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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


    -- and death i think is no parenthesis (any)
    #1
    i tried to be your picture perfect girl,

    but you were in your own fantasy world.

    Elysha had not been out in the world much. Or, more aptly, at all. Born of an angel and a magician, with a devil as her counterpart - she was lost in the world. Her father, Eight, cares about very little at all - including most any of his children. So it was peculiar that for some reason, Eight had taken Elysha and frozen her in time. He suspended her in between the living and the dead, void of thought, emotion, and the sense of passing time. Why? She would most likely never know (it’s rare for Eight to explain any of his actions, really). But there she stayed - in a dark and quiet limbo of the dark magician’s doing - unaware of the decades that slipped by her as she slept in a dreamless state.
    And then, she awoke.
    She gasped - inhaling deeply as her eyes shot open. Bleary, she blinked a few times, clearing the decades of sleep from her eyes. She found herself laying in a small grove of autumnal trees, her body curled upon a bed of soft pine needles and the soft call of birds in her ears. Dusk settled in soundlessly around her, coating the land around her in wavering shadows.
    Disoriented, she tried to shake the lifting fog from her mind. What was the last moment she could remember? Whose face was the last she had seen? She closed her eyes, her brow furrowing with the attempt to dredge up something from the grey film of her mind. But nothing clear came to the forefront, just the dark face of a man with a horn atop his head, surrounded by a flash of bright light - and even that vision was fading fast.
    Panic immediately began to bubble up from the pit of her stomach as she came to the heavy realization that she could remember nothing from before. A blank slate stretched in her mind - an unknowing history stretching out behind her. This couldn’t be happening, this must be a dream, some horrid nightmare where ghouls would soon be reaching out of the dark before her.
    Startled with this thought, she quickly scrambled to get her legs under her, the dusk chasing shadows at her heels. Her eyes rolled with fear, her legs splayed and her head careening left and right to take in her unfamiliar surroundings. Who knew what could be out here - while the immediate grove she was in seemed safe, the trees beyond looked like a cavernous mouth of teeth.
    Okay - step one, figure out where the hell she was and how to get out of here.
    ELYSHA
    e i g h t x m o o s e
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    #2

    The darkness of a warm autumn night blanketed the forest. His red-gold coat was clammy and moist, and the gentle warmth around him had no effect on the chill that shuddered through his body. Rivulets of sweat streaked down his withers and barrelled ribs. His breath came out uneven and strained. He was either fevered, exhausted, or both.

    Demons slithered through the shadows. There was a musty odor he couldn't seem to rid from his nostrils. Rustling foliage masked the sound of his steps and his unsteady heartbeat throbbed in his ears. His focus was shot, as it often was of late, and he knew he needed to remedy it. He feared he was losing his mind a little at a time. Haunted by the face of his dead child, she seemed to chase him to this place. She followed him everywhere. A lone tear betrayed his strength, melding with a track of sweat down his cheek. He uttered a low growl. At least it had the decency to slip away in fear.

    Nettles and debris were swept in a burst of action just west of him. His head swiveled toward the sound and he bared his teeth menacingly. Without hesitation, he angled towards it, tensed and ready, muscles coiled for action. Solid steps paced him forward in an easy, steady gait. Self-loathing cut his temper short, and he seemed to always be ready for a battle. It was his fault she died, afterall. And it hurt like hell. And pissed him off.

    The line of trees began to thin out, and he glanced a figure through them as he drew closer. Pale tones. Defensive posture. Mare. Fearful. Somewhere deep within him, a shadow of himself stirred just out of his reach, like a chained dragon waking from the memory of flight. At one time he would bravely aid the lost or oppressed without a second thought, like some stupid knight in shining armor. But he knew better now. Protection meant attachment. And attachment meant pain. Because he'd fail them, and they'd die. They always died. His mate, his child, his family.

