70th of Winter, 514 AV
20th Bell
Nothing. Nothing and no one, that's how she felt. The nothingness was in her bones, lifeless even when her hairs stood on end. There was a mild chill. A wintry breath that banished the warmth from the room for a few ticks before the roaring flames came back to life. Fire flickered, a finger twitched upon the table. An eerie darkness gripped her in its cold, blind fist and shrouded her in its blackness. It was as if Akajia's very own cloak had been wrapped tight around her thin, scarred body. Somehow, that part of her mind that still had a true hold on reality, thought that such a material might've been more welcoming. The Myrian leaned back against her corner. The long, worn cushioning beneath her seemed as if it belonged against a windowsill. A thin, wispy curtain concealed her from the wider musky room beyond. There came the sound of moving chairs, of grumbles and gentle, dream-like voices on the other side. If only she could focus on their words...
Amber eyes focused blankly ahead, seeing nothing. Pink lips parted, exhaling a breath and murmuring inaudibly now and then. The savage's body was slouched against her wall, limbs carelessly positioned about in the laziest of fashions. The bronze fingers of her right hand that hung off the risen cushioning teased at a cheap ash tray upon the floor. The rolling paper had burned down to a useless stub, the substance in its middle, blackened and crumbling, smoked to signal its expiration. The sound of a clattering mug sounded off beyond her view. The Myrian made no motion to even turn her head. Not so much as a surprised dilation in her eyes. Kaie simply laid there in that smoky, basement den and let the metaphoric ship sail her far from sobriety along with all the other catatonics.
Guilt.
There was a stab of it that dug deep into her middle before the effects of narcotics lulled her numb again. That slow mind of hers conjured up those dreaded images all over again. Knife. Blood. Tsu'kai. All my fault. All my fault. It was amazing how even powerful effects of euphoria couldn't completely silence the nightmares that plagued her. She gave a quiet moan to quiet her mental agony and turned her head toward the curtains. Somewhere behind them, though she didn't care to see the fuzzy spots of individuals beyond the thin fabric, a door closed. With it came that wintry breeze that made her skin prickle. How long had she been there? Days? Bells? Mere ticks? The Myrian hadn't a clue. Only the stub in the filthy tray just out of her reach offered a clue. And she hadn't the energy or the heart to care.
20th Bell
Nothing. Nothing and no one, that's how she felt. The nothingness was in her bones, lifeless even when her hairs stood on end. There was a mild chill. A wintry breath that banished the warmth from the room for a few ticks before the roaring flames came back to life. Fire flickered, a finger twitched upon the table. An eerie darkness gripped her in its cold, blind fist and shrouded her in its blackness. It was as if Akajia's very own cloak had been wrapped tight around her thin, scarred body. Somehow, that part of her mind that still had a true hold on reality, thought that such a material might've been more welcoming. The Myrian leaned back against her corner. The long, worn cushioning beneath her seemed as if it belonged against a windowsill. A thin, wispy curtain concealed her from the wider musky room beyond. There came the sound of moving chairs, of grumbles and gentle, dream-like voices on the other side. If only she could focus on their words...
Amber eyes focused blankly ahead, seeing nothing. Pink lips parted, exhaling a breath and murmuring inaudibly now and then. The savage's body was slouched against her wall, limbs carelessly positioned about in the laziest of fashions. The bronze fingers of her right hand that hung off the risen cushioning teased at a cheap ash tray upon the floor. The rolling paper had burned down to a useless stub, the substance in its middle, blackened and crumbling, smoked to signal its expiration. The sound of a clattering mug sounded off beyond her view. The Myrian made no motion to even turn her head. Not so much as a surprised dilation in her eyes. Kaie simply laid there in that smoky, basement den and let the metaphoric ship sail her far from sobriety along with all the other catatonics.
Guilt.
There was a stab of it that dug deep into her middle before the effects of narcotics lulled her numb again. That slow mind of hers conjured up those dreaded images all over again. Knife. Blood. Tsu'kai. All my fault. All my fault. It was amazing how even powerful effects of euphoria couldn't completely silence the nightmares that plagued her. She gave a quiet moan to quiet her mental agony and turned her head toward the curtains. Somewhere behind them, though she didn't care to see the fuzzy spots of individuals beyond the thin fabric, a door closed. With it came that wintry breeze that made her skin prickle. How long had she been there? Days? Bells? Mere ticks? The Myrian hadn't a clue. Only the stub in the filthy tray just out of her reach offered a clue. And she hadn't the energy or the heart to care.
