Dividing Lines (CA - Tiffany & Ionone)
Quote from Mae on July 11, 2020, 2:02 amTiffany looked at the stairs. She was not overeager to go into the dark stairwell, which now looked filled to the brim with a hallow swell of shadows. Almost it looked like a yawning pool of black water, with a depth unknown. But the iron-grey barrel at the end of Douglas' finger had the promise of a far deeper darkness...
Douglas flexed his finger. He knew she was looking at it. Then he breathed impatiently, and somehow it had the affect of the cocking-hammer on his pistol clicking back.
Tiffany knew to descend those stairs willingly was to walk voluntarily into the grave. Yet, to survive even one more moment, she would change. It began with an itching in her palms as the skin turned stiff and bulged out. It spread through her hands like a strange sort of adrenaline. Then her fingers curled in an unnatural way behind her hand, and her knuckles became compressed without pain. Her nails swelled next, rounded out into a dull tip, and grew longer. Her fur sprung up on her forearms and on every finger simultaneously.
As she watched the transformation of herself, she felt George's eyes on her and remembered seeing the change spread over her like a disease for the first time. Though she could not stare into the gruesome reflector as she had then, she could see the shape of her shadow as it changed and bent down like a wracked soul. Long pointed ears sprouted up over her shadow's head. A tail and muzzle, hackles and fangs, all followed. How dreadful the change appeared in the eyes of any human who had never seen it - how frightening, how horrendous it was that first time when she experienced it herself. As Tiffany's eyes met the look of fear, wonder, and disgust on George's face, she felt like that powerless little schoolgirl again.
"I'll be cow-kicked." George said in a voice of wonder. His nose was squatted up and his tongue stuck out under his custard mustache with disgust. "What did man ever do to have such a painful curse put on him? Even the most wretched man alive has a better death - what an ugly thing!"
In an instant, all the changes were overcome Tiffany at once. Every domestic feature and appealing aspect of her person was gone in an instant. She was in the eyes of the hunters, and in her own eyes, no more than an animal with a body to use, and a soul which, when discarded, would vanish into oblivion. Before Tiffany had even realized it, she surrendered her own humanity.
Douglas glanced darkly at George, as if there was an answer to his question. But whatever dark secret he concealed, he did not reveal it. Standing more ready now, and somehow appearing more at ease, Douglas tossed a device to Tiffany he took from his belt during her transformation.
"Put that on." He said. "You knew it was coming."
Tiffany instinctively caught the device, and looking at it now she knew what it was. In the back of the hunter's truck she thought it cruel, but now she could see how truly wretched it was. As the final degradation to solidify her subjection, she knew she must take it of her own volition, or else submit to death. What a terrible choice it was, yet fear makes no choice wisely.
Tiffany remembered the faces in the darkness and would do anything not to meet them. Thus, she took the cruel straps and lifted them over her face like an obedient child. Douglas helped her make it secure. He latched the buckles behind her head, and pulled the straps tight behind her ears. Her jaw was forced to clench to wear the muzzle, and the collar repressed her voice. Hanging from the head-harness beneath her throat was also a short chain, to which her wrists were cuffed so that she could not extend her arms without yanking her head down.
The irony of the oppressor's power was in full sway. To reach one last time for a vain and hopeless hope, Tiffany drowned it herself. She made every choice to give up her choices. Yet, she would still face the darkness of the stairwell and the cold pistol at her back. In a form where she should have had the most advantage, she was but a victim, and made to think it was of her own free will. In the unknown depths of stairwell, she was already imagining frightening forms emerging from the walls. Only now, she could not walk with her arms stretched out in front of her, or open her mouth in defense. If not for the wretched collar, Tiffany would have begged not to descend the stairs. But even in mercy her captor would play the manipulator.
Douglas turned up a flashlight, and aimed it ahead, but Tiffany descended the stairs first. The two left George in the hoist control room and went downstairs...
Tiffany looked at the stairs. She was not overeager to go into the dark stairwell, which now looked filled to the brim with a hallow swell of shadows. Almost it looked like a yawning pool of black water, with a depth unknown. But the iron-grey barrel at the end of Douglas' finger had the promise of a far deeper darkness...
Douglas flexed his finger. He knew she was looking at it. Then he breathed impatiently, and somehow it had the affect of the cocking-hammer on his pistol clicking back.
