(no subject)
She had disappeared from Milliways into exile and imprisonment, but not willingly. Blodwen had fought every step of the way, struggling and swearing even as she spit both promise and curse at her tormentors.
(hear me now and remember-- if it takes me to death and beyond, no matter what, I will find a way back, I swear it, and then you will pay such price as will leave you weeping)
All for naught, or so it would appear. Powerless in her mortality, helpless in her fury, she had been swallowed alive into the abyss within the golem.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I AM BIGGER ON THE INSIDE THAN OUT, the monstrous clay thing had roared, and it proves all too true. Her shrieks of rage and pain echo uselessly across the heartless emptiness of unyielding space through which she cannot move. A barren place this is indeed, she finds, a prison devoid of anything and everything save for her immobile self-- and for the light, for no comfort will be shown her, no hint of soothing, familiar darkness is to be permitted, oh no; not here. Instead, searing white light surrounds her, an impossible, unnatural brilliance which blinds her eyes and scorches her frail mortal flesh.
She screams in rage which soon turns to anguish, screams until the soft musical voice cracks and grows hoarse, screams until the agony from her ruined throat is just one more burning pain. Even then she does not stop. Blodwen screams until the broken sounds she makes pass beyond hoarseness and are lost, until at last she screams herself silent and sinks into tormented misery, waiting in numbness for the end to come.
It is some time before she realizes that death would have been too easy an escape to be allowed her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
All of that was more than a year ago.
The days blur first into weeks and then into months, but Blodwen remains trapped in her prison, mortal still and yet undying.
As a result, there is nothing left now of what once was a pleasant prettiness, nothing that remains of beauty; there is very little left of her at all, in fact. Blodwen's form is shriveled with starvation and thirst, her skin stretched over angles and corners of bone, her eyes hollow in their sockets and the bleached dry straw of her hair hanging lank from her skull in limp, dead locks.
Her mind, however, remains damnably clear.
So does her hatred.
Whether it's her own nature or another aspect of this cell that keeps her from descending into madness doesn't matter; Blodwen takes advantage of it anyway. She keeps despair at bay by nurturing rage in its place, cursing her enemies with each tortured breath and planning revenge with every beat of blood through her withered body.
She is so deeply lost within her own poisonous dreams that she almost doesn't notice when the space around her shudders.
(hear me now and remember-- if it takes me to death and beyond, no matter what, I will find a way back, I swear it, and then you will pay such price as will leave you weeping)
All for naught, or so it would appear. Powerless in her mortality, helpless in her fury, she had been swallowed alive into the abyss within the golem.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I AM BIGGER ON THE INSIDE THAN OUT, the monstrous clay thing had roared, and it proves all too true. Her shrieks of rage and pain echo uselessly across the heartless emptiness of unyielding space through which she cannot move. A barren place this is indeed, she finds, a prison devoid of anything and everything save for her immobile self-- and for the light, for no comfort will be shown her, no hint of soothing, familiar darkness is to be permitted, oh no; not here. Instead, searing white light surrounds her, an impossible, unnatural brilliance which blinds her eyes and scorches her frail mortal flesh.
She screams in rage which soon turns to anguish, screams until the soft musical voice cracks and grows hoarse, screams until the agony from her ruined throat is just one more burning pain. Even then she does not stop. Blodwen screams until the broken sounds she makes pass beyond hoarseness and are lost, until at last she screams herself silent and sinks into tormented misery, waiting in numbness for the end to come.
It is some time before she realizes that death would have been too easy an escape to be allowed her.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
All of that was more than a year ago.
The days blur first into weeks and then into months, but Blodwen remains trapped in her prison, mortal still and yet undying.
As a result, there is nothing left now of what once was a pleasant prettiness, nothing that remains of beauty; there is very little left of her at all, in fact. Blodwen's form is shriveled with starvation and thirst, her skin stretched over angles and corners of bone, her eyes hollow in their sockets and the bleached dry straw of her hair hanging lank from her skull in limp, dead locks.
Her mind, however, remains damnably clear.
So does her hatred.
Whether it's her own nature or another aspect of this cell that keeps her from descending into madness doesn't matter; Blodwen takes advantage of it anyway. She keeps despair at bay by nurturing rage in its place, cursing her enemies with each tortured breath and planning revenge with every beat of blood through her withered body.
She is so deeply lost within her own poisonous dreams that she almost doesn't notice when the space around her shudders.