01-22-2020, 04:30 PM
Blackness.
A groan passes her lips, but just as the last bit of air sighs from her lungs, everything returns.
Again, she is in the plains confronted by the pillars. Confusion paints across her face and furrows her brows while she catalogues her surroundings. Fear trickles into her mind, leading her to believe that Bronsonn will rise from the ashes, but there is another face staring at her from between the columns. Their eyes lock. The shadowed figure’s face flashes familiarly. A kaleidoscope of colors brightens her gaze at first then maliciously darkens as the space between them melts away.
<i>”You’re---“</i> Cyprin begins only to be interrupted, <b>”me.”</b> They’re imposters, to each other. Lowering her head, the coiling antlers pose as a threat to the woman standing between the pillars. <i>”No closer!”</i> But it doesn’t stop the secondary mare, her head lacking antlers but adorned with those dragon eyes. <i>”Maybe then I’m the,”</i> <b>”Fraud. Yes, you are.”</b> Cyprin’s confidence wavers, laying open an opportunity for the second to attack.
A rock emerges from the dirt, given life by magic. It rolls, gaining momentum in its distance, before catapulting forward, hitting Cyprin’s knee. Blood immediately trickles down; the trauma met with a startled yell and sideways stumble. Opening her eyes, she looks down to see the living golem, then up to her imposter. Fed by a sudden rush of adrenaline, Cyprin lunges forward with her head still lowered, attempting to ram her opponent and gore her, but a golem jumping at her face deviates the plan. Cyprin swerves to her left, just narrowly missing the attack. She turns right again, steering toward her stagnant counterpart. Although not a warrior at heart, Cyprin is driven to protect herself and survive.
She looks to jerk her head and pierce her rival, but instead turns to her left, shifting her weight and kicking out. Making contact, Cyprin nearly gasps with surprise but keeps going with mounting rage. Another kick, but it grazes her replica as she dances away from the following buck. Cyprin plants her back legs and glances over her right shoulder, angrily observing her opponent. Her breaths are labored from the exertion; it creates pause as she turns to level her dark eyes on her imposter. The opposite Cyprin, steady and reserved, stands placidly back between the pillars. The wind tousles her locks, making her almost too serene to be here. Even despite being kicked, the mirror image radiates a smug peacefulness.
Cyprin lurches forward.
The ground trembles.
Underneath her, the earth chips away as a giant creature comes to life. A ten-foot crack splits, gaping open like a mouth. Gasping, Cyprin uses her hindquarters as coils and jumps herself as best she can just to avoid falling into an earthy grave. It claps its mouth together, an attempt to grab her legs, but the moment she bypasses the obstacle, the magic releases. The small chasm remains, abandoned. She lands hard, but rushes forward, stabbing her spiraled antlers.
But another golem - larger, angrier – pommels her. It grabs her horns before she reaches her twin self, breaking them from her skull. A scream claws the air and she reels back from the initial shock, but there is no pain and no blood. Losing her footing, Cyprin stumbles and falls, her muscles refusing to lift her again.
Stepping forward, the secondary looks down, holding her gaze. Silence swallows them until even the dirt and dust settle. <b>”You shouldn’t have killed Bronsonn,”</b> a sharpness lines the edges of her voice while her lip curls in a distasteful snarl, but their eyes never stray from each other. Even as the fraudulent Cyprin threads her magic into the fallen antlers, she does not break eye contact, distracting the fallen Cyprin by drowning her in remorse. <b>”You killed him,”</b> the imposter says again all while the horns come to life and edge toward their former owner. Each time the fallen girl tries to look at the flickering motion, her counterpart steps closer until they are inches apart, one towering over the other.
<b>”Welcome to your Hell, darling. You deserve it,”</b> her expression hardened, the secondary Cyprin gives a final boost to her magic. The horns dive forward, plunging into the first Cyprin’s body. One buries into her ribs, ripping sinew and fracturing bone. Another, stabs upward, into her neck.
Choking on her blood, gasping, Cyprin looks up one last time at her imposter before falling limp, the only replaying memory being that of her brother dying.