Tiffany knew to descend those stairs willingly was to walk voluntarily into the grave. Yet, to survive even one more moment, she would change. It began with an itching in her palms as the skin turned stiff and bulged out. It spread through her hands like a strange sort of adrenaline. Then her fingers curled in an unnatural way behind her hand, and her knuckles became compressed without pain. Her nails swelled next, rounded out into a dull tip, and grew longer. Her fur sprung up on her forearms and on every finger simultaneously.
As she watched the transformation of herself, she felt George's eyes on her and remembered seeing the change spread over her like a disease for the first time. Though she could not stare into the gruesome reflector as she had then, she could see the shape of her shadow as it changed and bent down like a wracked soul. Long pointed ears sprouted up over her shadow's head. A tail and muzzle, hackles and fangs, all followed. How dreadful the change appeared in the eyes of any human who had never seen it - how frightening, how horrendous it was that first time when she experienced it herself. As Tiffany's eyes met the look of fear, wonder, and disgust on George's face, she felt like that powerless little schoolgirl again.
"I'll be cow-kicked." George said in a voice of wonder. His nose was squatted up and his tongue stuck out under his custard mustache with disgust. "What did man ever do to have such a painful curse put on him? Even the most wretched man alive has a better death - what an ugly thing!"
In an instant, all the changes were overcome Tiffany at once. Every domestic feature and appealing aspect of her person was gone in an instant. She was in the eyes of the hunters, and in her own eyes, no more than an animal with a body to use, and a soul which, when discarded, would vanish into oblivion. Before Tiffany had even realized it, she surrendered her own humanity.
Douglas glanced darkly at George, as if there was an answer to his question. But whatever dark secret he concealed, he did not reveal it. Standing more ready now, and somehow appearing more at ease, Douglas tossed a device to Tiffany he took from his belt during her transformation.
"Put that on." He said. "You knew it was coming."
Tiffany instinctively caught the device, and looking at it now she knew what it was. In the back of the hunter's truck she thought it cruel, but now she could see how truly wretched it was. As the final degradation to solidify her subjection, she knew she must take it of her own volition, or else submit to death. What a terrible choice it was, yet fear makes no choice wisely.
Tiffany remembered the faces in the darkness and would do anything not to meet them. Thus, she took the cruel straps and lifted them over her face like an obedient child. Douglas helped her make it secure. He latched the buckles behind her head, and pulled the straps tight behind her ears. Her jaw was forced to clench to wear the muzzle, and the collar repressed her voice. Hanging from the head-harness beneath her throat was also a short chain, to which her wrists were cuffed so that she could not extend her arms without yanking her head down.
The irony of the oppressor's power was in full sway. To reach one last time for a vain and hopeless hope, Tiffany drowned it herself. She made every choice to give up her choices. Yet, she would still face the darkness of the stairwell and the cold pistol at her back. In a form where she should have had the most advantage, she was but a victim, and made to think it was of her own free will. In the unknown depths of stairwell, she was already imagining frightening forms emerging from the walls. Only now, she could not walk with her arms stretched out in front of her, or open her mouth in defense. If not for the wretched collar, Tiffany would have begged not to descend the stairs. But even in mercy her captor would play the manipulator.
Douglas turned up a flashlight, and aimed it ahead, but Tiffany descended the stairs first. The two left George in the hoist control room and went downstairs...
Quote from Mae on July 18, 2020, 10:50 pmIn the darkness of the mine it was impossible to know that outside the sun was rising and the cold world was growing warmer.
Hal and Mary had spent a very uncomfortable night waiting at the portal. Laying on their weapons over the stones they had not moved for hours. Mount Turbulence was faithful to its name, producing a cold and howling wind throughout the night. It proved a hardship even for a veteran like Mary to endure. But the wind died down just as the sun lit the top of the pines, and the hunters were soon bathed in a warm yellow glow.
Hal stirred at last. He had chewed tobacco like a cow on cud for most of the night, and now spat it flat on the ground. "They've been down there too long. That's what I say." He said.
Mary was closest to the adit and had for the most part been listening down the hole for approaching feet. As the sun cast its light now far down into the yawning tunnel, which happened to face eastward, there was no need to listen anymore. Mary stood up. Hal followed her from the other side of the portal, and the two came to stand in front of the mine.
"It shouldn't have taken this long." Hal said.
"I heard the engine a little while ago." Mary said. "We'll give them a few more minutes."
