Sorceress. Witch. Monster.
They're all just words. "I PREFER THE SCENT OF BLOWN-OUT CANDLES; I CRAVE SMOKE OVER SWEETNESS."
— Kristen Costello 🔥🔥🔥 "Beseech Death, my child. Trust in Her judgment." [ An inspiration blog for Pamina Shadecross, a character on FFXIV.
Crystal-Balmung.
Discord: alkymical
FC: Megan Fox ]
It was like an echo from the past, or a dream that she was only just now remembering. She recognized everything about the room, even though she was sure she'd never been there before. She knew the paintings on the walls, could name the artists who had painted them. The only thing that puzzled her were the stains on the walls. Those had never been there before. How did she know that they had never been there? She didn't, and yet, she knew.
Thick, black, something oozed slowly down the walls from ceiling to floor, and if she didn't know any better, she would have likened it to blood. But she did know better. She had seen it before, recently, been up close and personal with it. Maybe a little too up close and personal, in fact. As Pamina made her way down the hallway, she reached out to drag her fingers through it. It burned on contact, just like she knew that it would, and caused her to retract her hand quickly. She smeared the inky substance down the front of her dress her reveal the skin of her fingers tinged pink, then continued on as the train of her ball gown dragged through it and left streaks of the stuff trailing after her on the floor.
As she stepped into the great hall, the scene was no better. The walls wept with the substance, so much that the walls painted with delicate gold filigree couldn't be seen at all. She didn't know how she knew about the filigree, but she knew that it was there. On the far wall, suspended about halfway up by the black whatever it was, was a body. As Pamina got closer, she could make out tufts of blonde amongst the carnage and tattooed skin. Was whoever this was…dead? Against her better judgment, the spellslinger reached up to brush away the ooze from its face.
Suddenly, bright, shining, seafoam-colored eyes flew open and stared directly at her. He wheezed her name, a breathless, strangled, horrible sound, then outstretched an arm toward her. Pamina had no time to back away, to flee, to do anything before both of his hands wrapped around her throat. She tried to scream and could not. Black, inky tendrils crawled off of the wall and began to envelope her. No matter how hard she fought, or kicked, or clawed, the half-elezen could not free herself. The darkness began to pull her in, consuming her while he choked the life out of her.
Pamina woke with a ragged, gasping breath. Her stomach churned, and she all but threw herself out of her bed and ran for the bathroom, crashed to her knees before the toilet where she was violently sick. When she had finished, the spellslinger let her forehead rest against the cool surface of the wall and closed her eyes. She had woken in hers' and Nikklaus' bedroom in the Mist, not in the hellscape version of Ravensfall Manor from her nightmare. Ravensfall Manor didn't even exist anymore, so what was that?
High-pitched, girlish laughter that still managed to sound like nails on a chalkboard to her bubbled up from her bedroom, causing Pamina to groan. She carefully collected herself and washed and dried her face before she emerged from the bathroom, still holding her rolling stomach. Up the stairs, Suri sat perched on the foot of her unmade bed, looking like she'd been pulled away from a masquerade ball. Minus the mask, of course. What irony.
"You know exactly what that dream was," Suri said to her, amethyst-hued eyes glittering with amusement. Pamina offered her a scowl. "Why act like you don't?"
"Why are you all dressed up?" Pamina asked, ascending the stairs and walking to her dresser. A quick glance around the room revealed that she was alone with Suri. Great. She pulled an overshirt free and on, then wrapped it around herself before collapsing back into her bed.
"I felt like dressing up the doll," Suri shrugged one shoulder, then preened curly, burgundy locks that framed her face. "Make it less…lifeless. Is that so bad?"
Pamina rolled her eyes at the choice of works. She grabbed Nikklaus' pillow from his side of the bed and dragged it to her, hugging it to her midsection.
"Are you sick? Suri asked. Even the most innocent of questions seemed mirthful, like she was mocking her.
"I'll live," Pamina muttered, her face plastered to the pillow.
"Of that, I have no doubt." Suri answered as she stood. She made her way to Nikklaus' side of the bed. "No matter what you subconscious might try to make you believe, you are Quite strong."
Pamina didn't open her eyes again until she felt the opposite side of the bed shift. Suri crawled on all fours across it to lay on her stomach at the spellslinger's side, propping her chin up with her hands.
"But I do need you to take care of this vessel. It is so very precious to me," Suri walked two fingers up Pamina's arm to her shoulder, then placed them both beneath her chin. "So get whatever affliction you have looked at, hm? Then, perhaps we can discuss your nightmare."
Suri climbed off of the bed and headed down the stairs toward the kitchen.
"I know how to fight the monsters you're so fearful of, Pamina," Her voice wafted from the far end of the house. "And I can teach you. Don't keep me waiting."
Ever wondered how people see you? How an artist would paint you, or an author describe you? What makes some love you, and others turn away? Yeah dude same, damn. Anyway, this quiz will tell you which Highly Aesthetic Colour you are, at least in this painter's eyes! "Color in a picture is like enthusiasm in life." - Vincent van Gogh
The lake was as still and shiny as glass, as if she could step on it and walk all the way across. It was one of those days when anything seemed possible, and she stood there, breathing deep and imagining that she was weightless. If she closed her eyes, she could picture herself floating across the lake, feather-light and free. She could almost feel it. If she just held her arms out to the sides and moved, nothing would be as heavy.
