10-19-2018, 02:26 PM
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She ducks her head beneath the water when the wind comes to sweep the fog away in a single, violent gust. Under the ocean it is warm and quiet and so delightfully peaceful in comparison to the wild world above. She considers leaving this foolish game behind in favor of fraternizing with the sea turtles or exploring the coral reefs she's only ever looked at from above. When she turns her head to look out to the deepest water, a strange and heavy longing rises in her heart. It tugs at her soul the same way the current does her body.
There is something out there, somewhere deep that has never seen the sun.
It calls to her.
North does not look away from the deeps until a shadow falls across her face. The monsters are somehow walking across the water now, a dozen pumpkin-headed figures with knives in their shadow hands. She watches curiously, strangely not very afraid. She feels untouchable here...
Until a hand descends with shocking speed, breaking through the ice-crusted water, and opens the side of her face with a knife. She shrieks and the sound cuts through the water. The waves heighten in what seems like approval, like mother frothing <i>yes, child, yes.</i>
North can taste her own blood as it thickens the water around her. It has a strange effect, emboldening and enraging her. She bares her sharp teeth with a hiss, feeling less and less herself. Salt water pours into her wound, replacing the blood that streams out of it. The magic in her blood hones her into something fierce. Here and now she is a god. She stares at the stupid pumpkin faces above her, twisted by the water and moonlight between them, and they make her so, so, unbelievably <i>angry</i>.
In an instant her song changes from a lure to a fishhook. She wants to jab that fishhook through their ears, into their empty pumpkin skulls. With all her soul and all her magic, she screams.
They crouch in attempt to cover their ears, but hers is not a sound carried by the air. There is no escaping it-- you strap yourself to the mast, as sailors once did, and endure the song, or else give yourself to the mercy of the deep, dark sea.
The thing that makes North who she is, that silver flame of wit and pacifism, she can feel it growing smaller and smaller. It becomes all but swallowed by the dark magic in her veins. When she speaks, it is not her own voice she hears. "<b>Come closer, fuckers. You're playing <i>my</i> game now.</b>"
One of the pumpkins throws himself into the sea, still clutching his triangle ears. She is on him in an instant, sinking her teeth into a skinny dark leg and tugging it sharply underwater with a strength she did not know she had. They twirl together downward, North biting down hard and shaking violently.
It takes less then a minute. When she is finished, a pumpkin head bobs idly, almost peacefully, to the surface. A tattered black body follows in a cloud of inky blood. North <i>screams</i> again, a terrible sound, and watches the pumpkins that remain. She has forgotten the tricks, the treats, the prizes. She has forgotten herself entirely to the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
It is a violent coming of age.
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
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<font face="Crimson " color="#000000" size="1px">
She ducks her head beneath the water when the wind comes to sweep the fog away in a single, violent gust. Under the ocean it is warm and quiet and so delightfully peaceful in comparison to the wild world above. She considers leaving this foolish game behind in favor of fraternizing with the sea turtles or exploring the coral reefs she's only ever looked at from above. When she turns her head to look out to the deepest water, a strange and heavy longing rises in her heart. It tugs at her soul the same way the current does her body.
There is something out there, somewhere deep that has never seen the sun.
It calls to her.
North does not look away from the deeps until a shadow falls across her face. The monsters are somehow walking across the water now, a dozen pumpkin-headed figures with knives in their shadow hands. She watches curiously, strangely not very afraid. She feels untouchable here...
Until a hand descends with shocking speed, breaking through the ice-crusted water, and opens the side of her face with a knife. She shrieks and the sound cuts through the water. The waves heighten in what seems like approval, like mother frothing <i>yes, child, yes.</i>
North can taste her own blood as it thickens the water around her. It has a strange effect, emboldening and enraging her. She bares her sharp teeth with a hiss, feeling less and less herself. Salt water pours into her wound, replacing the blood that streams out of it. The magic in her blood hones her into something fierce. Here and now she is a god. She stares at the stupid pumpkin faces above her, twisted by the water and moonlight between them, and they make her so, so, unbelievably <i>angry</i>.
In an instant her song changes from a lure to a fishhook. She wants to jab that fishhook through their ears, into their empty pumpkin skulls. With all her soul and all her magic, she screams.
They crouch in attempt to cover their ears, but hers is not a sound carried by the air. There is no escaping it-- you strap yourself to the mast, as sailors once did, and endure the song, or else give yourself to the mercy of the deep, dark sea.
The thing that makes North who she is, that silver flame of wit and pacifism, she can feel it growing smaller and smaller. It becomes all but swallowed by the dark magic in her veins. When she speaks, it is not her own voice she hears. "<b>Come closer, fuckers. You're playing <i>my</i> game now.</b>"
One of the pumpkins throws himself into the sea, still clutching his triangle ears. She is on him in an instant, sinking her teeth into a skinny dark leg and tugging it sharply underwater with a strength she did not know she had. They twirl together downward, North biting down hard and shaking violently.
It takes less then a minute. When she is finished, a pumpkin head bobs idly, almost peacefully, to the surface. A tattered black body follows in a cloud of inky blood. North <i>screams</i> again, a terrible sound, and watches the pumpkins that remain. She has forgotten the tricks, the treats, the prizes. She has forgotten herself entirely to the metallic taste of blood in her mouth.
It is a violent coming of age.
<font size="5px">N O R T H</font>
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