01-24-2020, 08:55 PM
<center><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/QtXp2bs5/ANAHTML.png"><table bgcolor=0a0706 style="border-color: black; border-width: 0px; border-style: solid; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: -105px" cellspacing=30 cellpadding=30 width=650><tr><td><CENTER><font face=times new roman color=4a1e07><font style=font-size:9pt;line-height:12pt;letter-spacing:1px><font style=letter-spacing:3px><center><Font color=632d0e><i>HELLO DARKNESS, MY OLD FRIEND</i></font></font> </CENTER><p align=justify>
She can feel the darkness breathing life into battered bones - mending flesh and alleviating the pain. She allows herself to drift - the darkness providing comfort, pulling her into a familiar embrace.
But soon the darkness fades.
Again, she finds herself surrounded by the familiar, blood-soaked Plains. The body of her son is gone and there’s no evidence of him ever having been here. The dome around the arena still remains, and Anaxarete knows that this test is not over. Not yet.
Before her another shape materializes.
Her own.
Surrounded by the shadows she so loves.
She will fight, of course, she is far too proud to simply stand here and wait for death to claim her. The shadowmare will not go quietly, however she knows what the outcome of this battle will be. She knows that the still-magic version of herself will not hesitate to call upon her abilities because that’s exactly what she would have done given the opportunity. Anaxarete has never been famous for her restraint, so she knew what was coming would be brutal and may <i>not</i> be quick.
The shadowmare considered, for a moment, what it would be like to die. Death was something she had yet to experience. But she had never been one to flee from the darkness and knew better than most that death meant so little in the grand scheme of things.
Death wasn’t the end.
Darkness was not to be feared.
So Anaxarete welcomed her own impending doom without fear or hesitation.
The two leapt forward in unison - magical and non-magical alike. This was not a battle she could win, but she was determined that before the darkness came to claim her there would be magical blood spilled across these sands. The distance narrowed - and the winged shadowmare did not flee to the skies. She knew doing so would only bring about her end all the more quickly.
She could see the shadows in her periphery - growing and beginning to take shape. Xenomorphs, born of shadows, snarled as they closed in from each side. The eerie clicking of their shadow-jaws was oh so familiar to the shadowmare, but she pushed herself even more quickly. She extended the wings - again using them to protect her now mortal body. The shadow-creatures arrived simultaneously - teeth immediately finding flesh. They tore the wings from her sides - nearly in unison. Anaxarete screamed in agony as the flesh gave way, but her magical counterpart just smiled wickedly.
The shadowmare stumbled and staggered. She saw the shadow creatures fade away into nothing, the vestiges of her wings falling to the earth where they had stood. Blood streamed from her shoulders, dripping onto the sunbaked, bloodstained earth. Her magical counterpart ignited a circle of flame around them - further shrinking the battlefield. She gritted her teeth in both a reaction to the pain and her renewed determination to draw blood before she’s no more.
She sneers at her magical self - her whole self. The crackle of the fire around them is deafening, but she remains undeterred. The shadows stir around the magic mare. She misses their touch - the shadows - and knows she will be with them soon. That is enough to provide her some sense of comfort, even as the pain and adrenaline burns through her. It was time to end this.
She leapt towards the shadows and the mare shrouded in them. In response - her magical self did nothing physically but the shadows sprung from the ground and began to consume her. Her steps slowed as the shadows stripped away flesh and blood. She screamed as she forced herself forward, each step sheer agony. She is close now - she can tell by the burn of the shadows. And at the same time, she feels her life leeching away.
There is little time.
She lurches, ungracefully, using her last moments of life to throw herself towards...herself. Her teeth rake across the magic mare’s face and down her neck as the mortal mare falls to the earth at the other’s feet.
She breathes once.
Twice.
Her gaze remains fixed on herself, watching as blood wells to the surface of the wounds that’d she’d inflicted. She watches as a single drop of blood streams down her cheek and falls to the sunbaked earth below.
A smile crawls upon her lips.
And then she welcomes the darkness with open arms.
