OOC: 1st Dream
Important note: This journal is now a roleplay journal for the edensphere roleplay community. Unless you don't mind edensphere spam on your Flist, you're gonna want to defriend this journal and possibly friend my personal journal nin_tendo instead. Though I hardly ever post anything in it anyway. |D
She stands in the threshold, sheltered in the shadow of a door blocking out the evening sun. The streets outside are darkening, but the room inside is darker still. Gathered there, elderly men are discussing various topics in low tones, but she hears the voices more than the words. They are forcing words past throats choked with fear as they address one man in particular, and she cannot think any less of them for it as a similar fear courses silently through her veins. Yet, for the time being, she stands there, ignored, as though the shadow has swallowed her completely and she has successfully become an unobserved observer.
Wishful thinking. The old man turns his attention to her, and regards her with cold, calculating, and cruelly indiscriminate eyes. This is a man who views everyone equally beneath him. More vivid than his physical form is this impression of him and the fact that her life is completely in his hands. He is dangerous and powerful and he is speaking to her now. Orders. "Yes, sir." The words are redundant. Obedience is expected and disobedience is death. He either enjoys the affirmation or does not care enough about it to silence her.
She is relieved and guilty when he returns to the others, just as captive as she, living on borrowed time and the collector looming ever closer. There is nothing she can do for them. There is nothing she can do for herself. In a world without hope, she steps into the street, still within the lengthening shadow of the door.
Abruptly, hands fall upon her shoulders, and she looks up, bewildered, at the two vague figures standing before her, exuding cheer and excitement, so incredibly different from the old man that she is at a loss as to how she ought to respond, but she does, and quickly discovers that there are no right or wrong words. So surprised by this, she talks more than she should and reveals thoughts that no other person but her is aware she has, but she rationalizes it. This was the only opportunity she may ever have to talk about herself so openly, so it was acceptable for her to take it, right?
But it is a mistake. Already she feels the chill of death approaching--not for her, but for these two wonderful people she has endangered simply by speaking to them. Cutting the encounter short, she quickly continues down the street, leading the danger away from them. It seems that, in those few moments, she has been drawn into regarding the darkness with increasing abhorrence, and it was well aware of her treason. The sun is setting and even the shadow she is hiding in begins to fade as it lost the light it needs to survive. Pure darkness starts to overtake the streets, and she ran from it, desperate. She spots a flickering motion that originates from an alley up ahead--from afar, it looks like the shadows of a small gathering of people dancing around a fire and she knows instinctively that the couple is there. How can they not be in the last joyful place this road has to offer? Breathing hard, she does not know if she is running from the dark or running to the light, and if it even makes a difference.
She is just out of reach of the light when the darkness catches up. A terrible cold encompasses her body, steals her strength and sends her plummeting to the ground. Her hand drops short of the flickering light and she cannot move an inch. All she is able to do is lift her head and breathe, but even that rapidly becomes difficult. There is no time left and she still has so many words left to say.
Someone touches her outstretched hand and she looks up, expecting to see the grinning face of death looking down upon her, but instead, the smile is soft and rather than than the expected elderly male in a black cloak, it is a young man dressed in lively shades of green. He presses something into the palm of her hand and warmth trickles back up the limb to the rest of her, bringing back feeling and restoring life to her body. She pulls back her hand, uncurls her fingers, and looks down to see a shimmering gold button resting there.
It is the brightest thing she has ever seen.
She stands in the threshold, sheltered in the shadow of a door blocking out the evening sun. The streets outside are darkening, but the room inside is darker still. Gathered there, elderly men are discussing various topics in low tones, but she hears the voices more than the words. They are forcing words past throats choked with fear as they address one man in particular, and she cannot think any less of them for it as a similar fear courses silently through her veins. Yet, for the time being, she stands there, ignored, as though the shadow has swallowed her completely and she has successfully become an unobserved observer.
Wishful thinking. The old man turns his attention to her, and regards her with cold, calculating, and cruelly indiscriminate eyes. This is a man who views everyone equally beneath him. More vivid than his physical form is this impression of him and the fact that her life is completely in his hands. He is dangerous and powerful and he is speaking to her now. Orders. "Yes, sir." The words are redundant. Obedience is expected and disobedience is death. He either enjoys the affirmation or does not care enough about it to silence her.
She is relieved and guilty when he returns to the others, just as captive as she, living on borrowed time and the collector looming ever closer. There is nothing she can do for them. There is nothing she can do for herself. In a world without hope, she steps into the street, still within the lengthening shadow of the door.
Abruptly, hands fall upon her shoulders, and she looks up, bewildered, at the two vague figures standing before her, exuding cheer and excitement, so incredibly different from the old man that she is at a loss as to how she ought to respond, but she does, and quickly discovers that there are no right or wrong words. So surprised by this, she talks more than she should and reveals thoughts that no other person but her is aware she has, but she rationalizes it. This was the only opportunity she may ever have to talk about herself so openly, so it was acceptable for her to take it, right?
But it is a mistake. Already she feels the chill of death approaching--not for her, but for these two wonderful people she has endangered simply by speaking to them. Cutting the encounter short, she quickly continues down the street, leading the danger away from them. It seems that, in those few moments, she has been drawn into regarding the darkness with increasing abhorrence, and it was well aware of her treason. The sun is setting and even the shadow she is hiding in begins to fade as it lost the light it needs to survive. Pure darkness starts to overtake the streets, and she ran from it, desperate. She spots a flickering motion that originates from an alley up ahead--from afar, it looks like the shadows of a small gathering of people dancing around a fire and she knows instinctively that the couple is there. How can they not be in the last joyful place this road has to offer? Breathing hard, she does not know if she is running from the dark or running to the light, and if it even makes a difference.
She is just out of reach of the light when the darkness catches up. A terrible cold encompasses her body, steals her strength and sends her plummeting to the ground. Her hand drops short of the flickering light and she cannot move an inch. All she is able to do is lift her head and breathe, but even that rapidly becomes difficult. There is no time left and she still has so many words left to say.
Someone touches her outstretched hand and she looks up, expecting to see the grinning face of death looking down upon her, but instead, the smile is soft and rather than than the expected elderly male in a black cloak, it is a young man dressed in lively shades of green. He presses something into the palm of her hand and warmth trickles back up the limb to the rest of her, bringing back feeling and restoring life to her body. She pulls back her hand, uncurls her fingers, and looks down to see a shimmering gold button resting there.
It is the brightest thing she has ever seen.