A Nervous Wreck on the Beach [Solo]

[Atrina]

3rd of Autumn, 510 AV. Dusk. Atrina walked quietly through the streets of Zeltiva, slowly making her way to the beach. Her hands fumbled between clutching the ends of her cloak over her head and squeezing Diary close to her chest. It was a strange feeling she had about being seen. She knew that her face held no more displeasing features than a flower, and her skin was as soft and fine as silk, but it was these very features that caused her to stand out, to be seen. She didn't want to be seen, to be taken note of. She was an outcast of this world and the next, and she wished to be treated as such. Atrina never talked to anyone. Unless one considered her obsession with her Diary as a sentient being, in which case, she talked to one person during her entire experience returning to a mortal state. What was more odd, though, was that with each step grew a feeling of deep anxiety. As if something ominous was waiting, maw dripping for her delectable flesh to find its trap. She tried to shrug it off, but it was clearly more in control of her mind than she was. At what had finally become sunset, Atrina's feet landed on soft, warm sand. As she looked out past the seaside docks and away from the sky, her eyes shut themselves tight. The Sea. It was there, right in front of her. It was what pulled her out of the great realm beyond this one. It was the terrible monster waiting to pull her down into its gullet. Atrina's heart was nearly jumping out of her chest, she needed to sit. Her left hand ached as she pulled Diary away from her body and set it on her folded legs. "I p-promised you a picture, didn't I? Might as well make g-good on it, right?" Her fingers trembled as she opened up the front cover of Diary, dipped one of her pens in ink, and began drawing. Carefully stroking the paper-lined cardboard with thick, shining ink, her breathing settled to a much slower, deeper pace. Her eyes though, her eyes never left the page. She wouldn't be drawing what she saw today. This picture was a memory.

[Atrina]

All through the shaking and fear that accompanied being so close to the deep dark beast that was the sea, Atrina's picture slowly grew. She was drawing in third-person, the image of her ordeal still haunting the recesses of her mind. By the time the image began to complete itself, Atrina's hands had finished their shaking. She took a deep series of breaths and looked at the picture truly for the first time. It was crude and filled her eyes with tears to look at, an everlasting reminder that she was alone and afraid in an unforgiving place. She set Diary down, closed, and stood up, looking at the dark, moonlit waters of the bay before her. It was a beautiful sight, and she truly wished she had the proper tools to paint and a canvas to work on. She stepped closer to the water, slowly testing to feel where the tide was hitting the sand. Her toes finally touched wet sand, causing a bolt of fear to rack her body for an instant. She gulps down, breathing heavy. A second goes by, and then another. The rushing of the tide is heard gently rolling closer, but Atrina can't take it. Fear overtakes her and she retreats full, grabbing Diary on her way off the beach. "I couldn't do it... I just couldn't," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks as her feet padded softly against the ground. She was running, running away from the monster, from her fear, from her shame. She wanted to run forever, to never need to stop and worry about anything, or be afraid of anything. She wished she could just stop existing.

[Atrina]

Just as the poor girl's lungs were starting to burn, her long blonde hair falling about her face, she reached her tiny home. She opened the door and stepped inside, throwing it closed and slamming the bolt in place. She practically jumped on the bed, her eyes still damp from crying. She pulled the capped ink vial out of her pocket, and the quill pen from Diary and began to write. Day Three. I'm sorry, I just couldn't do it. You got your picture, right? You should be happy I even went to that terrible place. I couldn't even draw anything beautiful. Nothing but terrible lines of a memory I don't even want. I refuse to paint it for you, so don't even try asking. What? Yes, I'll paint you something soon, just as soon as I find a place to buy paints and a canvas, and everything else I'll need. Just not that picture. I won't tear it out, but never make me look at it. I don't know.. I feel so scared all the time. Like I don't belong, and the I should just save everyone, including myself, the hassle by just staying inside and hiding my face. And the water... I hate it so much. I know it will get me someday. It will fall from the sky with force enough to tear down these walls, or rise up fast enough to drag me away in a muddy torrent. Tomorrow though.. Tomorrow I will go to that school and find someone who knows about people and where they come from. Again, I'm sorry. I wish I weren't so afraid, so frail. She closed Diary then, and stood up. She grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the small rain collection tub. Atrina stared deep into the cup for a few minutes, countable in length. Then, in one sudden movement, chugged the whole glass, as if she were battling the water itself. When she finished, she looked into the empty cup, and down at the tub. "One step at a time, I guess," she said, returning the glass to the table and laying down to sleep until Syna's rise, when she would awake as a glowing caricature of a clumsy angel. End.