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I have a couple days off to work up some ideas, I have a few Raider concepts in storage I may attempt to finalize. I’m inclined to psycho-abusers.
Totally down for this.
@Hellion -- Thank you my friend. β™₯

𝚒 𝚘 𝚞 𝚠 𝚎 πš› 𝚎 𝚝 πš‘ 𝚎 πš• πš’ 𝚐 πš‘ 𝚝 𝚝 πš‘ 𝚊 𝚝 𝚜 πš‘ 𝚘 𝚝 𝚝 πš‘ πš› 𝚘 𝚞 𝚐 πš‘ 𝚝 πš‘ 𝚎 𝚍 𝚊 πš› πš” πš— 𝚎 𝚜 𝚜


They had requested that she stay behind -- to discuss things, they said. To clarify the means of a confidentiality agreement; to mutter over the parameters of her involvement; to garner and glean and dissect her testimony -- but, above all -- to strictly prohibit her use of power. She had summoned a fissure within the waking world, rending apart the threshold of reality and threatening not only the sentient creature dubbed Shadow, but her peers as well. Such a void had been banned, a strict ruling that she never tamper with the fragile breadth of the realm, whispers of probation had been fixated to her record, and one of the staff - who, she doesn't know - had even entertained the mention of wards.

Emma Laurent had clutched black over tarnished silver, charms twinkling, eyes brimming abroad in the wakings of a tumultuous night sky, and she hissed.

"I - I was only trying to help."

Well, next time, don't.


She was a ghost, a figment of hazed out ebony that flitted among the common grounds, slinking from blankets of wraith torn shadows that secured to her treads with every step she took. Whispers of sighs tumbled from her throat cinched in her chains, her grasp never having left from the purchase of her most sacred of relics. Her thumb often passed over a carved name and within the pit of her soul, something sour began to fester. She was targeted, singled out, isolated in her involvement because - as one other had stated - she was highly unstable in her control even with her beloved there to tether and siphon the brunt of her unbidden quantity. Still, she had tasted heat and coiling adrenaline, had fed upon the dregs of those fighting righteously, like a glutton her shadow had fixated to the tiling efforts of those championing the cause and they lay, still, inside her thickening silhouette that nearly boiled with an appetance unknown to her heart. It lingered there, a beast of potential that yearned to be unleashed, to feast and to reap upon the fragile barrier of her constitution. Damien could only harness and retract so much, despite being stationed as her carrier and protector of all ill will and her torment, and this leftover potency was rapidly ascending.

And that woman --

To have her power robbed from the fringes of her fluctuating control had been startling and far too abrupt, the premature separation had been painful, erupting anguish across the connection of both darkness and flesh. Her palms had been seared, torn from Damien's clutch and curled against her heart where it fluttered madly like a bird trapped within twine. His voice had bled from coherency to an inconsistent drone that had been reminiscent of the vibrating crescendo that had torn across her senses the moment she had sunk her digits into the void, and from there she had wanted nothing more than to sink tooth and nail into the daughter of Hecate. She had taken her prey and the reproachful glance tossed at both she and Damien had made her seethe with an uncharacteristic fury that burned both primal and barbaric. Emma had lain blame upon what little of Shadow she had consumed, the phantasmal encroach of its nature beating upon the fringes of her sanity as she slept that night, unvisited by the spectral manifestation of her mother and her brother's comfort. She hadn't of even texted him that morning, inquiring upon his recovery -- was he okay, had she hurt him in some way?

The results of their union were often erratic and destructive, invoking anger, guilt, and the unbearable shame from her lack of independence to a state of mind she failed against. If she were indeed a conduit or bay of the many facets of Nyx's children, then she required temperance. Perhaps wards weren't so outlandish...

Unwittingly, she had sought after the most populated area of the commons, her shadow a leaded thread of black that hungrily sought after emotes that lingered upon the precipice of her awareness, dotting them in flavour. Emma inhaled dregs of a banked irritant that simmered red and blue, harmonizing to a wicked purple that boasted sour notes and was braised in a black wash of anger. It was attractive. It heralded a sweetness, a likeness of fluttering danger that cooed to the coil of hunger slung low in her belly, a sunburst of flame and heat - Emma opened her eyes, fixated twinkling stars on cerulean -

Oh - no, okay. No.

