- Invitation Status
- Looking for partners
- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per day
- Multiple posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Online Availability
- On fairly regularly, every day. I'll notice a PM almost immediately. Replies come randomly.
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Preferred Character Gender
- Primarily Prefer Male
- No Preferences
- Genres
- High fantasy is my personal favorite, followed closely by modern fantasy and post-apocalyptic, but I can happily play in any genre if the plot is good enough.
She was drifting again. Weightless, shapeless, pulled along by the currents of consciousness that surrounded her. Even though she knew it was dangerous, even though relinquishing herself to the tide could put her right back to the place from which she had just run, she did it anyways. She was too tired to fight anymore.
Evelyn Mireille Sauvage was dead.
She had never been one to believe in God or the afterlife. Her life was her life, and she wasn't about to live it in hopes that there would be some grand reward waiting for her after death. That was why she had fought so desperately against the illness that had claimed her body and mind. Because if she gave into it, if she let it sweep her away from the underside of that bridge, the flickering of the fire glowing inside an old metal trash can, the heaps of junk that made up the only home she had, she knew that she would never be coming back. She knew that she would be abandoning the one person in the world who actually needed her.
That desperate wailing had been the last thing Evie had thought she would ever hear. She had wanted to get up, willed it with every ounce of her heart and soul, but her body had not moved. Surely someone else would hear the crying. They said that no woman could ignore the sound of a child crying. Someone would come and claim her, bring her to a far better home than Evie could ever have provided. Or maybe they would leave her there to die. No one cared about the street children, those lost to the dark folds of society.
It would have been better if that sobbing truly had been the last thing she had ever heard. Better if she had simply spiraled away into blackness, into the end, into a true cease. It would be better than the torment that claimed her now.
She had known the drifting was dangerous. Focus allowed her to maintain her own reality, allowed her to counter whatever was thrown at her with something of her own invention, something that might save her, at least momentarily. Yet she had drifted anyways, maybe believing that completely releasing herself to the ripples would allow her to fall right out of the hell in which she now existed. But it hadn't. And now she was caught once more.
For a moment, just after she had first died and had been flung into the afterlife, she had been drifting, free of any bonds. But something had hauled her unprepared mind away from that freedom almost instantly. She knew enough now to know that she was one of the unlucky ones. She had been grabbed by a demon, and dragged into hell.
It wasn't really Hell. There was no Hell. Nor was there a Heaven. All there were was people, or, at least, the minds of people. Human beings, too stubborn to release their own identity upon death, thrown together into a place that was nothing but a mass of whirling energy. Left to suffer at the mercies of each other's twisted consciousnesses for all of eternity. Or, at least, until it wore away at you so much that you finally faded away, unable to retain your own mind any longer.
She had seen it happen. After all, she was not trapped alone in this particular hell. She had been doing everything she could to try and survive for... how long had it been now? There was no telling time in this world, no clocks to measure the regulated progression of time. There was only chaos, chaos and the mind. She had no idea how long had passed in the living world, but after everything she had gone through, she had to have been here for something approaching ten years. Ten years that felt more like a hundred.
She was walking through a city. The buildings towered over her head so tall that it seemed as though they curved together, blocking her from above and the sides. The ground was black asphalt, wet and sticky, and it clung to the bottoms of her feet as she stumbled forwards, desperate to get away. But the street stretched on ahead of her forever, so far that the street seemed to close off in front of her again, and the walls of the buildings ran on forever, so close together that there was no way she could turn aside.
The pavement was bubbling behind her, stretching up out of the ground in sheets of tar, giant muzzles and sharp teeth snapping at her heels. She tried to run faster, but her feet sunk into the pavement, and the tar reached up around her, clawing up her legs and holding her back, leaving giant gashes in her legs that burned like acid. She screamed, but the noise never escaped her throat, it only built up inside her until she swore she would burst. The sky was falling down on her, red and menacing, and the asphalt dogs were creeping up behind her, baying with joy. One leaped onto her shoulder, biting down hard, and she tried to scream again, only to find another one latching onto her throat, crushing it, physically choking off her voice as it had subconsciously been choked off before. And then they were dragging her down. Down into the sticky wet blackness, which flooded in through her mouth and nose and left her clawing desperately towards the surface, striving for air.
She woke suddenly, standing upright, bound to a steel frame at chin, torso, wrists and ankles. She struggled weakly, coughing up the black tar that filled her lungs, before the door across the room swung open.
A little girl stepped delicately into the room, practically dancing on the balls of her feet. She was dressed in a white gown, and her brown locks curled around her grey eyes.
"Martine?" Evelyn whispered, spitting around the fluid that still filled her mouth.
