised anything. It was a gift-the bow and arrow had been a gift, given to her out of good faith. Faith she did not know if she could return, especially since she was no longer in her own world. Cawing, cackling laughter. Lies, they chanted. Lies, lies, lies. It was all lies-everything anyone had ever told her, ever given her. Falling, falling through herself, down into the world, so deep that she couldn’t see where she was going or where she would end.
"Such spirit. 'Twill be almost a shame to break you. Almost."
"No!" Her eyes snapped open, and she found herself staring at the moss-covered ground. On her knees, one hand in the dirt, she felt a sharp pain in her palm. Lifting her hand from her throat, she saw that she had gripped the pendant there tight enough to split her skin and draw blood. Face pale, she scrambled to her feet, hastily grabbing a corner of her cloak and yanking it from her shoulders, the tie nearly snapping from around her neck. She pressed the velvety material to the oozing gash, breathing through her mouth to calm her nerves. It hadn’t been a vision, but it had been absurdly close to one, and she had been far more unprepared than she could have thought possible.