She skittered out of view from their company -- Dallas, Marcella, and upperclassmen she didn't know -- and nearly fumbled against Vivian's table joined into a trio, and at this she wasn't surprised, the Apollo child was a glistening tribute to any ambiance. Emma blinked, brightening streaks of silver upon her cape of lashes, the sky within her graces awash in simmering rocks of burning flame and gases. Had she ever spoken to her before? And the others, she blinked at them both, curling wisps of black in her grasp and breathed around her intrusion and said:

"Uhm. Hi - Sorry." Emma plucked the shadow at her heels clad in scuffed leather and pinched the shimmering eclipse of her profile and hastily retreated to an expansive line at the beverage cart. Damien was much better at this than she, he'd of quipped lazily, drawled out witty banter and introductions as if it were second nature and in the flanks of his rejoinder, she'd smile prettily and try to hide. She cast one glance more at the epicenter of the compiling sensations encroaching her contour, wisps of periwinkle suggestion lapped upon the edges of her grasp, donned pink in reflection and heavily endowed in manipulative charm. Emma's gaze widened upon the darling undertones and enveloped herself within an embrace of her arms clad in grey and felt the prick of her nails upon the planes of her pale skin.

Impending violence tastes like sour candy and ash.

The line moved sluggishly, capped in eager conversation and listing tones of bed-ridden voices that surrounded her mind within a fog that she rapidly inhaled around, desperate to banish the tide of activity that flooded her empathetic core. She'd get them something to drink -- a green tea for herself, a black leaf tea for him, splash of milk, right? -- take it to his room in the dressings of a peaceful offering. If he was even there. But, I'm sorry, would go unspoken and he'd forgive her, for he always would.

@Moro -- no, thank you for the chance to practice. I enjoyed working on these. Enjoy. β™₯

Just one more. . .

One more step; one more shuffling tread against a desolate cold, toes rouged and bloodied, flesh scorn rough and pleading against frigid bone as they sunk, ankle-deep, into a bank of snow. Ice forged a rigid path along abused skin, veins sluggish in their endeavor and pallid hues drained of health and parlor and dead against a pale hued mound of slush that gave way under the slightest pressure. Exhales rattled against heaving lungs, a stack of ribs against ragged sacs of oxygen expanding full and fluttering upon wheezes and shuttering breaths of pain, exhaustion, and flagging pulls of warmth that failed to surface upon parted lips. Hooded gazes implored the heavens above to yield solace, redemption, a savor in the yearning for a ray of light to descend upon her in fiery tongues of heat and comfort. But only grey skies greeted pale steel, azure undertones swept under a carpet of silvery tones framed under capes of lashes, delicate sweeps of a butterfly's wing that rested against flaking cheeks of cold bitten skin, falling into surrender.

Just one more. . .

How long -- how much longer -- it was a mantra that pooled through ragged thoughts torn and ruined, each end scattered upon a paranoid consciousness that broke upon every flickering shadow banked upon the desolate world and haunted through a soul rigged to panic at the slightest approach of sound. How long had she been walking now? Minutes, hours, days and unto weeks? Time here held no grounds and it melded seamlessly against the horizon that hazed with both ebonies and greys into a muddled gradient of visual despair on what should've been a calming ambiance. However, the endless frost that swelled between the massive structures of mega-regions was anything but and protruding glaciers of obsidian rock often hindered her path, reflective like glass. She palmed over such an outcropping, slivers of black mercilessly gouged through her flesh, pricking her fingers and slicing beneath her nails, keratin easily conceding to the sharp reproach and assault of repetitive scarring and old wounds that had yet to heal. Miniscule lesions and violet blossoms decorated her from fingertips to wrist, lacing upward along delicate arms and slid around wounded elbows that fell against the rock, she winced, chapped lips peeling back over her teeth; small hisses floating against her throat raw and aching and sputtering into small whimpers as she hoisted over sheer faces of sediment with immense difficulty. It was if a tool had cleaved through these rigid boulders, scattering pebbles that tinked like shards of glass against her barren legs, shins knicked with red, scarlet tears and smudges of crimson ringed in harsh sapphires of bruises that constantly adorned her frozen skin.

