dark rise
Dawn comes too early. Bright, blinding. Sleep had barely come before its arrival. Eyes squint and scowl against the offense. Platinum hair crosses into the space next to her. There’s one missing, but there’s rummaging in the kitchen. The back of ashen waves face her upon entry, still mused from sleep.
It was a long night for all of them.
“Come run with me.”
Her body protests that idea - of moving, of running, but her mind needs the escape enough to still make the request. It’s become commonplace - wake, run, breakfast will be ready once they return, greeted by a chirping and vibrant sunflower of a child. Perhaps she’ll doze off in her office chair later in the afternoon, or it will be another long day without the rest.
Are you running to make yourself stronger, or are you running to escape?
The nightmares are getting worse.
Perhaps it is because of what happened in Silverpine, she wills herself.
You know that isn’t true. You didn’t learn to find silence so you could ignore what sits in front of your face, Firewing.
The air stings in her lungs as much as the exertion of the run matches that of her muscles, but she pushes harder. That pain distracts from her arms; never just one, anymore. The brand aches and pricks and burns and she can swear that she’s caught it alight with a violet glow in the darkness when she jerks awake from nightmares of eyes and consuming darkness. Now, the left aches and burns as well, in the corner of her eyes it turns monstrous in those same waking seconds.
She sees herself with too many eyes - bright and orange - when she glances in the mirror. When she coughs, there is ichor left behind on her palms.
It is all brief. She knows what these things are. She has lived with them long enough to know they are torturous abominations and visions, but she has the will to defy them now. When she remembers silence, she can focus on her daughter and her lovers and work.
If you keep ignoring this, it will only make things worse.
Are you going to fight them?
You know what you have to do, you’ve always known.
Isn’t this what you wanted, to fight back; to put an end to Him and things like Him?
When she dreams of the great, horrible eye hovering over her family - dark water pouring around them, choking and washing away everything she’s built - it is a more brutal awakening than she wishes for. It is an awakening nonetheless.
“Am I strong enough?” She mutters to herself, grasping for chalk and ink amongst her reagents. The space of the workshop is cleared.
You have been in that place before, do not forget.
Look for the intrusions, the darkness. Fight them.
New magic, picked up from the Nathrezim disc - helps focus prophecy with such vast intent and scope; gazing into the deep dark with no focus only makes things more confusing than they have need to be. She’ll thank Thinariel later.
Sand. Golden grass. The salt of the ocean and the crisp breeze of valley air. Darkness growing and engulfing and devouring.
Touching into the void is like ripping open a door that she’s been holding closed; enough torrent of whispers and visions and power to stagger her, body buckling down against the rune scrawled into the floor.
You’ve been hiding.
Left arm twitches and scratches of its own accord, and she closes her fingers around her wrist to keep herself still. Her vision swims with orange and violet; devouring everything. Desire to fight and stay afloat wanes against the tide of dark. Even She fumbles against the outpouring of force and will.
Sanarissa is losing herself.
No.
No.
“No.”
It is a single word, but it is resolute enough to bring her back to herself and to remember. She strikes a hand against the inked circle, smearing and breaking the focus. It is enough to send her tumbling back from the precise intent, and out of the visions and void-searching. She remains against the floor, forehead pressed to the cold stone as she shakes and shivers.
It is quiet, for a moment. Suppression from Her and the sorceress’ own will to find some silence and peace. After something so loud, it almost aches.
It’s too dangerous to be here, now. Her position is precarious enough without risking tumbling into possession or corruption around her family. She knows where to go, now. She has to fight. It’s the only option.
Merriena stirs when she kisses her hair, fingers grasping tighter onto the stuffed hawkstrider she clutches in her sleep. She doesn’t try to give such a goodbye to Ashiserus or Thinariel - light sleepers as they are, they’ll wake and she will have to explain all of this.
A note is left on the counter. Thinariel will be the first to find it, she estimates.
It’s all getting rather dark. I don’t trust my own mind now. I’m going to fight them. If you need to find me, I have the scrying stone. I love you all, I’ll be home soon. - Sanarissa
