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07-15-2014, 08:12 PM
larkspur There's a ghost, she's wearing my face. The Time God's magic will remain, forever, an inexplicable thing. And Larkspur's time beyond it's surface would likely remain as much of a mystery as the mirror itself. Questions only lead to answers, and where's the fun in that? Larkspur expects a quick and painless ending. The blink of an eye, a short lived demise. The idea manifests itself in her, wraps it’s claws around her soul and laces it’s way through her thoughts - a poison. She almost welcomes it, she thinks of the many times she has prayed for such a thing to happen, but now the answered prayer for salvation after an era of exile seems almost cruel. And so she steels herself, resigned that this is, in fact, the end. But it never comes. The abyss doesn’t end with her body cast to the bottom, bones broken and shattered against the shadowed precipices of this haunted world, never to be found. Instead, Larkspur floats, and time seems to become unnaturally slow, the air eerie in it’s sudden silence. Then, as if she were hit with a great force, she gasps for air, her lungs screaming as if they had spent an eternity denied of precious air. All she can feel is the materialization of a cool, solid floor of stone beneath her body, and all she can see is blinding, brilliant white. It drives the darkness away, unrelenting, remarkable in its strength, and it overwhelms her until she is forced to close her eyes again for fear that the luminous fire may blind her permanently. She thinks - perhaps - that this is the end, and she recalls the wild tails of the great warriors and elders of her past, of what it means to truly die, but she draws another breath, and another. She will not die today. Reassurance, certainty, presents itself in the undeniable familiarity of mountainous summer air as it assaults her senses, and she blinks, revealing the far less overwhelming darkness of the cave she now exists in, the ceiling reeling above her head as she lies motionless on the floor. Her eyes fall upon the smooth surface of the Time God’s mirror, so close that she could reach it with the soft flat of her nose. Once more she finds herself staring at the reflection in front of her, still unable to recognize the gaunt, savage looking creature that stares back at her. Despite the great destruction of the world she had been lost in, this mirror is undisturbed, unbroken, with no evidence of her passing. Realization washes over her in a waves of emotion that (perhaps for the first time in her life) are entirely unconcealed as they flit across the normally unreadable and cold edges of her face - disbelief, joy, relief. Could she really be home? “Hello?” A voice! Larkspur’s heart leaps - first with fear: fear that this is another cruel trick, that her eyes are only helping to betray her mind, and she will awaken and return to the void she has been lost in for so long. However, she has never been one to bow to the contrived horrors of ones idle thoughts, and though doubt lingers as it often does, she refuses to let it over come her, and this voice is different from anything else she has heard. This is a voice, with it’s soft trill and gentle harmony, she recognizes. Larkspur stirs, driven to move despite the great weight of exhaustion that tempts her to lie frozen. She draws her legs up underneath her, hooves clacking against the stone as she rolls sideways. She hesitates, but only briefly, and in one swift move, albeit with grace akin to that of a newborn foal, she stands. From the shadows in front of her a figure materializes, but this is no ghost, this is no haunted wraith come to drag her back into a world of terrors and nightmares. No - there is no mistaking the gleaming bay coat of the unicorn now standing in front of her, or the ivory white of the small creature that hovers at it’s hooves - both expectant. Larkspur focuses her golden gaze, blinks against the gloom until she is convinced this is not a dream. And she speaks, the sound of her own voice as foreign and unfamiliar as a stranger’s after a lifetime of silence. “Lena? Is that you?” @[Lena] |
