Character OTS


Andante & Iracebeth

Couple OTS

SWP A Hunter's Moon


Blackness. Not the kind she was used to either. She stands at the precipice of something that her deranged mind - or perhaps even a sane mind - could not understand. Shifting her weight, her eerie stare searches for some point of interest in the depth of pitch but there is nothing. But she can see herself, clear as if standing beneath an only faintly overcast day. And when she shifts to turn back round, her periwinkle tipped hair swaying silently around the white mask of her nape, she can see ripples echoing away from her hooves. But they are not submerged. Downwards her gaze falls, disoriented, but otherwise... calm. Below two perfectly in tact forelegs stand strong, and a crystal image of herself is mirrored in the ichor below her. She looses a deep exhale and that ethereal mist manifests with her breath, lazily drifting upward until it disappeared. Her soul and mind's eye feels of nothing. No pain, no confusion, not even fear. But there is a creeping chill that prickles her flesh, crawling from the supple curve of her womanly hinds. Like the steps of spiders it crawls along her dorsal, drawing the cold until her body finally shivers. But she still cannot ask where she is, cannot even muse of it. She just stares around, blinking and alone.

"Maren!" It was so faint, it was a surprise she even heard it at all. Another snapping gesture and her visage wheels around, swinging her hinds so that she faces the direction of the voice. At least... she thought there was a voice. Alabaster harks swivel atop her head, suddenly uncertain. But the silence (she didn't even hear her own steps) is deafening. A real fear does begin to fester. Maren had never experienced silence so vast. The Women Within had always chattered at her, even in her dreams. Whether she was crashing through underbrush, speaking herself, or listening to the cooing or chastising voices of those unseen women, the witch was never committed to such quiet. Her throat grows tight, and her gaze shoots down to her forelegs. One lifts, a perfect image of her gunmetal hide and soft, petite hoof. It is unmarred... but... Her ghostly brow furrows, and the soft slate hoof slams back to the floor (larger ripples extend away, but never does she feel a fluid overcome even a centimeter of her hoof, nor does the sound resonate in the vacuous space). Hadn't she been injured? Suddenly her head jerks away, audits pinning into the black of her threads, and a pain whispers along the front of her head. A fleeting image, sharp and flashing, of frozen shores riddled with blood momentarily incapacitate her.

"WAKE UP!" Another voice, this time louder, spins her around again, a faint reverberation bouncing of off... something in the abyssal place she found herself. But it is not just sound she feels, nor the stabbing pain of a stake driving through her skull, but the sudden intense fire of pain on her leg. She cries out with a strangled shriek and she hears herself. Down she looks, squinting through the vibrating pain along the front of her skull, and she nearly screams again at the sight of her mangled leg. Her leg! A horse without a leg spelled only one thing! And that was death.

Air seeps in and out of her lungs as her breathing sharpens, rising into hyperventilation. "No-no-no-no-no-no!" she protests, voice low, growling. She didn't want to die. She had hardly lived! Staggering back, she swings herself around, though her movements are jarred and she nearly topples. "I don't want to die!" she screams again, her terrified voice absorbed by the vast emptiness around her. "Mama!" A salty tear develops on her black-stained eyes. "Father?!" It is a futile name to call. She has no father. And the one that had just adopted her - oh yes she recalls now, that obsidian devil - was far away from here. The tripped circles she tightens continually threaten to topple her and the air in her lungs steadily seems to hone until it stings her throat. "NO I DON'T WANT TO DIE!" she shrieks one final time.

"It is time to wake up."

And it's gone.

She looses herself, falling away from the vacant space of complete and utter nothing, the pain following her into whatever world had ripped her away again. Her head pounds fiercely, so fiercely she contemplates whether it's split and her brain was squeezing itself through the cracks. But finally, a faint white light grows in the distance. Closer and closer it draws, a steady but fast manifestation until a blurred world meets her. She can make out nothing but grey, blue, and a morpheus figure of black. Everything is indiscernible, but the black moves. It is living. Her lips ripple with a cough, sputtering garnet droplets onto the flows. "I..." she wheezes, still unable to perceive what is reality and the pain too great to allow her any progression. "Don't.... want...." Her nostrils force a shuddering inhale and her ribs scream in protest. "... to die."

"Maren's Talking" "Voices Talking"

W C: 855
T A G: Ozereus
M U S E: 5/5
O O C: I'm good to move to a new thread if we wanna gloss over how he gets her outta here

Image: magtox
Stock: lifeblue
Table and Coding: Raven
powerplay allowed!
be warned!
maren is highly unpredictable
Tag: @[Maren]