‘Reality-warping horror’?” Her mouth beneath the mask curled up into a slow smile, and to those watching as she raised her wine glass, her hand seemed to glitch and flicker like static. “Nothing already exists, isn’t that scary enough?”
resya | introduction --- for @deityproject
Resya existed before the modern era, yes, but it is here that she thrives amidst static and white noise and flickering streetlights. It is here that she appears as a wisp of a shadow, goddess of static and bone, goddess of backwards thoughts and eyes in dark corners. She likes contradictions and dead end alleys and doors that lead nowhere.
She swung down from the lowest branch of the tree, eyes glowing molten behind her mask. “I’d like to think that those who never have nightmares are cowards.”
“They face nothing but stillness and forgettable silence. It’s boring.”
She exists, but doesn’t exist-- a Schrödinger’s Goddess, if you will. Her ‘world’ is more of a concept, a dream-state of static and glitched out creatures and I can assure you the door you walked in through will not lead you back to the same place. When she bleeds into the dreams of humans she brings this conceptual labyrinth of doorways and dark forests with her, and then imbues it with the fears and doubts of mortals. It is less to frighten and more to warn, weaving premonitions and truths into the haunting whirls of terror she throws at the mortals.
Her form shifted and wavered as she looked down over the edge of the bridge, into the murky water below. To anyone else she was as human as they came, a tall woman with a large dog and an intimidating motorcycle. They rarely saw those moments where her form was incomplete, not entirely there. Like she was nothing but a holographic reflection of herself. I wondered, briefly, if it was because she was trapped.
She was, quite literally, raised by wolves, and keeps with herself the immortal wolf Conn, her most faithful companion. Best described as ‘thick as thieves’, the bond Resya shares with Conn is something too strong to ever be broken.
Conn looked up at me with a low growl, and I saw my reflection in his many kaleidoscope eyes, felt exactly how he was going to murder me before he even began to move. I as very convinced that that was to be the end, but then the woman with the strange mask put out a hand, grinning at me.
“I think we’ve made ourselves a friend, Conn. A mortal... friend.”
Outcast, reject, disposable as dust. Her story is just as much static as the world in which she lives.