****
Not much time elapsed with the two hunters staring into the rising sun, when a voice called out of the tunnel -
"Clenery! - Clenery, Berg, are you out there?" It was George's voice. He came out on a limp with his girth swaying on a lumbering jaunt.
"George!" Hal greeted him. "You look like you've been chewed on. What happened to you, and where have you been all night?"
George wiped the sweat from his bald forehead and gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. "We ran into a problem about five hours ago." He said. "We found a the raise to the hoist engine collapsed and had to blow a hole through the gobbing face to get into the control room."
"What about the werewolves?" Hal said.
"You won't believe it -" George answered straightaway. "We thought we were following one or two, but three of those Tasmanian Devils made it up the mountain before we did."
"Three?" Mary cut in.
"That's what I said." George replied. "One got out that hole your fellow used in his escape awhile back, and he took your man with him."
"Daft!" Hal exclaimed. He was a square-bodied man with strong short arms and legs, but at this word he dashed up the tailings on the left side of the portal as agile as a mink.
"That was half an hour ago, Hal - they're long gone." George called after him. Nonetheless, Hal was up the mountain on foot.
"What about the other two, George?" Mary said firmly.
"One of them has John." George said. "The other one - you're not going to believe this - is Tiffany Whithouse. Douglas has her as bait - got both the others noosed with it."
Mary rolled her eyes back, swearing vividly.
Just then Hal came bounding back down the rocks with his gun still in hand. "There are no tracks to follow up there." He said, landing in front of the portal.
"I told you he's long gone." George insisted.
Suddenly, a tremor was felt underground and a large plume of dust ejected violently into the air high on the mountain. Mary looked at the portal, hearing the explosion, but George looked immediately upward and nearly spat out his tongue swearing alarm.
"That's the hoist!" He shouted, turning on a heel to re-enter the mine. But he was caught with a hard pull from both Hal and Mary on either side of him as the echoes of rocks falling far down the tunnel came up to meet them.
In the darkness of the mine it was impossible to know that outside the sun was rising and the cold world was growing warmer.
Hal and Mary had spent a very uncomfortable night waiting at the portal. Laying on their weapons over the stones they had not moved for hours. Mount Turbulence was faithful to its name, producing a cold and howling wind throughout the night. It proved a hardship even for a veteran like Mary to endure. But the wind died down just as the sun lit the top of the pines, and the hunters were soon bathed in a warm yellow glow.
Hal stirred at last. He had chewed tobacco like a cow on cud for most of the night, and now spat it flat on the ground. "They've been down there too long. That's what I say." He said.
Mary was closest to the adit and had for the most part been listening down the hole for approaching feet. As the sun cast its light now far down into the yawning tunnel, which happened to face eastward, there was no need to listen anymore. Mary stood up. Hal followed her from the other side of the portal, and the two came to stand in front of the mine.
"It shouldn't have taken this long." Hal said.
"I heard the engine a little while ago." Mary said. "We'll give them a few more minutes."
****
Not much time elapsed with the two hunters staring into the rising sun, when a voice called out of the tunnel -
"Clenery! - Clenery, Berg, are you out there?" It was George's voice. He came out on a limp with his girth swaying on a lumbering jaunt.
"George!" Hal greeted him. "You look like you've been chewed on. What happened to you, and where have you been all night?"
George wiped the sweat from his bald forehead and gestured with a thumb over his shoulder. "We ran into a problem about five hours ago." He said. "We found a the raise to the hoist engine collapsed and had to blow a hole through the gobbing face to get into the control room."
"What about the werewolves?" Hal said.
"You won't believe it -" George answered straightaway. "We thought we were following one or two, but three of those Tasmanian Devils made it up the mountain before we did."
"Three?" Mary cut in.
"That's what I said." George replied. "One got out that hole your fellow used in his escape awhile back, and he took your man with him."
"Daft!" Hal exclaimed. He was a square-bodied man with strong short arms and legs, but at this word he dashed up the tailings on the left side of the portal as agile as a mink.
"That was half an hour ago, Hal - they're long gone." George called after him. Nonetheless, Hal was up the mountain on foot.
"What about the other two, George?" Mary said firmly.
"One of them has John." George said. "The other one - you're not going to believe this - is Tiffany Whithouse. Douglas has her as bait - got both the others noosed with it."
Mary rolled her eyes back, swearing vividly.
