In spite of a warning voice that comes in the night/And repeats, repeats in my ear
Who: Jeb and Az
Where: Their Room, Palace
When: January 2nd, 1 am
What: A nightmare and its aftermath
She could not move. The electrical impulse for her hand to lift seemed to short out somewhere along the way, her fingers on that hand did not even twitch. The fear was choking off her air supply, except that her breathing never faltered. That caught her attention, she was panicking, fear overriding every bit of her thoughts. And there was no physical reaction, at all.
Her heartbeat was a steady, sure beat. Her breathing was even, not even a single hitch, despite her rising panic. Although she wanted to move, wanted to look around to see where she was, her dark eyes could not tear away from the scene before her.
She knew the feeling of icy cold spreading over her was all in her mind, because she had not moved bodily
even a hair’s breadth.
Before, she had not been sure where she was, now she knew, and desperately she wanted to get away. Without even needing to look around, she knew that the claustrophobia inducing dark walls of the Tower rose around her. Silvery scrollwork of Ancient letters would decorate the wall to left, emerald lines to the right. This was a room only She was able to enter, others would be struck unconscious in an instant by the wards on the threshold. It was the Records Room, where all the recordings were kept.
There was a large blank space on the floor, or rather there was when there were no recordings playing. She stood at the edge, a silent observer, one who wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
Sound poured from the devices imbedded in the surrounding walls. She knew this from experience, had heard the screams and cries over and over. Still, nothing reached her ears, something that would have mad her eyes widen and her fists clench as her heart thumped in pure, unadulterated fear. If she had been able to move.
In the recording, he paused, his head cocking to the side. A smug grin crossed his face as his slate gray eyes bore into her. He had seen the recordings himself, knew She watched them. Got off on that fact, attempted to use it as foreplay, a segue to get into her bed. Of course, she was in control, she called him to her room. He was not allowed to invite himself.
Zero stepped forward again, and she wanted to shout out for him to stop, or even just close her eyes. Something. Instead, she was powerless, watching in silent horror as his fingers began to leisurely unbuckle his belt. Vividly recognize the unhurried, and frankly relaxed, way he was moving.
“How many times have you seen these scenes, Child?” That horrible creaky and oddly deep voice, that just vibrated with bottle evil, whispered in her ear. “How many lives have you seen destroyed before your eyes, my Azkadellia?”
Az came awake with a sob, the hiss of the Witch’s voice still in her head. She scrambled out of bed, out of Jeb’s arms in a desperate rush. Part of her was still stuck in her memories, it had not been a dream conjured by her own imagination, but one of the many memories she tried so hard to forget. If he was woken by her sudden and violent attempt to outrun the reflection of her own fear and panic in that nameless woman’s eyes. If he said anything, she did not hear it, all she could hear was an echo of the Witch’s voice in her ears.
Her hand did not touch the door handle as she ran to the bathroom, but in her panicked state the magic within her slammed the door shut behind her. And turned the lock. Sobs clogged her throat, leaving her gasping for air between them as they racked her body. Nausea, sparked by what she had seen, twisted in her belly. All too soon she was emptying the contents of her stomach into the nearby toilet, falling to her knees.
When all that remained was the acidic bite of bile on her tongue, she collapsed against the side of the tub, out of direct sight from the door. Az pulled her bare legs in against her chest, her arms around them. She set her forehead on her knees and wept.
Where: Their Room, Palace
When: January 2nd, 1 am
What: A nightmare and its aftermath
She could not move. The electrical impulse for her hand to lift seemed to short out somewhere along the way, her fingers on that hand did not even twitch. The fear was choking off her air supply, except that her breathing never faltered. That caught her attention, she was panicking, fear overriding every bit of her thoughts. And there was no physical reaction, at all.
Her heartbeat was a steady, sure beat. Her breathing was even, not even a single hitch, despite her rising panic. Although she wanted to move, wanted to look around to see where she was, her dark eyes could not tear away from the scene before her.
She knew the feeling of icy cold spreading over her was all in her mind, because she had not moved bodily
even a hair’s breadth.
Before, she had not been sure where she was, now she knew, and desperately she wanted to get away. Without even needing to look around, she knew that the claustrophobia inducing dark walls of the Tower rose around her. Silvery scrollwork of Ancient letters would decorate the wall to left, emerald lines to the right. This was a room only She was able to enter, others would be struck unconscious in an instant by the wards on the threshold. It was the Records Room, where all the recordings were kept.
There was a large blank space on the floor, or rather there was when there were no recordings playing. She stood at the edge, a silent observer, one who wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
Sound poured from the devices imbedded in the surrounding walls. She knew this from experience, had heard the screams and cries over and over. Still, nothing reached her ears, something that would have mad her eyes widen and her fists clench as her heart thumped in pure, unadulterated fear. If she had been able to move.
In the recording, he paused, his head cocking to the side. A smug grin crossed his face as his slate gray eyes bore into her. He had seen the recordings himself, knew She watched them. Got off on that fact, attempted to use it as foreplay, a segue to get into her bed. Of course, she was in control, she called him to her room. He was not allowed to invite himself.
Zero stepped forward again, and she wanted to shout out for him to stop, or even just close her eyes. Something. Instead, she was powerless, watching in silent horror as his fingers began to leisurely unbuckle his belt. Vividly recognize the unhurried, and frankly relaxed, way he was moving.
“How many times have you seen these scenes, Child?” That horrible creaky and oddly deep voice, that just vibrated with bottle evil, whispered in her ear. “How many lives have you seen destroyed before your eyes, my Azkadellia?”
Az came awake with a sob, the hiss of the Witch’s voice still in her head. She scrambled out of bed, out of Jeb’s arms in a desperate rush. Part of her was still stuck in her memories, it had not been a dream conjured by her own imagination, but one of the many memories she tried so hard to forget. If he was woken by her sudden and violent attempt to outrun the reflection of her own fear and panic in that nameless woman’s eyes. If he said anything, she did not hear it, all she could hear was an echo of the Witch’s voice in her ears.
Her hand did not touch the door handle as she ran to the bathroom, but in her panicked state the magic within her slammed the door shut behind her. And turned the lock. Sobs clogged her throat, leaving her gasping for air between them as they racked her body. Nausea, sparked by what she had seen, twisted in her belly. All too soon she was emptying the contents of her stomach into the nearby toilet, falling to her knees.
When all that remained was the acidic bite of bile on her tongue, she collapsed against the side of the tub, out of direct sight from the door. Az pulled her bare legs in against her chest, her arms around them. She set her forehead on her knees and wept.