The little girl giggled, and took another couple steps closer. "Evie," she said, reaching out a hand and lightly stroking her face. "How good to see you again."
"But.. no, how. Why?"
"No one came and found me. You died, and left me all alone, and I starved to death, desperately trying to call out your name. Now the kind demon is going to let me get my revenge." She giggled again, grabbing a long, sharp dagger from the table, and ran it around Evelyn's eye.
No, no, it wasn't true. It was all in her head. She had to believe that, had to will it with all of her heart. Because she had to believe, no matter what happened, that Martine would never hate her. If she didn't she would be lost.
It was the words that kept her from going mad. In all the time she had cared for Martine, she had never spoken a word. Evie had imagined her voice countless times, but she had never actually heard it.
Martine, the figment, giggled happily. "Oh, but how could I not speak, when this is so delightfully exciting."
It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. She closed her eyes against the vision before her, summoned from the very depths of her soul. Martine, she cried inside her head. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I never wanted to leave you. She began to push with all of her will, trying to pull herself out, give herself a moment of freedom before she was dragged back in.
"No!" she heard Martine shriek, her voice echoing and distorted. "Don't leave me alone again!"
I'm coming for you. Evelyn promised silently. I'm coming for the real you. I know I'm dead, but somehow I'm coming back.
She was drifting again, but this time she brought her own skill to bear, her own talent bought through ten years worth of chaos and pain. She was still trapped within the consciousness of the demon that had grabbed her, but now that she had gotten away for a little while it would turn its attention to someone else. Someone else who had dared to drift, and was easy pickings. The world began to form around her, under the power of her own mind. It was simple, something easy to maintain, and relatively benevolent, so that it would be harder for the demon to twist to its own sick purposes.
She was sitting cross-legged in a green box, an unidentifiable light source illuminating the walls. Other than the body and clothes she unconsciously created for herself, the room was empty. Easy to maintain, and resistant to change.
It had bothered her at first, always being able to feel the other consciousnesses around her. They swirled around, each in their own oblong reality, until crashing into, or being grabbed by, another consciousness and having their realities forcibly melded together. Now she was used to it, and she thickened the walls of her room some, trying to protect herself somewhat from their echoes. Trying to protect herself from the echoes of the torment to which the demon subjected them.
There was someone drifting nearby. It was stupid, foolish, and she would have told him just that if she had been given the opportunity. Most likely, the demon was only seconds away from snagging him.
She didn't know from where the sudden surge of empathy came. She certainly hadn't been expecting it. Caring about others would only ever get you hurt. Yet she still opened a small hole in her own reality, and pulled the consciousness into her own little bubble.
"You shouldn't drift like that," she scolded absently. "Not unless you enjoy being tortured."
Evelyn Mireille Sauvage was dead.
She had never been one to believe in God or the afterlife. Her life was her life, and she wasn't about to live it in hopes that there would be some grand reward waiting for her after death. That was why she had fought so desperately against the illness that had claimed her body and mind. Because if she gave into it, if she let it sweep her away from the underside of that bridge, the flickering of the fire glowing inside an old metal trash can, the heaps of junk that made up the only home she had, she knew that she would never be coming back. She knew that she would be abandoning the one person in the world who actually needed her.
That desperate wailing had been the last thing Evie had thought she would ever hear. She had wanted to get up, willed it with every ounce of her heart and soul, but her body had not moved. Surely someone else would hear the crying. They said that no woman could ignore the sound of a child crying. Someone would come and claim her, bring her to a far better home than Evie could ever have provided. Or maybe they would leave her there to die. No one cared about the street children, those lost to the dark folds of society.
It would have been better if that sobbing truly had been the last thing she had ever heard. Better if she had simply spiraled away into blackness, into the end, into a true cease. It would be better than the torment that claimed her now.
She had known the drifting was dangerous. Focus allowed her to maintain her own reality, allowed her to counter whatever was thrown at her with something of her own invention, something that might save her, at least momentarily. Yet she had drifted anyways, maybe believing that completely releasing herself to the ripples would allow her to fall right out of the hell in which she now existed. But it hadn't. And now she was caught once more.
For a moment, just after she had first died and had been flung into the afterlife, she had been drifting, free of any bonds. But something had hauled her unprepared mind away from that freedom almost instantly. She knew enough now to know that she was one of the unlucky ones. She had been grabbed by a demon, and dragged into hell.
It wasn't really Hell. There was no Hell. Nor was there a Heaven. All there were was people, or, at least, the minds of people. Human beings, too stubborn to release their own identity upon death, thrown together into a place that was nothing but a mass of whirling energy. Left to suffer at the mercies of each other's twisted consciousnesses for all of eternity. Or, at least, until it wore away at you so much that you finally faded away, unable to retain your own mind any longer.
