Chernobyl

Tiny tendrils of white light beckoned dark eyes to open, their luminescent fire burning bright beneath a filmy surface. All life gathered there, a central core of being that was otherwise replaced by monochrome coloring of the flesh. She was a sheath of shadowy lace, perplexing the eye to dismiss her presence, all smoke and mirrors. A heart that desired no comfort thud beneath her breast, each beat causing a painful discourse to inflict soft groans of agony from her throat. They were not audible and yet just barely heard, traces of voice to the open air that sifts through the mind and settles there leaving one uneasy. Yellowed teeth grind against one another in a sickening crunch, tension building in her jowls like a hungry cat, famished and on the hunt. Blackened irises register surroundings, but only halfheartedly so., as if finding nothing of interest. Just as her thoughts come together, they fall apart again, broken fragments of the mind, melding and then breaking again like glass.

A bitter grimace touches dry, cracked lips that do not open. Her gait is uneven, painful in appearance and slow like static noise, grainy and flashing against the screen in the midst of the night. After a moment, she pauses and stills, eyes ahead and unfocused. Against her flesh, ribs are showcased like diamonds and her flanks are gaunt with malnutrition, but not so much as to assume she is starved. No, the hunter will eat, but she waits until the time is right. The idea waters her mouth, saliva brimming the edges like a sick dog and she does nothing to contain the salivation despite the fact that she is aware company will soon be unavoidable.

As dusk approaches, she smiles and while it looks strange upon her face, she welcomes nightfall when she knows she will come alive. Like a demon, she thrives towards the darkness, drawn to the elusive quality of the witching hour. Barren trees gaze down at her and cringe at the creature as if she has stolen the angels from heaven and hidden them away in Lucifer’s dungeon. She taps her heels against his roof and chuckles lightly at the sound, so forlorn in the silence that Threshold has come to adopt. The birds do not sing in her presence and sometimes she misses the sound, as it is the only reminder of a life alternate her own, one she will never inhabit because she is gone.

She does not dream anymore because they will always go unanswered, dreams are not granted to the devil’s children… That’s what her mother had always told her in such an angelic voice, whispered softly into her ear before bed. She bristles at the recollection and her shoulders come together under the loose skin of the wraith. She chooses to banish that familiar face to the hell she has come to embrace and instead pictures heaven for a brief moment, a place she shall never see as her mother had promised; they were destined for damnation.

[ooc: Recylcled post, I hope you don't mind! <3]

But oh, I'm staring at the mess I made
As you turn, you take your heart and walk away