muddy these webs we weave / bb v rm v ej, day 5.
Nov 14, 2022 8:41:28 GMT -5
Post by 4m dagger thane 🗡jay on Nov 14, 2022 8:41:28 GMT -5
knife
S T R A U S SYou wake up restless.
The night was long, for you, boundless as if time's immortal shackles had loosened. You refused to close your eyes, to succumb to the tiredness in your bones, not when three bodies were only a few feet away from yours. They were kind enough, the dark-haired girl from Nine, Jack, you learned her name was, gave you a few of her unused things. And Katrina came over just as the dark bled into the grey sky, a smirk etched onto her wolf-like features, her tongue-in-cheek words eager on her lips. She likes having someone to play with, to pluck their marionette strings and have them buckle to her charm, and you like not giving her an inch. It was a game of cat and mouse, in a way, but one wolf bounding after another.
You couldn't let your guard down, though. Trust is unsound, fragile, a garden of roses, elegant and enticing but painful, scarring. It makes you vulnerable. You didn't survive this long, through the games, through life in Two, to get your throat slit while asleep.
It'd be fitting though, girl-shadow, more ghost than human to fade away softly into a memory, for a quiet girl to die a quiet death, leaving the world as you entered it.
Time was a slow burn, seconds achingly melting into minutes into hours, as the jet-black sky faded into a slate-colored one. The sun doesn't rise in a place like this, it's hidden, trapped behind overcast clouds and a mournful air. That was the point, you guess, to have even the earth taste like death, smell of rot like the bodies decaying on its ground.
Tears prick at your weary eyes like morning dew, bones cracking as you stretch yourself out on the cave floor. Your lack of sleep hits you, finally, when you stand, your balance shaky and knees buckling slightly. You keep yourself steady, holding a palm against the damp rock, digging the crown of your claws just deep enough to have a solid grip.
It's a while before the others start to stir, their bodies folding in and curling in on themselves before unfurling like a flower's petal when it touches the sun. It's odd, the way you can observe how someone is by the way they sleep. Andal and Katrina are splayed out against the ground, their limbs thrown and tossed around, seemingly no care in the world, and Jack with her knees pulled to her chest, closed tightly like a fist.
You gather your things, it's not much, but you drag the time along as the others rouse and begin to do the same. The crossbow by your side is already bolted, you did that last night as a safeguard. It's nothing against them, you want to like them, but you know how this game ends. And they do too.
You follow when they leave, trailing behind to keep a chary eye on them, but not enough to rouse a question. It's familiar territory for you, allowing another to stand in the foreground, step out into the light and take the reins while you faded into the back.
Always a shadow.
It made life easier, though, especially in Two. You were just there most of the time, existing, surviving, but there's something to say about living by the skin of your teeth. No one bothered you, not until the Reaping, at least. You can't remember any words that Victor spoke to you before then, probably because he never did, never cared till you could lose something for him.
Strauss, the word sits thick in your throat, poison on your tongue, but it is the only name you've ever had. It was always just Silver before then. Not a happier time, but a calmer one. You aren't sure if you yearn for it or resent it.
You pull yourself from your thoughts, straighten out your shoulders and grip the wooden stake Jack handed you tighter. The crossbow hangs on your back. You let your ears perk up at the sound of the others, drinking in their words. They talk like they're familiar, old friends going out for a drink. Their faces crease with a smile, even when walking they stay close, so tight-knit. And you, the lone wolf at the back of the back, wondering if you're in the right place.
You catch Katrina's eye, but quickly, you tear away from her gaze. A pang of guilt rings throughout the cavity of your chest, igniting your demure heart. If you were to survive then they'd all have to be dead. You'd have to step over their rotten, decaying skeletons to get back to Two. This is why you never let yourself care, or feel any type of warmth, about anyone, the guilt would eat away at you until there was nothing left, but bones and sinew and an emptiness. Your footsteps start to slow as you think, maybe you should leave, turn around and disappear while they're focused elsewhere. But you don't, you can't, as though your steps are magnetized to their own.
A pack stays together.
The castle on the hill, once just something in the distance shrouded by mist, soon materializes into view. It rises far into the sky, the tallest spires almost touching the clouds. You would look up wide-eyed, its stature something that captivates you, but instead, a sense of dread hooks its foul noose around your neck, a tightness forming in your throat.
You look to the others, eyes flicking to Andal, to Jack, then Katrina, and it's written along their faces, in the way their shoulders collapse in on themselves, and the way their eyebrows crease and meld together. They feel it too, it hangs from their eyes, the dolor.
They tread to the door, the grand entrance, slowly, and again, you follow. You've gotten good at it. Stepping through the threshold, you're greeted by a chill running a crooked finger down your spine. A wind nips at your fur-lined skin. The hallowed halls are dim-light, candles burning softly on either side, the flames flicker with the slam of the door behind you.
Your head shoots up, wide-eyed and alert, your blood rushing through your veins. There's a rumble deep within your chest, something beastly. You can smell them, through the halls, their scent, and the blood-stained on their skin. It's sickly.
You nudge Katrina, the blunt end of the stake pushing lightly into her arm.
"There's someone here, close," you murmur faintly, a whisper in the wind, but loud enough for the others to hear.
You don't move rashly, but quietly, hunting down the smell to its source. A wolf stalking down its prey, canines bared. You and the others follow it with a palpable hunger, it leads you down a maze of ornate halls and doors. It's all so elegant, but you know something is lurking beneath the veiled surface. Touch a golden vase and a spider would crawl out of its mouth.
You stop in front of a grand double door, it's in here. Whatever, whoever, it is. The smell is strong, overbearing, almost. You could practically taste the tang of the blood on their skin. The door pushes open, you trail close after Katrina, your stake clutched in your hand. It's razor-sharp, like your claws.
A blur moves in your vision, your nose flares. It's them. You lunge, striking out at the dark.
silver attacks akira / stake (knife)
qYsIu8kW7yknife
[ 9.0 + 1 (blades) ]
