i will face god and walk backward into hell; round III (closed, edited)

[Wayra]

If Wayra had the heart to make the sound, even ironically, she would have laughed. She could have laughed forever at her hubris. She had thought she was capable of fighting back, of doing something other than sobbing on the floor. A fool, she was a damn fool.

They were dead, and she had watched them die.

Wayra couldn’t believe it. Part of her refused to believe it. And yet…she had been there, she had seen it. Her stomach roiled and Wayra kicked her legs against the stone floor of the cell. She hurt, deep in her gut she hurt, as if the hellhounds had torn into her, rather than everyone she loved.

“Mom.” She whispered like a prayer.

“Dad.” Her voice cracked.

“Nebibi.” She didn’t say her sister’s name so much as howl it, scream it, like some deranged, wounded animal. With great, heaving strength Wayra lifted her body from the ground and hurled herself at the bars of her cage. She struck them again and again with her body, screaming and wailing as she did so. The physical pain dulled some of the emotional trauma that stripped her soul bare.

It took her a great while to calm down, and she only managed it because her body was exhausted, bruised from her senseless battering. Her screaming had left her like a balloon devoid of air. It was then that he appeared, when all the strength had left her. She sagged awkwardly against the wall of the her cell.

“You may choose,” he told her, as if it were a great kindness.
“Fire, or ice? Pick now, or I’ll pick for you. And I doubt you’ll like my pick.” Wayra didn’t even consider not picking. It never crossed her mind to defy him. He had done the worst thing she could imagine, worse even than her wildest dreams. He had not batted an eye. No, her spirit was still with the hellhounds, deep within their stomachs. Wayra sniffed. It was not a hard choice. She felt raw, torn apart. The anger and pain boiled her blood and scorched her soul. She was fire. She needed ice. Ice to numb the pain, ice to ease the burning.

“I choose ice.” She whispered. Unbidden, unwanted, a poem rose to her mind.

But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.

“It will suffice.” Again, she whispered. The stallion smiled, so slowly that Wayra closed her eyes so she would not see its completion. That smile, it reminded her of the hounds, yet somehow it was worse. It was cold, and cruel, with all the hounds ferocity and none of their frenzy. It was like ice its self.

When Wayra opened her eyes she gasped. She was home! Suddenly, she was aware of spring grass beneath her feet, the smell of pine. Wayra almost sagged to her knees. Silent, hot tears streaked down her cheeks.

She was home.

Suddenly, Wayra realized that she had never considered the Chamber home until this very moment. But, now she knew deep in her soul that it was. The girl closed her eyes. She was so overwhelmed that sight was too stimulating. She couldn’t stand to see the green, green grass or the blue, blue sky. The trees were too beautiful, the Chamber too perfect. Had all this been a dream? Suddenly, hope flared in her breast. Could they be alive? Her eyes flew open, her feet moved to run, when suddenly, she was not alone.

That boy, Erebor was standing before her. Wayra shook her head frantically. How had she missed him? Suddenly, a chill raced up her spine. She had been here before, in this very spot once before. And he, Erebor, had been right there as well, standing just as he was now. Wayra’s breath came faster, she felt as if she would scream, but when she opened her mouth to do so something else fell out. Her own voice, silky, teasing, smooth and a little flirty.

“Is this a private party or can anyone join?” She hadn’t meant to say those words, her brain hadn’t said those words, but her mouth did. Her eyes, the only part of her body she could move, nearly rolled back in her head with fear. He was doing this. He must be, her stallion tormentor. The strange, gray god who knew her thoughts and fears and could extract her memories like marbles from a bag.

Tears slipped out of Wayra’s eyes, but she couldn’t turn away from the young man, from Erebor. She couldn’t take so much as one step away. He turned to her, just as he had then.

“I'm never one to turn down company.” Wayra’s eyes grew pitiful and sad. Dear, sweet boy. She remembered this meeting. How happy she had been then. Of course, she hadn’t known that she was happy. She had her whole life before her then, and she had been too stupid to see the beauty of it. In sheer frustration, Wayra screamed inside her head. RUN! But, of course, she did not.

Before Wayra, or Erebor could say another word an average looking stallion appeared before them. His name was Set, though Wayra hadn’t known it then and didn’t know it now. He smiled cheerily at the pair of them, his happy expression belying his cryptic words.

“It’s funny, how secrets attract one another.” Wayra hadn’t known what he had meant then, and now, as she had then, she shook her head in confusion, though his words had not come as a surprise this time around. She heard her own words float to her ears, and Wayra realized she was speaking again, play acting this scene once more.

