#abel dash

[stellapryce]

[location] c l u s t e r f u c k [date] october 1, 8:14AM [availability] @fideiism​​

They had come for her.

Adelaide and Dominic and the rest of them. Judging by the commotion, the discord, the whole of Paradise had made it into the prison. If she were a different girl, Stella might have wept. If she were the girl just a week ago, before her fire had been reignited, she probably would have. But, no. No, she wasn’t that broken doll any longer and when she heard the familiar voices, the pounding of human footsteps, Stella could only smile.

Her mission was opposite from that dinner party (it seems like years ago, but it wasn’t even a month). Information, plans, lists -- that was all secondary. Incidental. She was going to get out. So without even a half-glance backward, Stella ran. From the minute the locks un-clicked and the eerie, constant humming stopped.

She ran.

She skirted demons in her path, shoving her fist into her mouth to muffle her heavy panting when she needed to hide for a moment. The prison was a maze though and she couldn’t find the exit. Several times, she thought she was close, only to find herself back at her own cell (Abel’s tattered blanket crumpled on its floor). 

Hysteria and panic twinned in her chest but she would not let herself fall to them. Now was not the time. She just had to keep moving and eventually she would find a way out. Through her life, despite everything, Stella had kept moving. Stella had found a way out.

This time would be no difference.

She swung blindly when a hand clamped over her wrist but she cowed when she saw who it was. Her angel.

“Abel,” she pleaded. “I have to.” She tugged desperately. Keep moving. Get out.

[stellapryce]

[location] new utopia cells [date] september 22, early hours of the morning [open to] @fideiism

Stella hadn’t been sleeping wonderfully -- fitful and scared on the thin pallet that was her bed. Forever waiting for some demon, Alastair, Abaddon, someone else, to drag her off to a room filled with medieval torture devices. Through the day, she had the soothing buzz of Abel’s voice to keep her calm. He had been true to his promise -- talking endlessly about everything under the sun (and a few things over the sun) and anything that she asked about. It occupied her mind, let her focus on something other than the time being w a s t e d, her inevitable death at the demons’ hands, all that she was missing, Recon... At night, there was no such relief.

This night it seemed as if her worst fears were coming to life. Slow, d r a g g i n g footsteps and a rasping chuckle woke her in the dead of the night. She held her breath, laid as still as possible, but still the figure stopped just outside her cell. Sitting up, she saw the ominous spread of wings -- a being entirely of SHADOW. He beckoned her to the front of the cell, keys clinking as he unlocked the door. “What’s going on?” she asked. He didn’t answer, just grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise and pulled her to the side. There was a smirk over his face that turned Stella’s stomach. It was the smile of a child burning ants, toying sadistically with helpless victims.

Before Stella could ask where he was taking her, he stopped her again. Unlocked the cell just next to hers and pushed her in without ceremony. Abel’s cell. “Enjoy your night,” came the farewell from the demon, voice like oil splattering in a hot pan. His cackle, low in his chest, followed him down the rest of the hall, away. But what did that mean? Why would they leave her with...

Her first thought was that they had locked her in with Abel’s dead body. But she turned to find a dim outline sitting up on the cot, chest clearly rising and falling. Unless...it wasn’t Abel? She stepped closer, but that was the familiar golden brown hair catching moonlight, green eyes peering out. “What’s...going on?” she whispered, terrified. If she had been shoved in there by a demon, it could only be something horrible.