when I run in the dark to a place that's vast (closed)
Who: thenobledie
When: September 12th - September 15th
Where: the Mist
Format: prose
What: "AND I JUST CAN'T FIGHT THIS FEEEEEEEELING ANYMORE." Or, Shirley has fucking had it and walks out into the Mist, knowing something awaits those who make it.
Warnings: Everything?? lmf...
She walks, and when her legs cannot carry her, she crawls, until Elior cannot stand her state of being - so tired, she feels it deeper than her marrows, an inescapable weight that pushes her heart down, down, down -, and his magic lifts her on skeleton forms and gilded wings. So Shirley walks. Her path grows steadily slower, the heart to cling to Elior's strength fading, but for every step she takes, it is a promise upon another promise. The Mist beckons, and the Mist mocks.
She is weak, and she is small, and she has lost all control, and she has lost all meaning. What a monster she has become, she thinks - to not know her place, her obligations, her self; to flout all for whimsy; to realize she cares not, and that is the worst of all. Who is she to have this peace, this selfishness? When she has failed them all? But ripped away, it is unbearable.
She must go on.
But not like this.
Any way but this one.
(Still, a monster. This gift was wonderful - is wonderful. Was it not she that told Lust to suffer is human? And here, she thrusts her own humanity away.)
Children's and young women's laughter haunts her deep into the Mist. In her peripheral vision, vibrant red hair phantoms to and fro. Damia cries for her. Rose pleads for her strength. Remus holds both women steady. Desmond thinks she should return.
Shirley ignores them.
When she collapses onto the ground, she tries, still, focuses on the pressuring burn in her hands and knees. Elior keeps the worst of the fever at bay, and all Shirley feels is heat and coldness so blue that it burns, too. Above her, Belzac offers his hand (briefly, she imagines his hand seizing her throat and that she can sink into nothingness that way -) and urges in a soft tone, "Shirley," but she shrinks away, struggles to stand - falls back into Ezio, who urges in equally soft words. "Cara, go back."
Uncontrolled, "away! Both of you, leave me!" With a choked cry, "away."
But they don't, and they become the phantoms in the Mist, following her close. Only shadows but shadows she loves, and Shirley wants to stop and cry each step. Belzac tries to keep her, but Ezio is quiet - he learned her stubbornness and knew it better to accommodate than force her. She doesn't know which she would rather grip close.
Belzac loses patience, though, and blocks her path; she falls again and remains there, staring at her bleeding nailbeds. Ezio picks her up, and her vision begins to redden. Unsteadily, Shirley takes a step. Elior is fading next to what is left of her heart, as he forces his magic to heal her - to no avail, and soon, her knight's armor gives away to blue fabric. And soon, that stains with her own blood: a steady trickle from her eyes and nose but a violent cough in her lungs that seizes her every few steps and a layer that paints her thighs.
They follow, and the worry presses into Shirley's skull, and it is the only thing that reminds her they are there. Her heart is nothing, but her determination, something distant in the face of so much weakness, is what moves her. But finally -
- finally, Shirley falls for her last time. She raises her hands, palms up, in a supplication she thought she had forgotten, and she cries for the first time since Ezio's disappearance, the tears mixing with blood down her cheeks. Her body is racked by a choked cough-sob, and she shuts her eyes.
A wish:
"Make me stone again."
When: September 12th - September 15th
Where: the Mist
Format: prose
What: "AND I JUST CAN'T FIGHT THIS FEEEEEEEELING ANYMORE." Or, Shirley has fucking had it and walks out into the Mist, knowing something awaits those who make it.
Warnings: Everything?? lmf...
She walks, and when her legs cannot carry her, she crawls, until Elior cannot stand her state of being - so tired, she feels it deeper than her marrows, an inescapable weight that pushes her heart down, down, down -, and his magic lifts her on skeleton forms and gilded wings. So Shirley walks. Her path grows steadily slower, the heart to cling to Elior's strength fading, but for every step she takes, it is a promise upon another promise. The Mist beckons, and the Mist mocks.
She is weak, and she is small, and she has lost all control, and she has lost all meaning. What a monster she has become, she thinks - to not know her place, her obligations, her self; to flout all for whimsy; to realize she cares not, and that is the worst of all. Who is she to have this peace, this selfishness? When she has failed them all? But ripped away, it is unbearable.
She must go on.
But not like this.
Any way but this one.
(Still, a monster. This gift was wonderful - is wonderful. Was it not she that told Lust to suffer is human? And here, she thrusts her own humanity away.)
Children's and young women's laughter haunts her deep into the Mist. In her peripheral vision, vibrant red hair phantoms to and fro. Damia cries for her. Rose pleads for her strength. Remus holds both women steady. Desmond thinks she should return.
Shirley ignores them.
When she collapses onto the ground, she tries, still, focuses on the pressuring burn in her hands and knees. Elior keeps the worst of the fever at bay, and all Shirley feels is heat and coldness so blue that it burns, too. Above her, Belzac offers his hand (briefly, she imagines his hand seizing her throat and that she can sink into nothingness that way -) and urges in a soft tone, "Shirley," but she shrinks away, struggles to stand - falls back into Ezio, who urges in equally soft words. "Cara, go back."
Uncontrolled, "away! Both of you, leave me!" With a choked cry, "away."
But they don't, and they become the phantoms in the Mist, following her close. Only shadows but shadows she loves, and Shirley wants to stop and cry each step. Belzac tries to keep her, but Ezio is quiet - he learned her stubbornness and knew it better to accommodate than force her. She doesn't know which she would rather grip close.
Belzac loses patience, though, and blocks her path; she falls again and remains there, staring at her bleeding nailbeds. Ezio picks her up, and her vision begins to redden. Unsteadily, Shirley takes a step. Elior is fading next to what is left of her heart, as he forces his magic to heal her - to no avail, and soon, her knight's armor gives away to blue fabric. And soon, that stains with her own blood: a steady trickle from her eyes and nose but a violent cough in her lungs that seizes her every few steps and a layer that paints her thighs.
They follow, and the worry presses into Shirley's skull, and it is the only thing that reminds her they are there. Her heart is nothing, but her determination, something distant in the face of so much weakness, is what moves her. But finally -
- finally, Shirley falls for her last time. She raises her hands, palms up, in a supplication she thought she had forgotten, and she cries for the first time since Ezio's disappearance, the tears mixing with blood down her cheeks. Her body is racked by a choked cough-sob, and she shuts her eyes.
A wish:
"Make me stone again."