“Secrets? I’m sorry, I can’t imagine what you mean —” Wayra knew what was coming, though she hardly had time to prepare for it. The black stallion flung a wave of magic at her, and Wayra was knocked clear off her feet, flinging her towards the frozen lake behind her. The ice in the lake was jagged and thick. Spikes stuck up near the bank where it had cracked and refrozen. The shards pushed up at odd angles, and in some places, were thick as small tree branches. Wayra felt her stomach lurch and drop, and she screamed in surprise though she had been expecting it. In the next instant, Erebor would melt the ice, as he had then. She would crash into a cold, put not frozen lake. She would then splash to the shore, sputtering and cursing, mad as hell but unharmed.

This time, that’s not what happened. Instead of saving her, as he had done, Erebor slipped into the chasm that Set had opened up at his feet. Wayra screamed again, but this time the scream was new, of the present, rather than the past. This time she screamed in fresh fear of the ice that was below her.

When she hit it felt like the world shattered around her. She felt like the center of a sphere that had exploded outwards, bits and pieces flying off into the abyss. She moaned, low and long, though she did not hurt. She did not feel anything. Her body felt suspended, though she was aware of the ice beneath her. Her moan was replaced by a gasp, then even that failed her. Her breath hitched and Wayra began suddenly, acutely aware of an unbelievable pain. The pain was too great to scream. She whimpered, and tried to sob, though she couldn’t put the necessary force behind it. Something bubbled at her lips, like hot, metallic spittle. Wayra slowly realized it was blood. Again, bits of that poem floated to her mind.

But if it had to perish twice,
Ice is great, and would suffice.
 
It almost came as a relief, to know that this was the end. With another, barely audible groan, she sagged against the shards of ice that were driven clean through her heart.

It was then, when she was limp and defeated, that he appeared. Her gray god.

“Does it cool your agony, Wayra?” She closed her eyes, but when she did she saw the hounds, and the discarded shells of her family. Her lids fluttered back open, and she looked into his cool, untroubled gaze.

“Is that what your heart needs? Ice to numb its pain?” She tried to nod, but she found she could barely wiggle her head. But yes, he understood none the less. She wanted the ice, wanted to die on it and see her family again. The gray stallion looked down on her with scorn.

“It is time you realized, little girl, that you cannot die of a broken heart.” He laughed then,  maniacally off pitch with the icy mood around them.

“Every winter gives way to spring, and every spring gives way to summer.” He paused then, and it seemed almost instructive, as if he were teaching a young child an important lesson.

“It’s spring now, but the ice will melt, Wayra, come summer.” He laughed again and disappeared without any more fanfare.

Around her, the world began to move again. Erebor argued with Set. Wayra tried in vain to get their attention, yet if they could hear her neither responded. It seemed that they had forgotten the little blue girl. Eventually they left, and that day turned to night. In the beginning, Wayra tried to struggle, tried to rise, but if she moved so much as a muscle the shard through her heart sent shocking pain radiating through her body, as did each breath. She soon lost the energy even to cry.


Around her the world moved, just as it always had. If she didn’t move, and in between breaths, the sharp pain was replaced by a bone numbing ache. That day turned into another, and another, until a week had past.

When Wayra didn’t hurt she hungered, but eventually that pain died away, replaced instead by a gnawing as if ice had pierced her gut as well. Perhaps it had. Around her, enough blood pooled to fill a whole body. But, just as the horses that passed took no notice of her, they noticed the blood not at all.

That week turned into a month, and that month into two. A few passed by her clearing, but never her father. If he was alive he wasn’t coming by. Wayra came to accept that she would stay forever on that frozen lake. She would become as apart of the Chamber as Atrox’s heart, or the burning tree. Except nobody would see Wayra. She would know them all, but none would know her.

She had always wanted to belong, to feel at home, and now she was home, though as nothing more than a silent ghost, run through by the Chamber its self. Finally, though she had given up home that it would, the air around Wayra began to warm. She, herself, never lost the feeling of bone deep chill.  Soon, the days themselves were warm, and the impossibly thick ice of the pond began to crack. The shard that pierced Wayra began to melt.

Finally, under a sky as perfect as a dream, the ice beneath her gave way, and Wayra slipped beneath the water.

The lake was deep, and she drifted to the bottom. Though she had not starved, or bled out, Wayra did drown. She didn’t drown dramatically, with thrashing, kicking and gasping. She hurt too much for that. She took an experimental breath, and as the water rushed in to fill her lungs, she felt a twinge, though it was not like the pain she had come to know these past months.

When her broken heart stilled, Wayra smiled. At last. At last, her frozen heart could rest.

As her vision was going dim, he appeared again, the stallion, at the bottom of her watery grave.

“A gift.” He said.

“For the girl who wanted to die of a broken heart.” Her skin was numb now, but she saw the blaze of light appear on her chest. A circle, pierced through with a stake. His brand for her.