<center><font style=font-size:9pt;line-height:12pt;letter-spacing:1px><font style=letter-spacing:3px><Font color=632d0e><i> A N A X A R E T E</i></font></font></table> <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/littlewillow-art/art/mother-of-monsters-819003138">image credit</a> </center></center>
She can feel the darkness breathing life into battered bones - mending flesh and alleviating the pain. She allows herself to drift - the darkness providing comfort, pulling her into a familiar embrace.
But soon the darkness fades.
Again, she finds herself surrounded by the familiar, blood-soaked Plains. The body of her son is gone and there’s no evidence of him ever having been here. The dome around the arena still remains, and Anaxarete knows that this test is not over. Not yet.
Before her another shape materializes.
Her own.
Surrounded by the shadows she so loves.
She will fight, of course, she is far too proud to simply stand here and wait for death to claim her. The shadowmare will not go quietly, however she knows what the outcome of this battle will be. She knows that the still-magic version of herself will not hesitate to call upon her abilities because that’s exactly what she would have done given the opportunity. Anaxarete has never been famous for her restraint, so she knew what was coming would be brutal and may <i>not</i> be quick.
The shadowmare considered, for a moment, what it would be like to die. Death was something she had yet to experience. But she had never been one to flee from the darkness and knew better than most that death meant so little in the grand scheme of things.
Death wasn’t the end.
Darkness was not to be feared.
So Anaxarete welcomed her own impending doom without fear or hesitation.
The two leapt forward in unison - magical and non-magical alike. This was not a battle she could win, but she was determined that before the darkness came to claim her there would be magical blood spilled across these sands. The distance narrowed - and the winged shadowmare did not flee to the skies. She knew doing so would only bring about her end all the more quickly.
She could see the shadows in her periphery - growing and beginning to take shape. Xenomorphs, born of shadows, snarled as they closed in from each side. The eerie clicking of their shadow-jaws was oh so familiar to the shadowmare, but she pushed herself even more quickly. She extended the wings - again using them to protect her now mortal body. The shadow-creatures arrived simultaneously - teeth immediately finding flesh. They tore the wings from her sides - nearly in unison. Anaxarete screamed in agony as the flesh gave way, but her magical counterpart just smiled wickedly.
The shadowmare stumbled and staggered. She saw the shadow creatures fade away into nothing, the vestiges of her wings falling to the earth where they had stood. Blood streamed from her shoulders, dripping onto the sunbaked, bloodstained earth. Her magical counterpart ignited a circle of flame around them - further shrinking the battlefield. She gritted her teeth in both a reaction to the pain and her renewed determination to draw blood before she’s no more.
She sneers at her magical self - her whole self. The crackle of the fire around them is deafening, but she remains undeterred. The shadows stir around the magic mare. She misses their touch - the shadows - and knows she will be with them soon. That is enough to provide her some sense of comfort, even as the pain and adrenaline burns through her. It was time to end this.
She leapt towards the shadows and the mare shrouded in them. In response - her magical self did nothing physically but the shadows sprung from the ground and began to consume her. Her steps slowed as the shadows stripped away flesh and blood. She screamed as she forced herself forward, each step sheer agony. She is close now - she can tell by the burn of the shadows. And at the same time, she feels her life leeching away.
There is little time.
She lurches, ungracefully, using her last moments of life to throw herself towards...herself. Her teeth rake across the magic mare’s face and down her neck as the mortal mare falls to the earth at the other’s feet.
She breathes once.
Twice.
Her gaze remains fixed on herself, watching as blood wells to the surface of the wounds that’d she’d inflicted. She watches as a single drop of blood streams down her cheek and falls to the sunbaked earth below.
A smile crawls upon her lips.
And then she welcomes the darkness with open arms.
<center><font style=font-size:9pt;line-height:12pt;letter-spacing:1px><font style=letter-spacing:3px><Font color=632d0e><i> A N A X A R E T E</i></font></font></table> <a href="https://www.deviantart.com/littlewillow-art/art/mother-of-monsters-819003138">image credit</a> </center></center>