She had seen it happen. After all, she was not trapped alone in this particular hell. She had been doing everything she could to try and survive for... how long had it been now? There was no telling time in this world, no clocks to measure the regulated progression of time. There was only chaos, chaos and the mind. She had no idea how long had passed in the living world, but after everything she had gone through, she had to have been here for something approaching ten years. Ten years that felt more like a hundred.
She was walking through a city. The buildings towered over her head so tall that it seemed as though they curved together, blocking her from above and the sides. The ground was black asphalt, wet and sticky, and it clung to the bottoms of her feet as she stumbled forwards, desperate to get away. But the street stretched on ahead of her forever, so far that the street seemed to close off in front of her again, and the walls of the buildings ran on forever, so close together that there was no way she could turn aside.
The pavement was bubbling behind her, stretching up out of the ground in sheets of tar, giant muzzles and sharp teeth snapping at her heels. She tried to run faster, but her feet sunk into the pavement, and the tar reached up around her, clawing up her legs and holding her back, leaving giant gashes in her legs that burned like acid. She screamed, but the noise never escaped her throat, it only built up inside her until she swore she would burst. The sky was falling down on her, red and menacing, and the asphalt dogs were creeping up behind her, baying with joy. One leaped onto her shoulder, biting down hard, and she tried to scream again, only to find another one latching onto her throat, crushing it, physically choking off her voice as it had subconsciously been choked off before. And then they were dragging her down. Down into the sticky wet blackness, which flooded in through her mouth and nose and left her clawing desperately towards the surface, striving for air.
She woke suddenly, standing upright, bound to a steel frame at chin, torso, wrists and ankles. She struggled weakly, coughing up the black tar that filled her lungs, before the door across the room swung open.
A little girl stepped delicately into the room, practically dancing on the balls of her feet. She was dressed in a white gown, and her brown locks curled around her grey eyes.
"Martine?" Evelyn whispered, spitting around the fluid that still filled her mouth.
The little girl giggled, and took another couple steps closer. "Evie," she said, reaching out a hand and lightly stroking her face. "How good to see you again."
"But.. no, how. Why?"
"No one came and found me. You died, and left me all alone, and I starved to death, desperately trying to call out your name. Now the kind demon is going to let me get my revenge." She giggled again, grabbing a long, sharp dagger from the table, and ran it around Evelyn's eye.
No, no, it wasn't true. It was all in her head. She had to believe that, had to will it with all of her heart. Because she had to believe, no matter what happened, that Martine would never hate her. If she didn't she would be lost.
It was the words that kept her from going mad. In all the time she had cared for Martine, she had never spoken a word. Evie had imagined her voice countless times, but she had never actually heard it.
Martine, the figment, giggled happily. "Oh, but how could I not speak, when this is so delightfully exciting."
It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It couldn't be. It couldn't be. She closed her eyes against the vision before her, summoned from the very depths of her soul. Martine, she cried inside her head. I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry. I never wanted to leave you. She began to push with all of her will, trying to pull herself out, give herself a moment of freedom before she was dragged back in.
"No!" she heard Martine shriek, her voice echoing and distorted. "Don't leave me alone again!"
I'm coming for you. Evelyn promised silently. I'm coming for the real you. I know I'm dead, but somehow I'm coming back.
She was drifting again, but this time she brought her own skill to bear, her own talent bought through ten years worth of chaos and pain. She was still trapped within the consciousness of the demon that had grabbed her, but now that she had gotten away for a little while it would turn its attention to someone else. Someone else who had dared to drift, and was easy pickings. The world began to form around her, under the power of her own mind. It was simple, something easy to maintain, and relatively benevolent, so that it would be harder for the demon to twist to its own sick purposes.
She was sitting cross-legged in a green box, an unidentifiable light source illuminating the walls. Other than the body and clothes she unconsciously created for herself, the room was empty. Easy to maintain, and resistant to change.
It had bothered her at first, always being able to feel the other consciousnesses around her. They swirled around, each in their own oblong reality, until crashing into, or being grabbed by, another consciousness and having their realities forcibly melded together. Now she was used to it, and she thickened the walls of her room some, trying to protect herself somewhat from their echoes. Trying to protect herself from the echoes of the torment to which the demon subjected them.
There was someone drifting nearby. It was stupid, foolish, and she would have told him just that if she had been given the opportunity. Most likely, the demon was only seconds away from snagging him.
She didn't know from where the sudden surge of empathy came. She certainly hadn't been expecting it. Caring about others would only ever get you hurt. Yet she still opened a small hole in her own reality, and pulled the consciousness into her own little bubble.
"You shouldn't drift like that," she scolded absently. "Not unless you enjoy being tortured."