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NAVIGATION
Aug. 6th, 2037 03:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
basythiamodsBASYTHIA,
THE MIDNIGHT CITY
THE MIDNIGHT CITY
Your body feels it, first. The stuttered beating of your heart, growing stronger. Heat running through your veins. Your diaphragm seizes as your lungs suddenly fill with air. It’s only then that you can formulate thought, with oxygen finally permeating your cells:
You are alive.
… And yet, you aren’t supposed to be. You know, instinctively, that you had died. You may even remember it. The moment you were struck down, the moment your accident occurred. Or perhaps even your old age, passing peacefully in your bed. You should not– cannot– possibly be alive.
Your senses slowly return to you. The breathing and movement of those around you, their motions mere shadows in the dark. Your heart beats, and your lungs breathe, you awaken to a city swathed in monochrome darkness with only the smallest pinpricks of light to see by and a pain on the back of your hand.
You can just barely see the symbol carved into your flesh in the dim, matching that of your nearby peers. Your head aches as another time– place– people– flash through. And softly, dimly, a voice in the back of your mind speaks:
The ocean bears down with the pressure of a thousand starving beasts.The dipsao slakes its thirst on the blood of gods. There is no escape until we are free.
You must free us. You must.
You are alive.
… And yet, you aren’t supposed to be. You know, instinctively, that you had died. You may even remember it. The moment you were struck down, the moment your accident occurred. Or perhaps even your old age, passing peacefully in your bed. You should not– cannot– possibly be alive.
Your senses slowly return to you. The breathing and movement of those around you, their motions mere shadows in the dark. Your heart beats, and your lungs breathe, you awaken to a city swathed in monochrome darkness with only the smallest pinpricks of light to see by and a pain on the back of your hand.
You can just barely see the symbol carved into your flesh in the dim, matching that of your nearby peers. Your head aches as another time– place– people– flash through. And softly, dimly, a voice in the back of your mind speaks:
The ocean bears down with the pressure of a thousand starving beasts.The dipsao slakes its thirst on the blood of gods. There is no escape until we are free.
You must free us. You must.
