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Jan. 13th, 2006 07:09 pmShe had screamed her rage and fury to the skies, seeking access to power born of hatred and loss, destruction and chaos, here again at the end of all worlds as it once might have been near the beginning of her own.
And the Dark had answered her call.
--power a chance storm destruction chaos freedom away elsewhere escape with the Dark with the storm with the power --
But not the Dark alone-- for with its rising, something else had come falling. The house -- a house! had plummeted out of the sky, tumbling through strange rainbow light from one storm into another.
It had struck the White Rider at the very moment when all her will, backed by the full force of the risen Dark at its height, was focused on tearing a portal to another world.
The soundless explosion had shaken everything apart and together again in a single moment.
There was no body found in the aftermath. No white cloak, no shoes, no dust. Nothing left, it would seem.
(where do you end when you pass beyond the ending?)
The warbling howl of the strange gray-white mist wails madness along with the storm that screams around her as she in turn now falls, falls, falls. It hums and mutters and cries, in a singing-buzzing-shrieking whine like a saw on metal, keening as though it has a strange unliving life of its own-- and her storm, the Dark's storm, answers it in discordant harmony.
Images whirl around her, passing swiftly--
(red shoes pink moon green glass black storm white light the girl at the window a small barking dog)
--and then there is a (thunderclap) loud crash.
The storm swirls up and away, vanishing into pitiless sapphire sky, leaving a crumpled white figure on the mirrorglass ground. Cracks radiate from her fallen body over the the shattered land, spreading outward in a spider's webbed spiral.
But slowly -- very, very slowly -- the woman who was once Blodwen Rowlands sits up.
She puts out a hand for support, bracing herself against the courtyard as she looks around. It is a courtyard, where she's fallen-- silver-bright and made of glass, reflecting white clouds and blue sky and the occasional passing bird.
To one side there stands a giant gate, with thirteen lines of colored glass forming the pillars of its (prison) barrier. If one looks closely enough, they might almost seem to move.
At the far side of the yard rises a palace of glass, all emerald and jade and aquamarine-topaz with hints of gold and jet-black windows. Green, everything is green, bright and shining with painful clarity.
She stands, and as she does the mirrorglass surface below her feet gleams and runs together with mercurial quickness, sealing and mending itself. One step she takes, and one only-- and then there is a deep booming sound, not unlike the ringing of a giant brass-brazen bell.
The doors to the palace swing open.
Blodwen smiles.
And the Dark had answered her call.
--power a chance storm destruction chaos freedom away elsewhere escape with the Dark with the storm with the power --
But not the Dark alone-- for with its rising, something else had come falling. The house -- a house! had plummeted out of the sky, tumbling through strange rainbow light from one storm into another.
It had struck the White Rider at the very moment when all her will, backed by the full force of the risen Dark at its height, was focused on tearing a portal to another world.
The soundless explosion had shaken everything apart and together again in a single moment.
There was no body found in the aftermath. No white cloak, no shoes, no dust. Nothing left, it would seem.
(where do you end when you pass beyond the ending?)
The warbling howl of the strange gray-white mist wails madness along with the storm that screams around her as she in turn now falls, falls, falls. It hums and mutters and cries, in a singing-buzzing-shrieking whine like a saw on metal, keening as though it has a strange unliving life of its own-- and her storm, the Dark's storm, answers it in discordant harmony.
Images whirl around her, passing swiftly--
(red shoes pink moon green glass black storm white light the girl at the window a small barking dog)
--and then there is a (thunderclap) loud crash.
The storm swirls up and away, vanishing into pitiless sapphire sky, leaving a crumpled white figure on the mirrorglass ground. Cracks radiate from her fallen body over the the shattered land, spreading outward in a spider's webbed spiral.
But slowly -- very, very slowly -- the woman who was once Blodwen Rowlands sits up.
She puts out a hand for support, bracing herself against the courtyard as she looks around. It is a courtyard, where she's fallen-- silver-bright and made of glass, reflecting white clouds and blue sky and the occasional passing bird.
To one side there stands a giant gate, with thirteen lines of colored glass forming the pillars of its (prison) barrier. If one looks closely enough, they might almost seem to move.
At the far side of the yard rises a palace of glass, all emerald and jade and aquamarine-topaz with hints of gold and jet-black windows. Green, everything is green, bright and shining with painful clarity.
She stands, and as she does the mirrorglass surface below her feet gleams and runs together with mercurial quickness, sealing and mending itself. One step she takes, and one only-- and then there is a deep booming sound, not unlike the ringing of a giant brass-brazen bell.
The doors to the palace swing open.
Blodwen smiles.