Just then Hal came bounding back down the rocks with his gun still in hand. "There are no tracks to follow up there." He said, landing in front of the portal.
"I told you he's long gone." George insisted.
Suddenly, a tremor was felt underground and a large plume of dust ejected violently into the air high on the mountain. Mary looked at the portal, hearing the explosion, but George looked immediately upward and nearly spat out his tongue swearing alarm.
"That's the hoist!" He shouted, turning on a heel to re-enter the mine. But he was caught with a hard pull from both Hal and Mary on either side of him as the echoes of rocks falling far down the tunnel came up to meet them.
Quote from Indy on July 19, 2020, 10:16 pmDown at the bottom of the earth, dark images of possible enemies moved against her. Ionone could see it in the shapes of the shadows - whether her enemy would take approach from the ladder, or from the elevator shaft. Yet though the thoughts concerned her, she could give them no ground. She was a creature of this realm. Men were fools to think they could challenge her in her element.
Yet she would not underestimate her enemy. Even Grandfather, when he gambled and played cards with the slowest of men, allowed his foes no mercy. He crushed the poor farmer the same as the rich banker, children the same as seasoned adults. It took only one win to topple his acclaim. If he lost, it would be a harrowing feat of skill that overcame him.
Grandfather had never lost.
"Let no man see anything less than the kitsune," Grandfather had told her once, shortly after her first change, "Even without the fangs and fur".
She need not hear his voice to know what he'd tell her. The man with the best cards prevailed, and the one with the worst cards failed. She may not be playing at a table, but it was a game of cards all the same. A powerful question pervaded the mind of herself and her enemies: between John's life and Tiffany's, which was the stronger hand?
Like a shrewd negotiator, she would not be the first to reveal herself. Instead, she moved some debris over John's unconscious form to better disguise his scent and protect him from the air, before slipping into the water without another glance. If he was lucky, he would not wake up until after the cards had fallen where they may. If he was unlucky, he would find himself alone in a strange place, gagged and bound at the hands and feet, facing the powerful chill of the air. It was not mercy to leave him there. But Grandfather had never credited mercy to his success, had he?
She slid easily in the dark water, pushing back in the direction she'd came. She kept her movements slow and effortless, barely disturbing the water, while at the same time listening intently.
Down at the bottom of the earth, dark images of possible enemies moved against her. Ionone could see it in the shapes of the shadows - whether her enemy would take approach from the ladder, or from the elevator shaft. Yet though the thoughts concerned her, she could give them no ground. She was a creature of this realm. Men were fools to think they could challenge her in her element.
Yet she would not underestimate her enemy. Even Grandfather, when he gambled and played cards with the slowest of men, allowed his foes no mercy. He crushed the poor farmer the same as the rich banker, children the same as seasoned adults. It took only one win to topple his acclaim. If he lost, it would be a harrowing feat of skill that overcame him.
Grandfather had never lost.
"Let no man see anything less than the kitsune," Grandfather had told her once, shortly after her first change, "Even without the fangs and fur".
She need not hear his voice to know what he'd tell her. The man with the best cards prevailed, and the one with the worst cards failed. She may not be playing at a table, but it was a game of cards all the same. A powerful question pervaded the mind of herself and her enemies: between John's life and Tiffany's, which was the stronger hand?
Like a shrewd negotiator, she would not be the first to reveal herself. Instead, she moved some debris over John's unconscious form to better disguise his scent and protect him from the air, before slipping into the water without another glance. If he was lucky, he would not wake up until after the cards had fallen where they may. If he was unlucky, he would find himself alone in a strange place, gagged and bound at the hands and feet, facing the powerful chill of the air. It was not mercy to leave him there. But Grandfather had never credited mercy to his success, had he?
She slid easily in the dark water, pushing back in the direction she'd came. She kept her movements slow and effortless, barely disturbing the water, while at the same time listening intently.
Quote from Mae on July 21, 2020, 3:14 amDouglas held the flashlight. That was one of many powers he had over the beast. Incapacity to open her mouth made Tiffany a silent subject. Her humble humanity could not engage in conversation, and her animal animosity was held in strict subjection. But more than that, Douglas had played his cards pertinently to enslave the most intrinsic instrument of freedom - the mind. Tiffany believed herself a captive of her own free will. She would not fight the hand that held the light which kept at bay all her worst fears.
