09-10-2018, 09:30 PM
|| TRIGGER WARNING: attempted rape and self-blame ||
<link href="https://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Cinzel+Decorative:900|Norican" rel="stylesheet"><style type="text/css">.ray6_container {position: relative;z-index: 1;width: 500px;padding: 15px;background: #fff url("https://i.pinimg.com/564x/bd/73/e9/bd73e96a3d62011f24104102516c3b98.jpg");border: 2px solid #332525;box-shadow: 0 0 2em #332525;}.ray6_container p {margin: 0;}.ray6_image {border: none;}.ray6_message {text-align: justify;font: 12px 'Times New Roman', serif;padding: 15px 20px;color: #654949;background: #332525;}.ray6_name {position: absolute; z-index: 3;text-align: center;font: 50px 'Cinzel Decorative', cursive;color: rgba(156, 119, 119, 0.67);padding: 0;width: 200px;top: 390px;left: 170px;border-bottom: 2px solid #654949;}.ray6_quote {text-align: center;font: 16px 'Norican', cursive;color: #9c7777;background: #332525;padding: 10px;}</style><center><div class="ray6_container"><p class="ray6_name">Rey</p><img class="ray6_image" src="https://78.media.tumblr.com/c774f5060fb8971e25f539b442f6f4dd/tumblr_pegg9wsvEQ1smku65o1_540.jpg"><p class="ray6_message">In a moment the dizzy spell winds down and the dark, tumultuous waters clear of silt so I can catch my bearings. I feel sore, blinking into the dingy surroundings, yet altogether complete. Alone in the bitterly cold sea other shapes begin to appear from the black depths: stragglers, the final ones to answer <i>His</i> call. Rooted by curiosity I turn flashing, stone-gray eyes to watch a struggle from below, bearing witness to one lone stallion grappling against a shark.
<i>“Move or die.”</i> I’m reminded, stirring the sleeping bed of Pangea once more as I twist up from a prone position.
Good thing that I have. <i>His</i> voice is there, (everywhere) again and I’m certain that it echoes past my own mind and into the others which <i>He</i> hints are lurking about. <i>“There’s no sense in being alone, or feeble...”</i> I reason, turning gently to view my ripped shoulder (beige muscle hangs ragged at the edges, bobbing along with every step up the sunken shore.) My ‘talents’ are strictly harmless and commonplace. If there are other, much stronger horses here I’d do well to find them - quickly.
But Pangea is stifling in her quiet, deadened flora slick covered in algae and rot. The only color I discern is one that comes from far away, giving false illumination to the outer edges of this place. <i>“Don’t speak, don’t make a sound.”</i> Becomes my mantra, while fear conjures shadows creeping in on all sides the further I pass through the hollow trunks and their exposed roots.
A figure, clearly equine, darts like a shadowy beacon of hope just ahead of me; my slender face and ears both jerk to attention. <b>“Hello?”</b> slips boldly out into the open, where the crushing weight of our liquid world sucks all the resonance right out of it. (Useless, <i>useless</i> dumb girl.) The sound refuses to travel.
Fading, the shape I was certain could be a savior slips away and I’m left to stumble after, increasingly frustrated by the rate at which I travel (slow, slower still.) My surroundings blur, the path once clear fading like too much ink blotted onto a page, each step more encumbered than the last, <i>“Don’t speak, don’t make a sound …”</i> rings in time to the erratic pulse of my heart. The beating organ is frantic, the dirt and stone in my breast sinking towards it as if to stifle the life out of me.
<i>Audibly, the crack of weathered sticks smacking atop one another halts me dead-still.</i>
This quest is losing its initial gleam. I’m scared, <i>I can’t fucking breathe</i>, and still that same clacking brings some nightmare closer to me. I see … soft skin like pale gray linen, hanging loosely over the skeletal remains of a ... horse. A crab scuttles out from one exposed nostril, skittering up to slip into an empty eye socket. No ears, no luscious mane or tail. It moves uninhibited towards me: an unholy abomination.
<i>Arthas</i>, long dead and decomposed, ambling ever closer on bleach-bone stilts that gather no resistance from the watery grave.
Only an imbecile would hesitate and for all my faults, I’m not one to stick around when things sour, so I turn away but he’s faster. Uselessly a scream tears free of my throat, feeling the disgusting grapple where one of his hooves reaches for my thigh and seconds later, where his teeth sink eagerly into the flesh of my hindquarters. He means to take me, (already the other sinewy leg is greedily advancing) and with clarity I realize he will <i>rape me to inevitable death</i> if I don’t do <u>something</u>
Instinctually, my wings unfurl to flap backwards. I catch the mounting corpse in between their structure, freakishly dislodging him enough for me to skirt ahead. Sensibility, direction, <i>purpose</i> evade me - a black that matches these cursed waters spreads over my fur - and I dive for the beach whence I came, enemy hot on my heels. (Swim, swim you useless girl.)
<i>For a moment I’m free, open water ahead of me as a surge of hope rises like bile in my gut, and then his teeth … terrible, terrible … they clamp onto my streaming tail and yank me back.</i>
There’s no quick death in hell for a fornicator. For Arthas, however, there’s the glinting flash of silvery skin just before a waiting shark <i>rips</i> into his middle, inadvertently freeing me to drift through the wake with one lifeless skull still clenched tight to my hair. Carnage or not, fate or fury, I gasp in disbelieving agony while the forgotten pain in my chest wrenches me back to the hell below earth. <i>“Saved by fucking camouflage...”</i> I mourn, numb. There’s no longer an awareness to my descent, just the knowledge that I’m ingressing through Pangea against whatever resolve I had in me before. I’m doubtful sex will ever be the same, surface-side up.
<i>“That’s all you’ve amounted to,”</i> conscious pipes up, <i>“a thing. A speck living on a dot, living on a God’s thumb. A <u>slut</u>”</i> I acknowledge, the years of my fruitless life coming to a crash around me, adding to the discomfort spreading through my organs and bone. All this time I’d avoided it, tried to call it something else and now here it was staring me back in the face. <i>“I deserve to die.”</i>
Apparently not yet, though.
Trailing one bodiless head behind me, I’ve carelessly traversed along <i>His</i> path subdued in shock, shuddering to a weak stop when the combined agony of the dirt, stone, shoulder tear, and bite refuse to be ignored.
Pangea’s epicenter bathes me in a glorious viridian light, (contrasting my sable coat) and I fall prostrate to the sickly, glowing orb.</p><p class="ray6_quote">Wanna step to me better think twice<br>I might look pretty but I'm not that nice</p></div></center>