She slid, slow and precariously against a sloping facet of the obsidian rises that felt queerly warm beneath the pain that seared her skin and the wind that howled and tore through her tresses, curtains of flaxen hair spilling across her brow and quivering shoulders as she hunched forward. Her fingers, though frigid and her bones aching terribly, curled along her arms and rubbed them vigorously for warmth. Her breath plumed white upon her pouted grimace and she curled inward against another onslaught of wind that sheered through gaps in the glaciers of rock and the fabric of her dress tainted in muddied snow and shorn, her skirts nearly shredded and where lace one decorated the hem, had long been used to bind the worst of her injuries. Browned and bloodied, now dried and flaking upon the once delicate fabric bound along her hands and feet and circling her left thigh where a long, horizontal cut had begun to fester. Red splotches surrounded her wound, signs of infection reining into place, and bearing incredible sensitivity when she applied the slightest pressure, once again checking her binding. Blood wept to the service, oozing in forth in squeamish display and causing her grimace against the onslaught of pain rolling through her nerves in flames of anguish. It was sharp and relentless, waning only when she rolled her weight away from her wounded leg and struggled to stand, favoring her left side and limping across banks of snow, fresh blood now left in her pitying wake.

She had previously been joined with a caravan, a meager group of six that piloted older, more archaic models of transport attached to sidecars and built upward with tarpaulin pulled taut around dangerous displays of metal that adorned the faces of their vehicles in both means of intimidation and defense. Pleading her way to join their travels had been achieved by pitiful eyes glossy in tears and painful innocence that shined beneath layers of steelish azure in those glassy depths, something that had been lost to many generations and lingered in only so few. Something that pinged in her voice and her plying bargaining and promises of being kept out of their endeavors had done something to the guide of their caravan, allowing her to bunk among them as a passenger and even as something as an ally. When her name had been told in relief tinged whispers, they had donned her in the moniker of Eve, allowing her name to something simplified and yet endearing in both acceptance and welcoming graces.

That had been nearly three weeks ago. They were dead now.

Or so, she came to in the conclusion of their sudden disappearance. She had been left behind, or they had been spirited away from the hotel by someone -- or something. They had only permitted a few days of rest and amplifying supplies and exchanging their wares and cargo in a city -- a name that eluded her memory, as her mind held little else save for paranoia, pain, and fear -- somewhere south of Cascadia. What little belongings she had possessed then, had been stolen along with their lives.

She, Evelina, knew little of navigation and only by the trickle of conversation between those that handled the steering of their direction and planned such upon roads labeled by both letters and numbers, had assumed that the California regions were somewhere below, if she only kept traveling south, escaping the north as a refugee sanctioned from The Agenda. Many plights and attempts through the SCS had left her without allowance and homage, her very utterance of calling even perplexing to those that had denied her requests for some form of charity through welfare. Either her parents [for she had to have some, didn't she?] had never registered her through the Social Credit System, or she was now what someone once labeled as a fluke, a glitch in the system that praised and boasted stability in the face of technology that was ever-expanding; dipping into means of mind, body, and soul. Flesh traded for integrated steels and plastic, warmth exchanged for unyielding cold, and blood a currency of conspiracy to youth and immortality of the rich.

Eveline gasped, a fresh bout of agony lancing from calf to thigh, her muscles bundling and coiling tight from the cold, her strength waning into a void. Somewhere in the distance, she heard the rumble of the road, never venturing towards but always keeping near, she avoided public transit and left the crossing asphalt to those with the means. Taut and unbearable, she fell, relinquishing herself to the snow for just a moment and then longer...

No. She had to keep going --

Something trilled in the distance, a sharp, rolling crescendo that pealed through the winds and slid around the obsidian rocks she had mounted previously. Eveline stilled in fear as the sound reached forth and mercilessly cinched its way around her heart, her fists curled against her breast and she nearly succumbed to from the nightmarish wail that followed suit.

They had spotted her.

Who they were though evaded even her knowledge, only that she had been running from them for so long. And she was so very tired.

Very tired indeed.

Evelina panned one lonely glance upon the breadth of her shoulder, peering through strands of tangled curls of ashen blonde, hoping against hope that the wind was merely jesting with her addled body and mind. That there weren't shadows dancing against her treads and hazing over the blood she had lost, fresh and so bright against the white of the snowfall. Metallic twinges suddenly coated her tongue and baited her breath in harsh, rapid pants of adrenaline that prompted her to bolt suddenly, a howl scattering among her thoughts, reigning forth from the pit of her despair and nightmares and sounding from a hellish maw of a red beast galloping after her very soul. She ran upon the slopes that led to the road, falling, scraping her bruised knees further, fresh rivets of crimson pooling upon her palms and nails cracked, sheered, bloodied and clawing desperately against rock that too peaked around the edges of her salvation. She could hear now, instead of wails of bloodlust and death, the heavy treads of those that chased her endlessly. Though how many now haunted her painful steps, she knew naught, only that if she were ever caught they'd snuff out her life that this world refused to acknowledge.