Thus, Douglas retained his power as the two descended the stairs, and even as they came to the less stabilized areas of the flooded lower level. Tiffany could not well descend the ladder which accessed the tunnel where John was previously stationed, so Douglas took her alternatively to a critically constructed area in the mine. Her agility proved a feat then, almost out maneuvering him even without the use of her forelimbs. That was where Douglas trusted in the measures of his prior control over her, and it proved fruitful. Tiffany often stopped to ensure she would not lose him on the way.
When the two came at last to that dreaded level where the black water filled the tunnels, and the smell of wet earth was tangible in the air, Douglas took the lead. There was no need for him to inspect the earth, or look for signs of Ionone's passage here. He suspected as well as he knew that she would have come down by a safer method, and likely have crossed over the water to an island made of square-set timbering in the middle of the flooded level. Tiffany was uncertain of his direction, and followed him without a leash. When they came at last to the grand opening under the stope, which expanded into a great chimney above them, Douglas forcefully instructed Tiffany to lay on the ground and not move.
"Stay there." He said, and he left her the flashlight between her bound wrists, stepping into the dark. Then he vanished into the inky black shadows of the all-consuming abyss beneath the mountain.
Douglas held the flashlight. That was one of many powers he had over the beast. Incapacity to open her mouth made Tiffany a silent subject. Her humble humanity could not engage in conversation, and her animal animosity was held in strict subjection. But more than that, Douglas had played his cards pertinently to enslave the most intrinsic instrument of freedom - the mind. Tiffany believed herself a captive of her own free will. She would not fight the hand that held the light which kept at bay all her worst fears.
Thus, Douglas retained his power as the two descended the stairs, and even as they came to the less stabilized areas of the flooded lower level. Tiffany could not well descend the ladder which accessed the tunnel where John was previously stationed, so Douglas took her alternatively to a critically constructed area in the mine. Her agility proved a feat then, almost out maneuvering him even without the use of her forelimbs. That was where Douglas trusted in the measures of his prior control over her, and it proved fruitful. Tiffany often stopped to ensure she would not lose him on the way.
When the two came at last to that dreaded level where the black water filled the tunnels, and the smell of wet earth was tangible in the air, Douglas took the lead. There was no need for him to inspect the earth, or look for signs of Ionone's passage here. He suspected as well as he knew that she would have come down by a safer method, and likely have crossed over the water to an island made of square-set timbering in the middle of the flooded level. Tiffany was uncertain of his direction, and followed him without a leash. When they came at last to the grand opening under the stope, which expanded into a great chimney above them, Douglas forcefully instructed Tiffany to lay on the ground and not move.
"Stay there." He said, and he left her the flashlight between her bound wrists, stepping into the dark. Then he vanished into the inky black shadows of the all-consuming abyss beneath the mountain.
Quote from Indy on July 27, 2020, 10:29 pmShe waited like a crocodile in her lagoon, her breathing no louder than the stale echoes of the air as it moved through the passage. Her head was scarcely exposed, leaving only enough for the top of her nostrils and her ears. She was almost of the water itself, moving with it rather than through it.
Suddenly, a sound: men had come to her domain.
She moved towards the disturbance, maintaining the silence and a cautious distance. Her ears pressed forward, listening intently for further detail.
She waited like a crocodile in her lagoon, her breathing no louder than the stale echoes of the air as it moved through the passage. Her head was scarcely exposed, leaving only enough for the top of her nostrils and her ears. She was almost of the water itself, moving with it rather than through it.
Suddenly, a sound: men had come to her domain.
She moved towards the disturbance, maintaining the silence and a cautious distance. Her ears pressed forward, listening intently for further detail.
Quote from Mae on August 14, 2020, 1:52 amTiffany was left alone, holding the light under her bestial palms. She waited in the dark. Her wrists bound to her neck, and her paws splayed on the ground. She waited, daring not to move. Then, faraway she heard the distant clattering and crashing of stones. Then, the whole mine began to moan and the ground trembled!
Tiffany could not forget, even in her alarm, that there may at that moment be a gun in the dark waiting to kill her. So she did not raise her head. At that moment, however, she felt a strange sinking in the gravel under her hands, and knew that the tunnel was falling into the water under the stope.
In an effort to save herself, Tiffany sat upright and abandoned her second skin. She knew it was the last time she would be able to take that form. But what good was it to her bound at the bottom of the earth? The straps fell loose around her ears, and the metal bars dropped off her face. Then, in a hazardous moment, she freed herself from the plates under her neck, and stripped the last of the harness from her wrists.
