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  • Beqanna

    COTY

    Assailant -- Year 226

    QOTY

    "But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura


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    The Transformation: Chapter 3
    #3
    <link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Calligraffitti|Coda|Lato|Roboto+Condensed" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.toni_container {position: relative;z-index: 1; background-color: black;width: 550px;border-radius: 280px 283px 0px 0px;box-shadow: 0px 0px 10px 8px black;}.toni_container p {margin: 0;}.toni_image {position:relative;z-index:2;width: 550px; border-radius: 270px 274px 0px 0px;}.toni_gradient {position: relative;z-index: 3;top:-30px;width: 550px;height: 30px;background:background: -ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%, rgba(2,0,1,0.99) 99%, rgba(2,0,1,1) 100%);background: -webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(2,0,1,0.99) 99%,rgba(2,0,1,1) 100%);background: linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(125,185,232,0) 0%,rgba(2,0,1,0.99) 99%,rgba(2,0,1,1) 100%);filter;padding:0px;margin:0px;}.toni_message {position:relative;z-index:0;background-color:#000;text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding-left: 25px; padding-right: 25px;padding-top: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px;;color: #D7D5D6;border-radius: 0px 0px 18px 18px;}.toni_quote {position: relative; z-index: 10000; text-align:center; margin-bottom:15px;color: #2C0C50;font-size:50px;font:40px 'Calligraffitti', cursive;letter-spacing:30px;}</style><center><div class="toni_container"><img class="toni_image" src="https://i.pinimg.com/736x/4d/da/09/4dda093e1240f0d7f82673cf26bf1c33.jpg"><div class="toni_gradient"></div><div class="toni_message">The portal swallows them whole.

    To Casia, the Other Side is but a blur - a blur of unfamiliar faces, of ethereal voices, and of scents far beyond the scope of her wildest imaginings. Before long, even the touch of the Faerie's cool, wintery hand to the sweat-damp purple of her neck begins to feel out of focus. As the world swirls and falters as if she views it as the sun from beneath water, the mare feels her consciousness slip away. What alone remains is a feeling of restlessness.

    ---

    I return, trophy in hand, to my home.

    She becomes dazed immediately by our surroundings, falling into a stupor not brought on by my magicks but useful nonetheless. I doubt a mortal such as she could handle the reality of this realm. From her, my attention swings eagerly to those around us - familiar faces blinking their surprise at my return, signalling that indeed I must be the first apprentice to return from my Pilgrimage. A hot, viscous pride slides down my throat and into my stomach.

    Success.

    <i>You are returned,</i> comes the Matriarch's voice, from all around me. <i>Come now child, and rest. Your Pilgrimage is nearly complete.</i>

    Puzzled, my mouth flutters wordlessly open as the purple figure of my half-century-long lover fades and disappears beside me. The wet heaviness inside my stomach cools without warning, solidifying into a stone and weighing me down to the spot.

    ---

    Years and decades and almost a century pass - or at least, that's how it feels as I await further action on the part of the Matriarch. The weight of cooled dread sticks to my stomach with each dawn, though the dawns happen differently Here - how I could have forgotten, I'm not sure. But somehow, without Casia by my side, the reality of the Fae seems... Fake. I fight the thought, and yet it comes:

    <i>This is not where I belong.</i>

    ---

    <i>Awaken.</i>

    The thought stirs me - but I know it is not to me that the Matriarch speaks.

    I rush to her, though it's the first time I've truly been able to find her - She allows it, I suppose. But as my hands find their familiar place along the warm muscles of her neck, I know it's too late; a drop of ruby blood stains my porcelain fingertip from the injection sight, but that, that is the least of my concerns.

    ---

    <i>Awaken.</i>

    Without hesitation, her eyes open - and for the first time, they See.

    The land around is nondescript, a pleasant gray mass that she doesn't understand and yet simultaneously accepts as real. Of course, the Faeries would reside here: where they are the ones who stand out, no need for anything stunning from their surroundings. A smile quirks on her lips; but then, as the sensation of two hands sends shivers down her spine, it falters.

    <b>"Is it...?"</b>

    <i>"Yes, yes, it's me, I love you, it's me."</i>

    That's the last of the niceties they're allowed; in the next moment, it all changes.

    ---

    With a glimmer that echoes the droplet of blood drying on my fingertip, she changes.

    Not drastically, nor fantastically. Though I expect her shape to change as the morphing takes place,  it does not: she simply shrinks, the purple draining from her as if a hand is placed around her delicate throat. That weight in my stomach shrivels; but just as I expect it to disappear, it bursts into flames, scalding me from within.

    Before me, crystalline and shivering, the being I once was stands. Her eyes - the same, a deep and rich golden-brown - blink up at me; innocent, trusting.

    <b>"What's wrong?"</b> A baby's voice, warbling and fresh and <i>terrifying.</i> <b>"Why - why are you looking at me like that?"</b>

    ---

    From behind her veil, the Matriarch smiles.

    <i>You did not think it would be so easy, did you?</I>

    Her apprentice, fingers trembling and nearly transparent in her faintness, stumbles.

    <I>Of course not. Now, listen - you have worked to Ascend for...

    Years.

    Decades.

    Centuries.

    You have felt the beginnings of power weight the palm of your hand, warm the linings of your stomach; and you said to yourself: </i>it feels good.<i>

    Sometimes, my child, it does not feel good.</i>

    Her child blinks back tears, looking above her into the obscure gray as if, there, she might find that which so tortured her guts.

    The foal, the Offering; she mewls, crying out for her lover.

    From behind her veil, the Matriarch's fingers curl and clench. This is her favourite part.

    <i>Sometimes - the Sacrifice is nearly more than you can bear.</i>

    ---

    And then, although the voice grinds to a halt, I know what I must do:

    I must kill my lover.

    ---

    In the depths of frail, shivering filly, something too is directionlessly discovered: a splitting sensation, the seams of her remade being <i>popping</i> apart.

    ---

    <i>You have 164 seconds to complete your tasks, my loves. Kill, or be killed; Ascend, or die.</i>

    ---

    As the final seams burst, so too does Casia: just as the timer begins, the tiny white foal duplicates tenfold, surrounding her opponent in her shivering frailty as a thousand voices warble their plea:

    <b>"Please, Faerie, I love you - don't kill me,"</b>

    <i>I love you!
    Don't kill me! I love you!
    I love you! Don't kill me! I love you!
    Don't kill me! I love you! Don't kill me! I love you!</i>

    ---

    <i>How sad,</i> the Matriarch mused very happily to herself, <i>that her weakness is Winter.</i></br></br><div class="toni_quote">casia</div> </div></div></center>
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    Messages In This Thread
    The Transformation: Chapter 3 - by Neo - 07-01-2018, 08:18 PM
    RE: The Transformation: Chapter 3 - by Virgo - 07-08-2018, 11:54 PM
    RE: The Transformation: Chapter 3 - by Casia - 07-10-2018, 10:52 PM
    RE: The Transformation: Chapter 3 - by Sabra - 07-12-2018, 12:43 PM
    RE: The Transformation: Chapter 3 - by Jesper - 07-14-2018, 07:42 AM



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