A vast wilderness, black and white squares, endlessly warped. Was this a false awakening? Hardly, the checkered expanse turned red as she continued to float. The smell was overpowering, as if it tainted the void. She fell, she fell quickly and as fast. Downwards, she went.
Stopping as she got closer to the ground, she looked at the arm, it was white. A sickening feeling sunk into her like a shark would eat a seal. Cold eyes stared up at her, familiar eyes. She couldn't breathe, it felt as though all the air was sucked out.
She felt overwhelming fear as the sword appeared over her head.
She screamed, the night sky greeted her.
PM, shot up, screaming. She took a gulp of air, as if it could disappear into nothing. Her joints felt sticky. The nightmare keeps repeating, over and over. The same thing, the headless dersite and the stagnant blood polluting the air. Her heart thrummed louder than she cares to know.
She has no peace of mind, not since the battlefield. She had to do her duty, just as that scary Dersite had to do his. Her mind buzzed with adrenalin, while her body felt cold.
It had been a shame that it had to end with an unecessary death for the dersite.
She misses Prospit, the fresh smells of flowers, the bakers putting their bread out to cool. The bustle of agents going about their business. The smell of hot metal as the blacksmiths created ornaments, swords and various wought iron artifacts. The jamboree of music, filling her heart while she goes about her life.
It made no difference as she formed ideas and scenarios on how she could have escaped the brute on the cliff. Analysing each and every move, every scenario her weary mind could come up with.
All are pointless.
The sand is irritating, she let a low groan as she finally returned to a normal heartbeat. She was now aware of her 'acquaintances'.
They stare at her with worry.
The feeling of hate for the man who asked her to do his 'dirty' work for him is overwhelming.
If it wasn’t for Jack Noir, she would be able to sleep. Maybe then her life would have taken a lighter path, she could have spent more time with her friends. Spend more time gazing at the moon eclipsing Skaia.
None of that is possible now.
She reaches for the sword. How many times did she use this? She cannot stand the memory. She drops it onto the sand, her hands shaking.
She finally allows unshed tears to come forth. Tears streak down her weather worn cheeks, it is okay to cry. This is a healthy reaction and she knows this.
She tenses as WV holds her shoulder, somehow he knows all the pain and sorrow clenching its hand around her heart with a grip of iron.
It feels comforting, she welcomes the feeling of another person's hand against her shoulder.
For the first time it did not feel unpleasant, it felt wonderful.
She knew that her fellow exiles suffered during the war, WV witnessing a massacre of people on the battlefield, he still blames himself for something Noir did.
AR had his own emotional scars, he never speaks of them.
PM finally feels calm enough to settle back down, the sand shifting as she curls up into a ball. She feels comfortable doing this. It is a comfort thing, the others respect this. They give her space, they settle down close by. Just to make sure she is all right.
For the first time she feels the sensation of being at peace, and she likes it.