As rocks began falling from the roof of the tunnel, Tiffany dove into the icy waters and swam! - She swam with all the strength she had left, knowing that it might be the last time she ever came up for breath. But at least she had a light in her hand, and a hope in her heart.
Tiffany was left alone, holding the light under her bestial palms. She waited in the dark. Her wrists bound to her neck, and her paws splayed on the ground. She waited, daring not to move. Then, faraway she heard the distant clattering and crashing of stones. Then, the whole mine began to moan and the ground trembled!
Tiffany could not forget, even in her alarm, that there may at that moment be a gun in the dark waiting to kill her. So she did not raise her head. At that moment, however, she felt a strange sinking in the gravel under her hands, and knew that the tunnel was falling into the water under the stope.
In an effort to save herself, Tiffany sat upright and abandoned her second skin. She knew it was the last time she would be able to take that form. But what good was it to her bound at the bottom of the earth? The straps fell loose around her ears, and the metal bars dropped off her face. Then, in a hazardous moment, she freed herself from the plates under her neck, and stripped the last of the harness from her wrists.
As rocks began falling from the roof of the tunnel, Tiffany dove into the icy waters and swam! - She swam with all the strength she had left, knowing that it might be the last time she ever came up for breath. But at least she had a light in her hand, and a hope in her heart.
Quote from Mae on August 14, 2020, 1:58 am****
In the darkness ahead of Ionone, two glinting, steely eyes waited. The hunter, with his pistol in hand waited for her, but he was not a man as she thought he was; for Douglas was descended of many werewolves whose blood had grown thin. The darkness was as much his domain as hers. He waited in silence for her to come, and would have taken her life when he smelled her blood, if not for the sudden tremor in the earth and the stones which came crashing down between them!
****
In the darkness ahead of Ionone, two glinting, steely eyes waited. The hunter, with his pistol in hand waited for her, but he was not a man as she thought he was; for Douglas was descended of many werewolves whose blood had grown thin. The darkness was as much his domain as hers. He waited in silence for her to come, and would have taken her life when he smelled her blood, if not for the sudden tremor in the earth and the stones which came crashing down between them!
Quote from Indy on August 14, 2020, 1:58 pmIonone inched along, yet even slicked with water she felt the hair at the nape of her neck bristle. She progressed through her lagoon. With every stroke forward the unease only grew... in the darkness she sensed eyes.
A kitsune does not fear the darkness, she chanted in her head, pushing forward in spite of the discomfort, for we are the darkness itself, that which prowls the night.
She could feel the presence just ahead of her.
Fear has no place in our hearts, for we are fear itself.
She stopped cold, feeling something vibrate deep in the mountain's belly...
And should we fall, the hearts of men will find that our spirits live on. In dark places we will forever roam...
And then the mountain shuddered. Sensing it only moments before the stones made contact, she moved to shelter herself back upon the dark island in a single splash.
Ionone inched along, yet even slicked with water she felt the hair at the nape of her neck bristle. She progressed through her lagoon. With every stroke forward the unease only grew... in the darkness she sensed eyes.
A kitsune does not fear the darkness, she chanted in her head, pushing forward in spite of the discomfort, for we are the darkness itself, that which prowls the night.
She could feel the presence just ahead of her.
Fear has no place in our hearts, for we are fear itself.
She stopped cold, feeling something vibrate deep in the mountain's belly...
And should we fall, the hearts of men will find that our spirits live on. In dark places we will forever roam...
And then the mountain shuddered. Sensing it only moments before the stones made contact, she moved to shelter herself back upon the dark island in a single splash.
Quote from Mae on September 26, 2020, 10:34 pmThe longest night is broken in measures; a gradual light climbs to the eastern sky only after the darkest hour. For Tiffany, the darkest hour came beneath the monumental fortress of Mount Turbulence. In the soiled cavities of the mountain's heart, in the cold dark waters, through the unknown depths of the earth's bowels, Tiffany faced her greatest test while clinging to the servile hope granted in a eight-inch flashlight. That same flashlight, given to her by her oppressor, upon which all her fears were kept at bay, was in truth the last laugh of her adversary. For with it he could find her, despite all the dangers and hazards that lie in his way. With it, he could detect her and the young hunter who he knew she would seek in the cavernous loam. She was as a hound with a beacon on her, else she sacrifice her last comfort - her last hope - her lifeline in the dark.
