11-19-2021, 04:01 PM
im prefacing by apologizing for writing literally 1,000 words about a fake horse being in a black void
@Carnage
Ryatah
She has never done well being left on her own, but to be alone in this infinite void has bred an entirely different kind of madness in her.
The fear and panic still came in waves like the most unwanted tide, but the way that they wash over the inescapable numbness is almost a relief. It serves as a reminder that she has not entirely evaporated into nothing, that there is still a bit of her soul clinging to what it can.
That maybe there is still a light at the end of this endlessly dark, god forsaken black hole of a tunnel.
It’s the hallucinations that she can’t handle. The way their faces flash before her as if they are really there, the way their voices sound so close she thinks she could have felt their breath on her skin. Mostly they are a mere glimpse, something that flickers in and out so fast she knows it couldn’t have been real—usually familiar yellow eyes and the haunting echo of his laugh, though sometimes she sees wine-red eyes set against storm-cloud gray, and that vision brings with it a hope that quickly shatters into despondency as the fragments of her broken reality settle back into place.
Because if anyone could find her it would be Carnage, and she thinks he would have been here by now if he had any intent on coming.
She isn’t sure which is worse: the idea that he knows she is here and has chosen to leave her, or the idea that she is so far removed that not even he can find her.
So as the time passes in this strange void—years packed into mere days and months—she builds her own worlds and delusions, and numbly waits for the day that this vast nothingness swallows her entirely. Waits for the day when she will no longer be haunted by phantom light stretching through the dark and ghostly visions, or familiar voices saying her name for the millionth time, and she almost does not even look at them.
She isn’t surprised at all that her delusional mind is trying to convince her that he is the light that will drag her from this darkness, because she thinks she must be one of the last few in all the different dimensions that will always see him as a savior.
But their voices sound different, lacking the clarity the hallucinations tended to have (how ironic that it was the fake voices that sounded more real). Instead it was as if the dark was trying to smother the sound of them, to keep her from looking up and finding the pair of them, and it is the strangeness of this that causes her to turn her head. She does not respond initially, staring unblinking and confused, because the two of them here together did not make any sense at all. It isn’t real, she reminds herself, even though Carnage is eerily calm and poised as always, and Agetta is just as confused as she is. It isn’t real, because even if anyone was coming for her the odds of it being the two of them together didn’t seem likely.
She only registers it is real when a look of sudden comprehension dawns across Agetta’s face and all at once she is trying to wrench herself away from Carnage, but it doesn’t matter because he is already reaching for her. He grabs her in a way that implies he is irritated with her and even though a tug of fear hooks in her gut she cannot bring herself to care because he is here and he is real.
When they are back on the mountain the air feels like a shock to her lungs, and though her body is seemingly whole there is an almost fresh looking wound marred across her chest; no longer a gaping hole but still angry and bloodstained and a reminder of what Gale had ripped from her, what she isn’t even sure her body can regrow. Her withers ache from where Carnage’s teeth had broken her skin but when he lets go she still wishes that he wouldn’t have, because his touch, violent though it could be, is the first thing she has felt in what seems like an eternity.
It takes all of her self control to not immediately press herself into him, and it is only the way that he is looking at her and the fact that she is still trembling with shock that keeps her rooted where she stands.
“I didn’t mean to,” her voice sounds weak and breathy, her dark eyes still far away and confused even as they look at him, as if she cannot comprehend that they are both on the same plain of existence in a world built on solid ground. “He ripped out my heart and I couldn’t get back.” Her teleportation, the astral projection, her resurrection—none of them could find anything to ground themselves to, leaving her unmoored and helpless. “I’m sorry,” comes her almost desperate apology, unable to keep the chaos of her emotions from seeping into her voice. Her chest, though still hollow, is a turbulent sea of relief and fear and panic, afraid that this is not real while also afraid that this is real and that she has somehow managed to anger him even from another dimension.
“You found me,” she says in quiet disbelief, still marveling at the fact that he had brought her back, because while a part of her maintained a foolish amount of trust and faith in him she is still always surprised when he doesn’t simply leave her dead or broken or lost. “Thank you,” this is spoken more cautiously, the worry in her eyes now illuminated by the golden glow of her halo, stardust drifting to the ground as she pulls her wings closer to her sides. He shouldn’t have had to save her, she knows this, but of all the things he has done for her this is the one that she is unsure if there is any way to repay him.
