11-11-2020, 07:35 PM
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<center><div class="goddammit"><div class="stop">I heard no pounding her fist on the roof of my mouth--</div><div class="mazzy">
And in an instant, she is gone. There was no trick at all, truly. It seemed the shadow creature was not there to play or entertain- he was exactly like her father. Trick<I>ery</I>, not tricks to please. The creature had simply sent her home- not the home she had begun to create in Pangea, but the only home she had truly known. He had sent her back to the universe Eight held her tightly in, had not let her leave, had forced her to bide to his commands or simply waste away the hours solitary and alone.
This was not a trick or a treat that anyone would want- and Greta was furious with herself for falling into such an easy trap. She could not be here again- she could not condemn herself to this little glass fishbowl she had spent a decade in. Not when she had a taste of freedom! (Freedom, Straia had said- what would she do with freedom?) Greta had told her she was as free as she had ever been, and she could not think of a single other thing. Foolish, simple girl. Her freedom had been taken.
Greta lifted her face to the domed sky and split the air with a scream- the mere thought of being entrapped again was too much to bear. But then- she notices it is not quite right. The sky was not blue. (yes, even Eight could find some kindness to give her a sunny sky on some days). Her world was different- seeping and bleeding like a wound, a foul scent in the air and a rotting beneath her feet. This world carried death- and though Eight wished many ill wills upon her, death was never one of them.
What had this creature done to her? Was he sent by Eight to torture her as he once had? Straia would be help - the Raven queen had told her Eight would not be able to find her. Straia could fix this. And so Greta runs, far and fast and straight to any direction she may find the magician. When she had ran for miles and found no boundary - she knew this was not truly home (merely the trick of one).
<I> ‘Straia!!’</I> Greta calls for her queen. For help, for solace, for shelter from Eight. She hears the break of a twig, a rustle behind her, and then the magician. ‘Straia- what is happening? Why am I here?’ She rushes towards the raven queen, crashing into her safety and comfort. ‘Straia?’ She asks, when she has yet to hear a response. But it is not Straia that she looks up to. Not the Straia she knows, anyway. Her face is rotting, strips of skin peeling down like an orange, her jaw half hinged and oozing. When the creature speaks, it is guttural and spewing blood. ‘There is no Straia here.’
Greta reels backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape. The creature lunges, turning into a rotting carcass of her father (teeth outstretched like fangs and asking for skin.) And she runs- away from the dark devil that’s careening towards her seeking her death and demise. She runs through a fog growing so thick that she can taste it, through an ever growing darkness that swallows her whole.
She runs herself ragged, blindly racing towards anywhere but there. Finally, she can go no more- and she collapses to her knees, feeling beach sand beneath her and the lap of water in her ears. She looks up to see the familiar creature before her- the one who tricked her to that awful place.
‘I do not want to play this anymore, I do not think.’
</div>
<div class="thankyou">but I had not put up the exit sign.</div>
<div class="please">Greta</div>
<img class="why" src="https://i.postimg.cc/SRnFdPK2/photo-1483884105135-c06ea81a7a80.jpg"></div></div>
<center><div class="goddammit"><div class="stop">I heard no pounding her fist on the roof of my mouth--</div><div class="mazzy">
And in an instant, she is gone. There was no trick at all, truly. It seemed the shadow creature was not there to play or entertain- he was exactly like her father. Trick<I>ery</I>, not tricks to please. The creature had simply sent her home- not the home she had begun to create in Pangea, but the only home she had truly known. He had sent her back to the universe Eight held her tightly in, had not let her leave, had forced her to bide to his commands or simply waste away the hours solitary and alone.
This was not a trick or a treat that anyone would want- and Greta was furious with herself for falling into such an easy trap. She could not be here again- she could not condemn herself to this little glass fishbowl she had spent a decade in. Not when she had a taste of freedom! (Freedom, Straia had said- what would she do with freedom?) Greta had told her she was as free as she had ever been, and she could not think of a single other thing. Foolish, simple girl. Her freedom had been taken.
Greta lifted her face to the domed sky and split the air with a scream- the mere thought of being entrapped again was too much to bear. But then- she notices it is not quite right. The sky was not blue. (yes, even Eight could find some kindness to give her a sunny sky on some days). Her world was different- seeping and bleeding like a wound, a foul scent in the air and a rotting beneath her feet. This world carried death- and though Eight wished many ill wills upon her, death was never one of them.
What had this creature done to her? Was he sent by Eight to torture her as he once had? Straia would be help - the Raven queen had told her Eight would not be able to find her. Straia could fix this. And so Greta runs, far and fast and straight to any direction she may find the magician. When she had ran for miles and found no boundary - she knew this was not truly home (merely the trick of one).
<I> ‘Straia!!’</I> Greta calls for her queen. For help, for solace, for shelter from Eight. She hears the break of a twig, a rustle behind her, and then the magician. ‘Straia- what is happening? Why am I here?’ She rushes towards the raven queen, crashing into her safety and comfort. ‘Straia?’ She asks, when she has yet to hear a response. But it is not Straia that she looks up to. Not the Straia she knows, anyway. Her face is rotting, strips of skin peeling down like an orange, her jaw half hinged and oozing. When the creature speaks, it is guttural and spewing blood. ‘There is no Straia here.’
Greta reels backwards, eyes wide and mouth agape. The creature lunges, turning into a rotting carcass of her father (teeth outstretched like fangs and asking for skin.) And she runs- away from the dark devil that’s careening towards her seeking her death and demise. She runs through a fog growing so thick that she can taste it, through an ever growing darkness that swallows her whole.
She runs herself ragged, blindly racing towards anywhere but there. Finally, she can go no more- and she collapses to her knees, feeling beach sand beneath her and the lap of water in her ears. She looks up to see the familiar creature before her- the one who tricked her to that awful place.
‘I do not want to play this anymore, I do not think.’
</div>
<div class="thankyou">but I had not put up the exit sign.</div>
<div class="please">Greta</div>
<img class="why" src="https://i.postimg.cc/SRnFdPK2/photo-1483884105135-c06ea81a7a80.jpg"></div></div>