[the more she sticks her arm in, the colder the water gets, and the louder she can hear the whispers, and she can feel Oblivion slowly start to sink into her bones.
the water is deep. far deeper than it looks. deep enough that she can swim below the surface, if she wants.]
[as she sinks beneath the water, the temperature grows colder. the deeper she goes, the colder it gets, and all is lightless, down here. no light, no other sound than the whispers. and there is no end to this.
the deeper they go, the louder they get. still not really understandable, but the more Oblivion sinks into her bones. a shrieking chorus of pain and despair and longing for a permanent final ending for everythingeverythingeverythingeverything. they're in her head and as long as she's down here, there is no getting away from them. there is ignoring what they're saying and what they want, but they are ever-present and it's so, so, so loud.
she also gets the sense that something, somewhere is holding them at bay, holding them down here in the darkness beneath the surface.]
[ What she wants is to kill them. She grasps on instinct for the naginata, but of course it's no more than a branch of red camellias now.
Blind as she is, she feels around for something, anything, here in the darkness with her. If not a face to the whispers, then at least the shape of the Enemy. ]
[the whispers don't really...respond, as such, but you get the impression that 'being permanently dead' is what they want, most of all. they're already dead. just dying and unable to die, and you can feel the barest edges of that pain and suffering, what your mortal limits (even as an Exalted) can understand. just even the barest edges is the worst, though.
formless, shapeless, things just beyond mortal understanding. it strains at mortal understanding, as in actively fucking painful to even try to perceive the edges of their geometry.]
[ She tries to force herself to stay. She really does. If he can bear it, so can she.
...But in the end, her breath only holds out so long. So it's both a physical and spiritual need for air that drives her back to the surface.
Amaranth pulls herself up over the edge of the pond, back onto the garden grass. Do her surroundings still look the same? She studies the color of her hands and soaked hair. ]
[her surroundings still look the same, yes. once she is out of the water, the whispers stop and are gone as though she never heard them in the first place, without even an afterecho.
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Re: start: in the garden
the water is deep. far deeper than it looks. deep enough that she can swim below the surface, if she wants.]
Re: start: in the garden
.
.
.
... She has to know. For him, she has to know.
Amaranth withdraws a second time—but only to leave her leather bag with its first aid kit safely on the surface.
And then she takes a few steps back, and a short running start—and dives in. ]
Re: start: in the garden
Re: start: in the garden
Re: start: in the garden
Re: start: in the garden
the deeper they go, the louder they get. still not really understandable, but the more Oblivion sinks into her bones. a shrieking chorus of pain and despair and longing for a permanent final ending for everythingeverythingeverythingeverything. they're in her head and as long as she's down here, there is no getting away from them. there is ignoring what they're saying and what they want, but they are ever-present and it's so, so, so loud.
she also gets the sense that something, somewhere is holding them at bay, holding them down here in the darkness beneath the surface.]
Re: start: in the garden
She grasps on instinct for the naginata, but of course it's no more than a branch of red camellias now.
Blind as she is, she feels around for something, anything, here in the darkness with her. If not a face to the whispers, then at least the shape of the Enemy. ]
Re: start: in the garden
formless, shapeless, things just beyond mortal understanding. it strains at mortal understanding, as in actively fucking painful to even try to perceive the edges of their geometry.]
Re: start: in the garden
If he can bear it, so can she.
...But in the end, her breath only holds out so long. So it's both a physical and spiritual need for air that drives her back to the surface.
Amaranth pulls herself up over the edge of the pond, back onto the garden grass.
Do her surroundings still look the same? She studies the color of her hands and soaked hair. ]
Re: start: in the garden
it's peaceful in the garden. and silent.]
Re: start: in the garden
Then she shoulders her bag again; tucks her branch of flowers against the strap—and strides to the passage in the wisteria. ]
Re: start: in the garden