The fear and panic still came in waves like the most unwanted tide, but the way that they wash over the inescapable numbness is almost a relief. It serves as a reminder that she has not entirely evaporated into nothing, that there is still a bit of her soul clinging to what it can.
That maybe there is still a light at the end of this endlessly dark, god forsaken black hole of a tunnel.
It’s the hallucinations that she can’t handle. The way their faces flash before her as if they are really there, the way their voices sound so close she thinks she could have felt their breath on her skin. Mostly they are a mere glimpse, something that flickers in and out so fast she knows it couldn’t have been real—usually familiar yellow eyes and the haunting echo of his laugh, though sometimes she sees wine-red eyes set against storm-cloud gray, and that vision brings with it a hope that quickly shatters into despondency as the fragments of her broken reality settle back into place.
Because if anyone could find her it would be Carnage, and she thinks he would have been here by now if he had any intent on coming.
She isn’t sure which is worse: the idea that he knows she is here and has chosen to leave her, or the idea that she is so far removed that not even he can find her.
So as the time passes in this strange void—years packed into mere days and months—she builds her own worlds and delusions, and numbly waits for the day that this vast nothingness swallows her entirely. Waits for the day when she will no longer be haunted by phantom light stretching through the dark and ghostly visions, or familiar voices saying her name for the millionth time, and she almost does not even look at them.
She isn’t surprised at all that her delusional mind is trying to convince her that he is the light that will drag her from this darkness, because she thinks she must be one of the last few in all the different dimensions that will always see him as a savior.
But their voices sound different, lacking the clarity the hallucinations tended to have (how ironic that it was the fake voices that sounded more real). Instead it was as if the dark was trying to smother the sound of them, to keep her from looking up and finding the pair of them, and it is the strangeness of this that causes her to turn her head. She does not respond initially, staring unblinking and confused, because the two of them here together did not make any sense at all. It isn’t real, she reminds herself, even though Carnage is eerily calm and poised as always, and Agetta is just as confused as she is. It isn’t real, because even if anyone was coming for her the odds of it being the two of them together didn’t seem likely.
She only registers it is real when a look of sudden comprehension dawns across Agetta’s face and all at once she is trying to wrench herself away from Carnage, but it doesn’t matter because he is already reaching for her. He grabs her in a way that implies he is irritated with her and even though a tug of fear hooks in her gut she cannot bring herself to care because he is here and he is real.
When they are back on the mountain the air feels like a shock to her lungs, and though her body is seemingly whole there is an almost fresh looking wound marred across her chest; no longer a gaping hole but still angry and bloodstained and a reminder of what Gale had ripped from her, what she isn’t even sure her body can regrow. Her withers ache from where Carnage’s teeth had broken her skin but when he lets go she still wishes that he wouldn’t have, because his touch, violent though it could be, is the first thing she has felt in what seems like an eternity.
It takes all of her self control to not immediately press herself into him, and it is only the way that he is looking at her and the fact that she is still trembling with shock that keeps her rooted where she stands.
“I didn’t mean to,” her voice sounds weak and breathy, her dark eyes still far away and confused even as they look at him, as if she cannot comprehend that they are both on the same plain of existence in a world built on solid ground. “He ripped out my heart and I couldn’t get back.” Her teleportation, the astral projection, her resurrection—none of them could find anything to ground themselves to, leaving her unmoored and helpless. “I’m sorry,” comes her almost desperate apology, unable to keep the chaos of her emotions from seeping into her voice. Her chest, though still hollow, is a turbulent sea of relief and fear and panic, afraid that this is not real while also afraid that this is real and that she has somehow managed to anger him even from another dimension.
“You found me,” she says in quiet disbelief, still marveling at the fact that he had brought her back, because while a part of her maintained a foolish amount of trust and faith in him she is still always surprised when he doesn’t simply leave her dead or broken or lost. “Thank you,” this is spoken more cautiously, the worry in her eyes now illuminated by the golden glow of her halo, stardust drifting to the ground as she pulls her wings closer to her sides. He shouldn’t have had to save her, she knows this, but of all the things he has done for her this is the one that she is unsure if there is any way to repay him.
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES
@Carnage