    He huffed and snorted, and turned his body to walk away. Let them sort their own damn lives out, he'd only cause more damage. But the beast within him rumbled, and he found his nose once again headed in the direction of the figure. He glared and pinned his ears, wishing he had a reflection to stomp all over, but continued forward. As a bay dun, his face blackened to a dark brown, and his warmed amber eyes were a slight contrast to the darkness around them. Espresso locks were plastered to his sweaty hide.

    He halted at a distance he deemed would feel safe to a skittish creature. Or, safe-ish. He supposed he didn't look the friendliest sort, but it couldn't be helped in his current state. Perhaps one day he would heal from his own atrocities. Although he despised himself, he didn't wish to upset the fearful mare further. In an uncharacteristic slip of uncertainty, he glanced around and shifted his weight. He tried to clear his throat but only managed to pull a dry raspy cough from his airways. Rolling his eyes at his amazing successes in calming her thus far, he spoke as gently as he could in a low voice.

    "What ails you." Like some arrogant idiot, he managed to make it sound more as an abrupt command than a question. Could he not manage anything to come out civil anymore? What the hell happened to that soft heart his passed mate once described to him?

    Ainlif
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    #3
    i tried to be your picture perfect girl,
    but you were in your own fantasy world.
    Demons seem to follow us all. Most all of us, anyway. They are tricky little things, hell bent on stalking you in the dampened dark until they edge close enough to sink into your skin. You can’t run from them, can you? It’s hard to turn off what’s inside your head – it’s hard to turn from the only truths you know. Elysha, though, knows very little truth. She knows she is here – in this unknown wooden cove, with the dark closing on her like a demon. She knew no other truth, but the here and now – each moment that stretched before her would be the newest certainty she held.
    For all her panic – Elysha was not very attentive to her surroundings. You would think, that upon scrambling up from the softened ground, that she would use her rolling eyes and twisting ears to take in what was around her. But the thing about panic is that it grips you tight – like most high emotions – and it clenches every part inside you. There is nothing left inside of you to think clearly, to talk yourself down, to find a means to the end. No, there is only the hard crush of your heart against your rib cage, the roiling of your blood inside your ears, the fragmented thoughts of your mind.
    So when Ainlif approaches- she is not prepared. (Surprise, surprise- she doesn’t seem prepared for much of anything of late). His voice stretches across the cove, breaking the barrier of heightened horror that wracked her mind. What ails you. No, it wasn’t a question, there was no up curve of his voice, no lingering curiosity. It was a statement, like a drawl of disinterest – like Ainlif was a playground monitor, checking to make sure that the kiddos were alright.
    Now, this could go two ways. One, Elysha thought, was that this man was yet another threat – another wave of danger that the ever creeping darkness could bring. He appeared from nowhere, and by the looks of him was in some sort of state himself – a sheen of sweat among his coat and a force of breath through his nostrils. Could it be frenzied fury? A battlepath to blood lust? Could he simply be looking for someone smaller to pick on? Elysha was small. She was very small in this big world.
    Or he could be a lifeline, a gift from the gods, a beam of light to guide her way from whatever hellish thing got her in this mess in the first place. Elysha ceased her unneeded antics of flashing the whites of her eyes and whirling her head about (not that it had helped her anyway). Startled, she places her feet properly, her body tensing, her eyes wide but no longer rolling. He was steps away, a tentative space between them – but Elysha did not know how fast a monster could strike.
    She looks at him for a long moment – weighing her option to respond (although he could easily close the distance and harm her) or to flee (just equally as possible to catch her, anyway). Elysha really didn’t think she had many options, here.
    “I. I... I don’t know where I am.” Her voice was a treble, dipping and diving with uncertainty. Perhaps it was not best to tell a monster that she was lost – a little golden girl against a wolf. But desperate times called for desperate measures. “I just w-wo…woke up here.”
    ELYSHA
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    #4
    OOC: Holy crap he wrote a book, I'm so sorry x.x

    He couldn't believe the tone he had taken. Was his own voice acting in mutiny now, too, along with his mind? Perhaps his self-imposed isolation had been far too long. It was like hearing a stranger's voice forming the words.

