Mesektet Ra
02-07-2005, 08:46 PM
Nevermore
Part the First
Whisper
May 2003
She walks, set among a backdrop of stark night sky and blistering heat. Sweat pours from her pores, soaking through the black lace of her dress. She walks, her head bowed low, eyes cast amongst the gravestones.
The moonlight is bright as day, searing through the all-encompassing blackness of the midnight hour. It shines like silver on her raven black tresses, which she shakes away from her face in the heat. It’s hotter than hell, she thinks. She turns, in search of relief, and raises her face to the moon.
In seconds, the skies cloud and crack open. Rain pours down in sheets. She opens her arms to the welcoming cold, feeling the rain soak through her flimsy dress. The dry, parched earth beneath her thickly soled boots turns to mud in an instant.
“Into every generation…she is Chosen.” A voice whispers. She walks.
A light shimmers in the distance. Raven stares as it nears, bobbing and weaving quickly, as if in search for something. It pauses in front of her, and it says in a voice as cold as the rain, “Are you ready to be strong?”
She smiles at it, happy at the homey warmth emanating from it in waves. She reaches out to touch it.
A shockwave of heat and power lances up her arm like electricity. It burns her, bakes her, and she’s rooted to the spot as the power flows from her feet into the soil.
A screech like a banshee rends the night in two. The earth beneath her feet begins to move, quake, and then she’s tumbling, freefalling into an open grave. The moonlight seems miles away as she falls, endless, scrabbling at the earth surrounding her.
She lands, hard, as rain and dirt begin to choke her. She coughs and sputters, fighting wildly to get free. Her hands grasp at the vast walls of mud around her, fumbling for purchase.
Hands razor sharp like talons emerge from the walls of the grave, tearing the fabric of her gown, digging deep. Blood mixes with rain as it sluices down into the mud beneath her.
She opens her mouth to scream, to cry, but no sound comes out. More mud chokes her throat and she wants to bawl, to scream until her lungs tear out. This is what it’s like to die, more voices chorus. Are you ready to die?
In an instant, she’s someone else, lying the in the bed of an open coffin, breathing hard. Relief floods her and she sits up on her elbows, peering over the edge.
And a man wearing the mask of a demon bears down on her, face hungry and smile wide. “Amen,” he says, and she screams...
----------------
Raven gasps, sits bolt upright. Her blood tingles in her veins. The fear lingers over her like a dark cloud as Hunter murmurs groggily next to her, “Raven, honey? Are you okay?”
I'll never be okay, she wants to say. But she smiles over at him, runs her hands through his hair. "Just a dream, baby. I'm fine."
Hunter gives a grunt of approval and rolls over, asleep instantly.
Raven doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
----------------
To be continued...
Part the First
Whisper
May 2003
She walks, set among a backdrop of stark night sky and blistering heat. Sweat pours from her pores, soaking through the black lace of her dress. She walks, her head bowed low, eyes cast amongst the gravestones.
The moonlight is bright as day, searing through the all-encompassing blackness of the midnight hour. It shines like silver on her raven black tresses, which she shakes away from her face in the heat. It’s hotter than hell, she thinks. She turns, in search of relief, and raises her face to the moon.
In seconds, the skies cloud and crack open. Rain pours down in sheets. She opens her arms to the welcoming cold, feeling the rain soak through her flimsy dress. The dry, parched earth beneath her thickly soled boots turns to mud in an instant.
“Into every generation…she is Chosen.” A voice whispers. She walks.
A light shimmers in the distance. Raven stares as it nears, bobbing and weaving quickly, as if in search for something. It pauses in front of her, and it says in a voice as cold as the rain, “Are you ready to be strong?”
She smiles at it, happy at the homey warmth emanating from it in waves. She reaches out to touch it.
A shockwave of heat and power lances up her arm like electricity. It burns her, bakes her, and she’s rooted to the spot as the power flows from her feet into the soil.
A screech like a banshee rends the night in two. The earth beneath her feet begins to move, quake, and then she’s tumbling, freefalling into an open grave. The moonlight seems miles away as she falls, endless, scrabbling at the earth surrounding her.
She lands, hard, as rain and dirt begin to choke her. She coughs and sputters, fighting wildly to get free. Her hands grasp at the vast walls of mud around her, fumbling for purchase.
Hands razor sharp like talons emerge from the walls of the grave, tearing the fabric of her gown, digging deep. Blood mixes with rain as it sluices down into the mud beneath her.
She opens her mouth to scream, to cry, but no sound comes out. More mud chokes her throat and she wants to bawl, to scream until her lungs tear out. This is what it’s like to die, more voices chorus. Are you ready to die?
In an instant, she’s someone else, lying the in the bed of an open coffin, breathing hard. Relief floods her and she sits up on her elbows, peering over the edge.
And a man wearing the mask of a demon bears down on her, face hungry and smile wide. “Amen,” he says, and she screams...
----------------
Raven gasps, sits bolt upright. Her blood tingles in her veins. The fear lingers over her like a dark cloud as Hunter murmurs groggily next to her, “Raven, honey? Are you okay?”
I'll never be okay, she wants to say. But she smiles over at him, runs her hands through his hair. "Just a dream, baby. I'm fine."
Hunter gives a grunt of approval and rolls over, asleep instantly.
Raven doesn't sleep for the rest of the night.
----------------
To be continued...