07-31-2022, 04:25 PM
Ryatah
The restlessness that had settled uneasily into her bones after the disastrous tornadoes had not yet abated, and she found herself growing increasingly more agitated by it. Ever since she had noticed the darkness that followed her back from the void—ever since she had realized it was a real, physical thing—there had been a newfound edge to her, a sharpness that lay hidden beneath the ethereal softness. So far she had been successful in keeping it reined in, never relenting to the dark even as it twisted and thread itself between her ribs.
It was a relief, almost, to know that the void had not entirely altered her. That morally gray though she was, there was still light slipping through the cracks, that countless years of being intrigued by the dark had not left her entirely powerless against it once it finally managed to take root inside of her.
But it would be a lie to say that she did not think some of this restlessness was because it needed a release, but she was far too controlled to let it slip around Atrox, and she did not think herself cruel enough to experiment on a stranger.
Normally the forest would offer her the isolation she was searching for, but not anymore. With the shrinking of Beqanna’s habitable space the forest had become more crowded than usual, and it was not until she neared almost the heart of it—the part that most chose to avoid—that their voices began to fade, and the faint light from above gradually was swallowed by the over-arcing branches of trees. The brightness of her aura sent strange shadows jumping across the broad trunks of the trees, and she did not need her infrared vision to see through the dark, providing herself with her own flood of light.
She realizes belatedly that she is not alone, her light glancing off a pale glimpse of skin and the glint of dark eyes, and the apology that leaps to her tongue falls back down her throat once she realizes who she has stumbled across. “Oh,” is all that she says, and the surprise that flashes across her face is unmistakable, though quickly followed by confusion.
When had she last seen him?
The tangibility of the lost memory is so fleeting that it is gone before she could even attempt to pull at the thread, and she is left feeling flustered, almost irritated. The void had not toyed with her memories near as she could tell, but it is the only explanation she can come up with to account for the strange gap she kept brushing over. “It’s been awhile. I think.”
It was a relief, almost, to know that the void had not entirely altered her. That morally gray though she was, there was still light slipping through the cracks, that countless years of being intrigued by the dark had not left her entirely powerless against it once it finally managed to take root inside of her.
But it would be a lie to say that she did not think some of this restlessness was because it needed a release, but she was far too controlled to let it slip around Atrox, and she did not think herself cruel enough to experiment on a stranger.
Normally the forest would offer her the isolation she was searching for, but not anymore. With the shrinking of Beqanna’s habitable space the forest had become more crowded than usual, and it was not until she neared almost the heart of it—the part that most chose to avoid—that their voices began to fade, and the faint light from above gradually was swallowed by the over-arcing branches of trees. The brightness of her aura sent strange shadows jumping across the broad trunks of the trees, and she did not need her infrared vision to see through the dark, providing herself with her own flood of light.
She realizes belatedly that she is not alone, her light glancing off a pale glimpse of skin and the glint of dark eyes, and the apology that leaps to her tongue falls back down her throat once she realizes who she has stumbled across. “Oh,” is all that she says, and the surprise that flashes across her face is unmistakable, though quickly followed by confusion.
When had she last seen him?
The tangibility of the lost memory is so fleeting that it is gone before she could even attempt to pull at the thread, and she is left feeling flustered, almost irritated. The void had not toyed with her memories near as she could tell, but it is the only explanation she can come up with to account for the strange gap she kept brushing over. “It’s been awhile. I think.”
EVEN ANGELS HAVE THEIR WICKED SCHEMES
@Ashhal