Jun. 27th, 2007 11:04 pm
arsenicwaltz: (Default)
[personal profile] arsenicwaltz
Light pours from under the white marble lintel of the Great Seeming, stretching bands of rare daylight down the hallway. The Shadows wince and squint, muttering among themselves.

What isssss it?
Don't know?
Issss Sssshe insssside?
Think sssso. Yesssss.
Did Ssssshe sssssay anything?
Nothing, Ssssshe jussssst vanissssshed.
The door isssss open...
Sssssshe left it that way.
On purposssse?
Don't know.
Look! There Ssshe isss! Yessss?

Through the door comes the sound of the sea; not the calming sound of the heartbeat of the World, but the roar of the beast enraged, of storm tossed breakers and whitecaps beating themselves furiously against cliffs. And beyond the blinding light of the Seeming is ragged rock, black and jagged, strips of black fabric caught in every other crevasse. A figure in tattered black stands at the cliff's edge, staring out into the dark clouds that the storm tossed sea rises to meet. And tracing from the door of the Seeming to the figure, a line of imprints on the rock like a line of distorted capital Cs, sans serif; the print of the left arch of a foot, outlined in blood. The wind rises, and the salt spray rises with it, casting flecks of sand and foam and sea torn kelp through the door of the Seeming to puddle at the feet of the uneasy Shadows. The figure stands before it, impassive, self-flagellatory. Where the red trickles from her ankle and touches water it turns hard and black, droplets of corroded silver clinging to the cliff face. She raises her bared arms above her head, and outside the Seeming the Shadows cringe.

And then there is nothing.

The dazzle fades from the doorway, and the Seeming is but a room again, a plain room of pure white marble. Seaweed and sand fleck the threshold, along with tiny droplets of blood.

When he finds her, she is unsurprisingly abed. Eddie sets the mug of tea on the nightstand, next to an uncorked and now quarter-full bottle of clear liquid swimming with glimmering blue lights. Her pillow is wet and she does not turn, one hand trembling drunkenly over her eyes.

"The Sea has no remorse, no emotion; She would not take me. For-" she trembles, curling tiredly around herself as the tears start afresh, "we all know that I have far too much of both."


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