A groan passes her lips, but just as the last bit of air sighs from her lungs, everything returns.
Again, she is in the plains confronted by the pillars. Confusion paints across her face and furrows her brows while she catalogues her surroundings. Fear trickles into her mind, leading her to believe that Bronsonn will rise from the ashes, but there is another face staring at her from between the columns. Their eyes lock. The shadowed figure’s face flashes familiarly. A kaleidoscope of colors brightens her gaze at first then maliciously darkens as the space between them melts away.
<i>”You’re---“</i> Cyprin begins only to be interrupted, <b>”me.”</b> They’re imposters, to each other. Lowering her head, the coiling antlers pose as a threat to the woman standing between the pillars. <i>”No closer!”</i> But it doesn’t stop the secondary mare, her head lacking antlers but adorned with those dragon eyes. <i>”Maybe then I’m the,”</i> <b>”Fraud. Yes, you are.”</b> Cyprin’s confidence wavers, laying open an opportunity for the second to attack.
A rock emerges from the dirt, given life by magic. It rolls, gaining momentum in its distance, before catapulting forward, hitting Cyprin’s knee. Blood immediately trickles down; the trauma met with a startled yell and sideways stumble. Opening her eyes, she looks down to see the living golem, then up to her imposter. Fed by a sudden rush of adrenaline, Cyprin lunges forward with her head still lowered, attempting to ram her opponent and gore her, but a golem jumping at her face deviates the plan. Cyprin swerves to her left, just narrowly missing the attack. She turns right again, steering toward her stagnant counterpart. Although not a warrior at heart, Cyprin is driven to protect herself and survive.
She looks to jerk her head and pierce her rival, but instead turns to her left, shifting her weight and kicking out. Making contact, Cyprin nearly gasps with surprise but keeps going with mounting rage. Another kick, but it grazes her replica as she dances away from the following buck. Cyprin plants her back legs and glances over her right shoulder, angrily observing her opponent. Her breaths are labored from the exertion; it creates pause as she turns to level her dark eyes on her imposter. The opposite Cyprin, steady and reserved, stands placidly back between the pillars. The wind tousles her locks, making her almost too serene to be here. Even despite being kicked, the mirror image radiates a smug peacefulness.
Cyprin lurches forward.
The ground trembles.
Underneath her, the earth chips away as a giant creature comes to life. A ten-foot crack splits, gaping open like a mouth. Gasping, Cyprin uses her hindquarters as coils and jumps herself as best she can just to avoid falling into an earthy grave. It claps its mouth together, an attempt to grab her legs, but the moment she bypasses the obstacle, the magic releases. The small chasm remains, abandoned. She lands hard, but rushes forward, stabbing her spiraled antlers.
But another golem - larger, angrier – pommels her. It grabs her horns before she reaches her twin self, breaking them from her skull. A scream claws the air and she reels back from the initial shock, but there is no pain and no blood. Losing her footing, Cyprin stumbles and falls, her muscles refusing to lift her again.
Stepping forward, the secondary looks down, holding her gaze. Silence swallows them until even the dirt and dust settle. <b>”You shouldn’t have killed Bronsonn,”</b> a sharpness lines the edges of her voice while her lip curls in a distasteful snarl, but their eyes never stray from each other. Even as the fraudulent Cyprin threads her magic into the fallen antlers, she does not break eye contact, distracting the fallen Cyprin by drowning her in remorse. <b>”You killed him,”</b> the imposter says again all while the horns come to life and edge toward their former owner. Each time the fallen girl tries to look at the flickering motion, her counterpart steps closer until they are inches apart, one towering over the other.
<b>”Welcome to your Hell, darling. You deserve it,”</b> her expression hardened, the secondary Cyprin gives a final boost to her magic. The horns dive forward, plunging into the first Cyprin’s body. One buries into her ribs, ripping sinew and fracturing bone. Another, stabs upward, into her neck.
Choking on her blood, gasping, Cyprin looks up one last time at her imposter before falling limp, the only replaying memory being that of her brother dying.