RE: Sixteenths.
05-12-2017, 06:27 AM
(This post was last modified: 05-12-2017, 07:16 AM by Tuesbirdy.)
Spoiler
16/16.
in which you will not be swayed.
"Wʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ?"
Eloa's face fades into focus, spun from mist and memory. Your eyes harden when a body completes the illusion.
"The battlefield."
"Aʜ." It reaches for your arm, but you jerk away. "Tᴏ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ."
"To atone," you snap, louder than you wanted, as if shouting makes it true. You breathe hard. The case of crystal vials weighs on your arm, and your soul.
Not-Eloa's shark-toothed grin reaches Its ears.
"Tʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪs ɪʀʀᴇᴠᴇʀsɪʙʟᴇ." The shadows seep into your bones, swim in your veins. "Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ--ᴏʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ."
The truth twists daggers into your gut. You glance at your faceless, shivering aide, and the fractured compass in your palm.
You remember Eloa's goodbye.
'Keep it,' she called after you, while you stared at the floor. You couldn't bear to see her bedridden. 'Travel the world. Eat good food. Find that mudyak an' show it what for. And—'
Her voice broke, so you turned around. The rot had painted caverns under her cheeks. You'd have stripped the soul from every man, woman, and child in town to save her, but she wouldn't allow it. You'd lost enough of yourself on the Battlefield.
'Find peace, and think of me sometimes.'
You throw Not-Eloa a fierce stare. When It cups your face, mocking you, you swipe Its spindly arm away. Someone with nothing to lose has nothing to fear.
"I'm going to the battlefield," you say, "to finish what I began."
That, at least, is possible still.
==>
in which you will not be swayed.
"Wʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏɪɴɢ?"
Eloa's face fades into focus, spun from mist and memory. Your eyes harden when a body completes the illusion.
"The battlefield."
"Aʜ." It reaches for your arm, but you jerk away. "Tᴏ ᴄᴏɴsᴜᴍᴇ."
"To atone," you snap, louder than you wanted, as if shouting makes it true. You breathe hard. The case of crystal vials weighs on your arm, and your soul.
Not-Eloa's shark-toothed grin reaches Its ears.
"Tʜᴇ ᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪs ɪʀʀᴇᴠᴇʀsɪʙʟᴇ." The shadows seep into your bones, swim in your veins. "Yᴏᴜ ᴄᴀɴ'ᴛ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ᴅᴏɴᴇ--ᴏʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ'ᴠᴇ ꜰᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ."
The truth twists daggers into your gut. You glance at your faceless, shivering aide, and the fractured compass in your palm.
You remember Eloa's goodbye.
'Keep it,' she called after you, while you stared at the floor. You couldn't bear to see her bedridden. 'Travel the world. Eat good food. Find that mudyak an' show it what for. And—'
Her voice broke, so you turned around. The rot had painted caverns under her cheeks. You'd have stripped the soul from every man, woman, and child in town to save her, but she wouldn't allow it. You'd lost enough of yourself on the Battlefield.
'Find peace, and think of me sometimes.'
You throw Not-Eloa a fierce stare. When It cups your face, mocking you, you swipe Its spindly arm away. Someone with nothing to lose has nothing to fear.
"I'm going to the battlefield," you say, "to finish what I began."
That, at least, is possible still.
==>