A single step found Pamina plunging into the icy depths of the lake. Clearly, the surface hadn't been as solid as glass, but the cold that surrounded her was just as sharp as if it had splintered and cut her to shreds. The pain was so intense that she couldn't bear to move. All she could do was sink deeper and deeper, letting the black abyss swallow her whole.
"Yes, good," A phantom voice sounded. Pamina knew it was in her head. There would be no one down here to speak to her. "Don't fight it. Let the darkness take you. They can't hurt you anymore if you're gone."
Pamina opened bleary eyes beneath the water, but found no one down there with her. Still, the voice continued.
"No more pain. No more being used by anyone got anything. All of that potential gone, wasted, to disappear without a trace right alongside you. Wouldn't that be nice?"
It would be nice, Pamina thought as the edges around her vision began to darken and her lungs began to burn with the need for air. Nothing could ever hurt her again. No one could touch her. She would be free.
As the spellslinger began to fade into unconsciousness, the tone of the voice inside of her head changed.
"Stupid girl," The voice spat. "It isn't so simple. You think that I'd let you kill this vessel just like that? You're absurd."
A warmth suddenly filled the spellslinger's body and her eyes flew open. Her legs kicked of their own accord and her arms fought to drag her to the surface, carrying her further and further away from the inky blackness of the abyss. When she was unceremoniously dumped on the grassy shoreline by the ghostly entity, she was left gasping, sputtering, coughing up lake water, and cold.
"You're done when I say you're done, and you're not done yet," The voice warned. "We are not done yet."
The pale-haired miqo'te boy was quick on his feet as he led her through the twisting, turning back alleys of the Brume. The gown she was wearing made it difficult to keep up, and she was forever catching the toes of her pointed heels on the cold cobblestone. She could remember a time when this would have been easy, when navigating these streets in her bare feet probably would have had her outpacing him.
But that felt like a lifetime ago.
"Come on!" The ruddy-faced boy showed no signs of slowing down, and despite the fact that she wished that he would for once, Pamina was determined to keep up with him. The further that they ran, the darker and the colder that it became, and the farther away from Ravensfall Manor they got.
Good.
Soon, the only light sources illuminating the night at all were the self-made fires by the various citizens who had made their homes there. They stared at the very out of place half-elezen running through the area, and the looks were enough for her to touch the bouncing curls that framed her face. What a sight that she must have been to them. They must have thought that she existed to mock them.
Eventually, the twisted alleyways gave way to deprecated, abandoned buildings. Surely, Pamina thought, he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere. But Xyphris strolled straight up to one of the doors and threw it open. He held it open and gestured for Pamina to go inside. It didn't seem to matter to him that she looked terribly uneasy; he just waited.
With her chin held high, she trudged through the dirty snow and into the doorway. What she encountered inside was not at all what she had expected. Outside, the building looked abandoned, and derelict enough that if you poked at the wooden paneling it might fall to pieces. Glass had long shattered out of the windows, replaced with wooden boards. Part of the roof had caved in on one side. The only thing that seemed absolutely untouched by time and rot was the door. It was an old inn, long abandoned by its owners and the usual citizens of Ishgard. But it was not totally abandoned. Several of the chairs and tables had been restored, as well as the bar, even if all of it was a little rough. All of them were occupied by a denizen or two of the Brume, and until she had entered the building, the quiet sounds of laughter and conversation, even the soft strumming of a guitar, could be heard wafting from within. Now, it was silent and all eyes were on her.
Xyphris seemed unphased by the sudden change in the atmosphere, only her hesitation. He beckoned her forward eagerly. "Come on!"
Pamina had no chance to protest. The pale-haired miqo'te grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her inside, slamming the door shut behind him. He bounded off with her in tow, oblivious to the stares that were being cast in her direction. That, or he just didn't care. He dragged her to multiple tables, including the bar, and quickly introduced her to everyone they encountered. He didn't stop dragging her around until he came to a group seated before the hearth, most of them younger. One in particular caught her attention, a young, blonde girl with mismatched eyes who was staring at her in awe. Pamina offered her the politest smile she could manage.
"So, what did we miss?" Xyphris asked as he took a seat in their circle. They handed him an acoustic guitar, but he swatted at the young blonde as he got situated. "Ella, quit staring!"
The blonde, Ella, gave a sheepish smile up to Pamina before she came to life. She jumped out of her seat, which was no more than a rug on the wooden floor, and threw her hands into the air. "The pirates! Theys was attackin' the ships, 'n' about t'lose their shinies! You almost missed it!"
"My apologies, miss Ella," Xyphris smiled, plucking several strings to test his guitar. "Continue, if you will?"
Ella sat back down, beaming. She continued to grin as the older woman sitting with them continued her story, with Xyphris strumming quietly along to the tale. Pamina, as she took her seat on an empty space on the rug, pulled a fancy hairpin from her hair and tucked it into Ella's hair. The blonde girl giggled, drawing a smile from the storyteller and Xyphris, and attention from the rest of the orphans listening to the story.
REVISITING FROM DUSK TILL DAWN
season one → kisa → re-introductory speech
↳ We put on a good show. And we have a hell of time, too. But is this really what we deserve? To crawl at the feet of our masters? We are so much more than slaves. We’re brothers and sisters. We share the same struggle. And the truth is—
