WC: 504
She was in a shadowed world. The life blood flowing beneath the black pelt slowed, pooling where she had been struck upon the temple. The wind’s cold breath snickered over her body as the black tendrils of her shadowed mind began to tighten. Her body was utterly weakened, too defeated to even shiver in response to the cold. She had no choice but to accept the chill and the dark into her body as an inevitability. Forced into submission by dishonor and by the Wild, the martial artist was being forced to accept ultimate defeat: Death. The shattered mind wandered and faded from reality and fell into shadow. In the dark recesses of her mind, He sat, waiting. Black eyes were the nothingness of an empty soul, and it drew her in with an unearthly magnetism. The Darkness was complete there, thick and material. The tendrils tugged at her consciousness, and He offered only an imperceptible mirthless sneer. The sound of approach was lost to the Korean, lost in the timeless susurrus of the sea. The beginnings of a snarl distorted her damp maw as He approached her, his bestiality overwhelming. The sound of silence, emanating from his shut jaws, was a deafening roar echoing within her. The Korean tried to resist, but he was already upon her—an immaterial shade.
The touch elicited no initial response. But she was suddenly pulled from Him, and she felt a frustration at being unable to discover Him. The young fae found enough strength to open her eyes. At first she saw nothing, but slowly a figure came into focus. The scent traveled more slowly, made sluggish by the cold. The wounded could not comprehend the situation. Her mind was still entrapped by the treachery of those lone brothers, by her defeat, by the darkness, by His shade. Then a voice sounded, a voice from reality. The words were foreign, and the broken mind could not translate. She knew only that this creature was strange. She knew only that her instincts urged her to fight. Hungering jaws parted, trickling blood marring her strong, white teeth. A hoarse snarl erupted tardily from the foreign throat. Her body did not respond to her wishes. Already her strength was spent. A rage was felt within the fluttering of her heart before the He and the Darkness reclaimed her.
But she did not sleep. She remained aware—marginally, distantly—of the world. Masked by His shadowed reality, she struggled to rise up and fight, to understand what the world presented to her. But she could not.
A weight was pressed upon her body. The cold lessened. She perceived only the oppressive darkness that she welcomed so readily into her heart. He offered it to her. Death no longer seemed a threat. Weakness, however, overwhelmed her. The world began to shift, but it was not the shifting of the ocean. The sea had not reclaimed her body. Yet her material self seemed to travel across space and time to an end unknown.
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