    Ainlif tilted his head as she planted her feet more firmly beneath her, his hard gaze following the movement carefully. Her muscles were tensed and ready for flight if the need should arise. She was no doubt prepared to do just that if he overstepped some specific boundary of safety she had erected within her mind. He'd have to tread carefully. Well, he would if he gave a damn. Did he? He wasn't sure; that particular battle still raged on in his subconscious, ignored for the time being.

    She hadn't responded yet, considering him. She probably doubted his intentions. She was wise to. He wasn't too sure of them, himself. Her eyes took in the sight of him, all of him. He felt oddly uneasy under her gaze, like she could see into his soul. Some kind of angel peering through a microscope at the wee lesser beings of the world, stripping away their masks and inspecting them for who they were deep down, laying bare their mistakes and ill deeds. His mistakes and ill deeds. He suddenly felt vulnerable under her scrutiny, and it gripped his chest in a painful vise. His body stiffened.

    His ears flipped back and his stare hardened. He threw up reinforcements to the metaphoric walls within him. Here she was probably fearing for her life, and yet he felt like he was the one in the most danger here.

    "I don't know where I am. I just woke up here."
    She stammered uncertainly, her voice wavering. He felt a little safer some how with the confirmation that he was the danger in her mind, the unpredictable element. He couldn't let her grasp how she was effecting him thus far. What the hell was wrong with him, anyway? His mourning in isolation had seriously screwed with his mind, clearly. He should've booted his own rear end much sooner.

    Part of him felt the need to help her, someone obviously in need of assistance. But the other, louder part of him screamed for him to run and get the hell away from her. It was best that way. It was safer for both of them. And then there she was; the haunting image of his daughter. A guilty conscience manifested. She stood next to the mare; just standing and staring at him accusingly. His mouth went dry, and he tossed his head down as a rasping cough dragged roughly through him. It sounded so odd, like the roar of a much different animal; an animal in pain.

    Not here, Kinley, not now, he thought desperately. His throat ached with the lump of heartache that formed there. He dared not show his pain or the woman would witness his insanity now and flee. Would that be a good thing or a bad thing? He didn't want to consider what that question meant, as if now maybe he suddenly cared what others thought of him. He ducked his head and his face pinched. Perhaps Kinley was here to make him atone for his sins. Maybe all he had to do was help this mare and he'd be free. He just wanted to be free of her; free of the heartbreak he had to endure each time she appeared to him. He could do this.

    Ainlif took deep stabilizing breaths, wheezing softly. The sweat blanketing him felt congealed as the air began to cool, preparing for winter. It felt thick and sticky against his skin, and he suddenly felt very much in need of a dip. It had absolutely nothing to do with the living girl and what she thought of his appearance, he was sure. He took a moment to consider her words again. She didn't know where she was and she had just woken up here. Was it possible she was a sleepwalker maybe? She couldn't live too far away then if that was the case. If so, maybe he wasn't as crazy as he thought. He certainly didn't sleepwalk. Damn, that was rude.

    So consumed in his little panic attack, he had no idea if she was even still standing there. He was so set to avoid her gaze that he didn't even check, didn't want to. He didn't want to see what expression she would have at his madness, were she still near. If she had stayed and followed him, did that make her mad too? He wasn't sure. He didn't know her at all but somehow it didn't feel fair to even think that way about her. He had no idea what she went through, maybe it was more than simple sleepwalking.

    Without sparing even a glance, he turned back the way he had come, head still lowered in shame of his past transgressions and the lack of confidence that seemed to have taken over him. He had just passed some sort of shallow creek not too many miles out, but hadn't felt this dirty at the time. He would go there and rinse off. And take her too, if she was still around. Then maybe he'd figure out who she was and where she was from. Perhaps try to point her in the right direction if he knew it.

    "Come," he tossed impassively over his shoulder at the shadows behind him. "I need water, and you could probably use some too." Then he began walking, not allowing himself to look for her, but listening intently for the sounds of her following and trying to ignore that involuntary hopeful feeling that was creeping up on him. Why did he care, anyway?

    Ainlif
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