i have not done less than duty requires.
Mar. 23rd, 2017 11:48 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lyseandpurge posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
castle_perraultThere is a song in the flagstones.
It resonates, high-pitched, nonverbal, and arrhythmic, between the walls of the corridors and along the lengths of the old pillars and in the hollows of the alcoves.
It comes from a windowless hallway, from a door no one has seen before whose cobweb drapery is so old it has begun to peel away.
And even then it comes: from a little outside the world, from no room, from no mouth.
From the gap in the door a light has begun to bleed, vivid and violet and pulsing like a heartbeat. The song rises with it, falls with it, and harmonises with the whistling of the wind—the smell of hot metal mingling with something sweet.
If you open the door, it is because you have heard the sound, seen the light, felt the pulse—you have traced it to its source. It hangs before you, an immortal crystal of pure light, suspended in a shining, sickly abyss with no visible beginning or end. It is wounded. It is bleeding. A steady torrent of syrupy liquid pours from roots and pipes that have been forced through the wounds in its surface, and then been severed; the ichor streams down its lower facets and falls endlessly into the emptiness.
Its voice pierces your ears, louder and more melodic than ever.
And something dark and gaseous shifts warily under the glassy skin of the cell, watching you with its single eye.
= <o> =
a change. The ancient door has been altered recently: some wary soul has carved a message deep into the ageless wood, blackening it with heat. It reads: "DANGER, POSSESSION MAY OCCUR BEYOND THIS DOOR".
ooc. || hey everyone! this is Judgement or Ammit, the all-consuming vengeance of the immortal cell! she just got here, she's just a little lost, and she would appreciate something horrible happening so she can get back into the swing of things. anything's fine, though!!
nota bene—you can only get to the cell through this door, and Judgement can't see, hear, or perceive anything that isn't close to the cell. there's a little more information on these limitations in its bio. sorry for the restrictions!
It resonates, high-pitched, nonverbal, and arrhythmic, between the walls of the corridors and along the lengths of the old pillars and in the hollows of the alcoves.
It comes from a windowless hallway, from a door no one has seen before whose cobweb drapery is so old it has begun to peel away.
And even then it comes: from a little outside the world, from no room, from no mouth.
From the gap in the door a light has begun to bleed, vivid and violet and pulsing like a heartbeat. The song rises with it, falls with it, and harmonises with the whistling of the wind—the smell of hot metal mingling with something sweet.
If you open the door, it is because you have heard the sound, seen the light, felt the pulse—you have traced it to its source. It hangs before you, an immortal crystal of pure light, suspended in a shining, sickly abyss with no visible beginning or end. It is wounded. It is bleeding. A steady torrent of syrupy liquid pours from roots and pipes that have been forced through the wounds in its surface, and then been severed; the ichor streams down its lower facets and falls endlessly into the emptiness.
Its voice pierces your ears, louder and more melodic than ever.
And something dark and gaseous shifts warily under the glassy skin of the cell, watching you with its single eye.
a change. The ancient door has been altered recently: some wary soul has carved a message deep into the ageless wood, blackening it with heat. It reads: "DANGER, POSSESSION MAY OCCUR BEYOND THIS DOOR".
ooc. || hey everyone! this is Judgement or Ammit, the all-consuming vengeance of the immortal cell! she just got here, she's just a little lost, and she would appreciate something horrible happening so she can get back into the swing of things. anything's fine, though!!
nota bene—you can only get to the cell through this door, and Judgement can't see, hear, or perceive anything that isn't close to the cell. there's a little more information on these limitations in its bio. sorry for the restrictions!
kinda short whoops
Date: 2017-06-30 10:41 pm (UTC)It's. A little much.
Maybe it's more than just sharing.
They stop chewing and hold their arms out, staring, waiting to see if...if... something'll happen. Something breaking out of their skin, or breaking into their bones...but it seems to be nothing. Just a feeling.
Frisk shivers and takes a deep breath--which is a bad decision, since a bit of unchewed pear shoots down their throat and needs to be coughed out onto the grass and stones, and that's gross.
A normal kind of gross, though.
"Could...never? Touch them?" Frisk asks when they can breathe again, and their voice barely wavers.
it's perfect!! <3 sorry for general shortness on my end
Date: 2017-07-01 11:25 am (UTC)touch taste sight smell sound
the wind blowing and the sun shining! Frisk—when i was blue—when it was blue—once, then—
She passes overhead, four-fluked tail slashing the air, and this time she is perfectly visible, an armoured hulk whose thousand scars glisten like swollen bruises. Her shadow falls over them, cold, and she blots out the sun and forces a black ooze out of the ground beneath her.
She rolls, and her fin swipes the pear tree and there is a terrible crack. The broken trunk swings down until it strikes the soil, still clinging by a splinter of bark to the torn base. She doesn't notice.
through your eyes, through your ears; is this freedom?
what have i found?
She is an ache in Frisk's jaw and a thickness in their lungs. A blockage; she is forming.
The world is plagued by static.
u haven't been no worries!
Date: 2017-07-02 07:35 am (UTC)They dodge the pear tree--it's not a big one, it's easy, though branch-tips snag a sleeve and break off too--and Frisk almost slips. They see a flower her shadow didn't touch, and even then bend to try to pick it, but then they're doubling over and shuddering hard.
She's pretty and sad and painful, static hissing through their ears and singing in their bones.
They cough once, and pink-tainted spit falls onto the grass, followed by their knees.
"Ow." It's a sound of surprise more than pain. They would've thought everything would've hurt back by the Cell, if it was going to. "What?" they ask, looking back up towards her.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-07-02 01:15 pm (UTC)She turns to look, swinging around—agony—her whole body scraping the soil and bending upwards and around to face them, and her gaze—agony—seems finally to fixate on them, in its heat (the heat of pain) a slow-shifting interest. She is too slow, too heavy, too massive for their body to bear. Not even a planet could carry this star-dense burden without strain, without agony, bowing bones, bleeding into lungs.
i found—
She was not made to move slowly. Her pitted jaws nearly engulf Frisk as she slams to a stop in front of them, her body ploughing through the dirt.
you.
Her eye shines too bright, like a figment of the imagination, visible even when they blink. Black tar pools out of the ground beneath them, slick and wet, and rains upwards into the sky.
broke the walls. let me out.
Squeezing, crushing, hammering sickness drowns out everything else; only she is there.
how else could this be?
(no subject)
Date: 2017-07-03 10:43 pm (UTC)They are a Cell. They are the Cell. They hear the Cell, they hear the static and the song.
The world is going wrong. The stained earth runs up their legs and arms and hands and face, and it hurts, the static hurts, her stare hurts.
(The sickness consumes, and burns. They are being eaten, just as she said, but they don't know it--they only know it's painful.)
"I don't--" they curl forward until they're not looking at her, but she's close enough that Frisk feels their bangs brushing against her jaw "--don't--didn't break anything--it hurts," they whisper, and they don't know if this is real.
(no subject)
Date: 2017-07-06 02:15 am (UTC)didn't break anything—you didn't break anything—you didn't she groans, her ear-splitting voice splitting open again into thousands and thousands of intersecting planes and images, coming apart.
you didn't break anything you were what was broken she gasps, a great inrush of air, thousands and thousands of intersecting lives crushed into the pink of her eye in a great maelstrom, and Frisk just one more.
i am sorry she says, and then her jaws close around dirt and roots and she swallows them up.
It is over.
She is gone.
A black bird watches Frisk from a distant parapet, and with their first motion it spreads its wings, little wings, and flutters up into the sky.