The past yielded such knowledge from the endless pain they bequeathed and forced upon her, the terrifying images and plagues of monsters that canted behind her eyelids and yowled for her flesh.

She cried, a pitying sound of relief, as the road came into view, obsidian slivers clinking down the banks, falling against boulders as she hoisted herself up on the edges and fell graciously to the asphalt upon the heels of her palms. Her knees followed once again and bore the impact of her weakened state as shrill whimpers boiled from her lips, bone sheering against her flesh as fresh tears broke from through her lashes, the edges crinkled in anguish against the sudden lance of heat that assaulted her frigid skin.

Just one more. . .

She rose upon a gulp of air, her ribs protesting, lungs aching, her body upon the verges of allowing an eternal rest -- it hurt so much. She spared only a fleeting glimpse into the void at her heels, panting, her chest heaving and then there: two men stalked her path, coming upon her like specters from her waking nightmare of this hellish reality.

Just one more. . .

With all the strength she had left, though little of it there was, she bolted down the road, eyes of grey and blue and pale misery shining upon her desperation and once more hoping against hope that the sounds of her pursuers were not as close as they suddenly appeared to be.

ᴇ α΄  ᴇ ʟ Ιͺ Ι΄ α΄€ ✦✦

πšπš πšŽπš—πšπš’-πš˜πš—πšŽ β—† πšπšŽπš–πšŠπš•πšŽ β—† 𝟷𝟼𝟹 πšŒπš–
β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ

❝ 𝖳𝗁𝖾 π—€π—‹π–Ύπ–Ίπ—π–Ύπ—Œπ— π—ˆπ–Ώ π–Ύπ—π—‚π—…π—Œ π—…π—‚π–Ύπ—Œ π—‡π—ˆπ— 𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 π—ˆπ–Ώ 𝖺 π–»π–Ύπ–Ίπ—Œπ—, π–»π—Žπ— 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 π—Œπ—ˆπ—Žπ—… π—ˆπ–Ώ 𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗇. ❞


The world is a barren land of destitute-grey, bereft of life, morality, kindness and hope that has long been spent into the dregs of forlorn youth. Reality has worn cruelly amongst lithesome shoulders, burdening soul and heart and weighted visibly against sallow skin wherein blossoms of violet reign beside scarlet lashes. Hooded gazes of pale miseries and pouted lips quivering against bone and blood. The years unkind, the years unloving and her mind a whispering haze of a fearful unknown. Time has wept into a torrent of crimson inquires and harsh revelations, spelling into the single moniker that haunts upon the listing tones bound within her head, and the sense of direction that compells her treads to lead into wavering distances of sand and snow. For so long she has drifted with rattling chains of unending pursuit eerily orchestrating her death for every day she continues to draw breath.

Evelina -- the only name she has ever known, aside from a whimsical quip of Eve -- has forever been lost upon the world that propels forward upon leagues of vast conspiracy and control. A haunting lilt sputtering from chapped lips that dispells her name and the loss of not knowing who she is or where she even comes from. If there are parents or family to claim her, she knows not, and countless propositions to SCS offices have been fruitless despite their unbound coffers of knowledge to every person that applies through their system. Evelina, for all the purposes of The Agenda, doesn't even exist.

Her hopeless wanders and wavering steps of life have landed her upon unsavory circumstances in seeking solace and comfort where none is usually had. Naivety colours her heart and soul, bathing such within innocence against a rigid score of life and living, lost betwixt those that would use her for personal gain of flesh and others seeking her valuable youth. Evelina has been thrown to the darkness, her soul suspended for the feasting of wolves and her sense of self shredded mercilessly. Her lack of memory created a dissociated exterior until dark, curling whispers slunk against her mind and muttered of vast space and a reckoning of the stars. Suddenly, she was being watched, followed, visions of men and apparitions of a woman shuttering beyond her gaze and beckoning from somewhere on high.

For the past five years, Evelina has been consumed with such an unknown sense of dread and fear. Acute paranoia now plagues her heart, shuddering and quivering upon every sound within the dark and witnessing death in faces of shadow that should be invisible to the mortal eye. What is she, an eternal query that now plagues her mind, spurned on by mysterious whispers and haunting phrases, her sudden journey now to seek further refuge in a world that does not acknowledge her existence. Untold figures lurk within the gloom, slinking upon light and dark, sccurying closer, uttering horrid secrets upon the wind of scarlet beasts. Evelina has been on the run for so long, drifting now aimlessly, never knowing rest, never knowing was it means to be safe.


β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ. . .β–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆβ–ˆ

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