But she made the sacrifice. In the very moment she plunged into the water, she turned out the light. In darkness, silence, and icy fear, she felt the commotion of the earth crumbling into the water even as she swam for her life. Though she could see nothing, occasionally she felt a massive rock plunge past her on its way into the abyss. Yet, while stones crashed down all around her, by some unseen power none fell upon her, and while she swam through turbulent waters she was never once thrust from her course. She came to the island in the middle of the cavern, breaking for air in the very midst of the commotion, and fell upon it.
Whether it was silence or deafening noise into which she came up, Tiffany could remember no more of the calamity after that moment. Her physical strength was utterly spent, and yet she climbed upon her hands and knees with the last strength of her will. Finding John laying tied on the gravel, with fevered head and chin, she lay beside him and cupped his icy hand in hers in attempt to warm it.
"John," she breathed voicelessly. "John, sugar, it's me. It's me, sugar. You're going to be okay... You're going... be okay."
Even as she whispered, her hands faltered and her eyes fluttered. Dare she close her eyes? Dare she give herself this moment to rest? Yes. For she could no longer fear the demons or feel the cold gravel beneath her head. All was weak. All was tired. All was the exhaustion of a body utterly spent and a mind surrendered. Tiffany did close her eyes. She closed her eyes expecting to go from darkness into deeper darkness; to meet her tormentors faces with every ounce of horror they ever promised, and to fall into their reaching, clutching fingers once and for all.
Yet, as Tiffany closed her eyes, and felt all strength wince from the tightened sinews throughout her form, it was not darkness but a light that met her gaze. So curious it was to see instead of her demons that Tiffany paused from flinching away and set her eyes upon it. It was, at first, no more than a pinprick of light, as if she were staring through the miniscule hole of a truly dark sheet cast over her head. But as she continued to stare upon it, it seemed to grow before her - a soft white light piercing through the sullen darkness. Whether the darkness was of her mind, the abysmal mine itself, or perhaps both, Tiffany could not tell. The pounding in her head stopped. The aching pulse in her fingertips ceased. She felt her weight relieved so that she knew not whether she was laying on the ground or standing in the darkness. Yet, as the light increased, she felt no fear. Fear itself departed, and what remained was calm. What remained was peace. What trouble was there in this peace? All trouble was left behind; the earnest craving of the body's need to rest satisfied; and the fear of the hunter, fear for John - all fear was gone.In the light, Tiffany felt more than peace. She felt loved; loved by something or someone who possessed love as she never felt it before. She perceived it as though she were in the arms of someone's embrace; an embrace unlike the arms of Gabriel or any man who ever said he loved her; an embrace stronger than the darkness or the disingenuous arms of the Tycoons. Compared to this love, any love Tiffany ever knew paled and peeled away like old paint losing its color in the sun. Compared to this light, all light was darkness. And in the darkness Tiffany left behind, that source of light once considered her lifeline, once held in vice-like death grip, now rolled from her open hand and out of her fingertips onto the cold, dark gravel.
The longest night is broken in measures; a gradual light climbs to the eastern sky only after the darkest hour. For Tiffany, the darkest hour came beneath the monumental fortress of Mount Turbulence. In the soiled cavities of the mountain's heart, in the cold dark waters, through the unknown depths of the earth's bowels, Tiffany faced her greatest test while clinging to the servile hope granted in a eight-inch flashlight. That same flashlight, given to her by her oppressor, upon which all her fears were kept at bay, was in truth the last laugh of her adversary. For with it he could find her, despite all the dangers and hazards that lie in his way. With it, he could detect her and the young hunter who he knew she would seek in the cavernous loam. She was as a hound with a beacon on her, else she sacrifice her last comfort - her last hope - her lifeline in the dark.
But she made the sacrifice. In the very moment she plunged into the water, she turned out the light. In darkness, silence, and icy fear, she felt the commotion of the earth crumbling into the water even as she swam for her life. Though she could see nothing, occasionally she felt a massive rock plunge past her on its way into the abyss. Yet, while stones crashed down all around her, by some unseen power none fell upon her, and while she swam through turbulent waters she was never once thrust from her course. She came to the island in the middle of the cavern, breaking for air in the very midst of the commotion, and fell upon it.
Whether it was silence or deafening noise into which she came up, Tiffany could remember no more of the calamity after that moment. Her physical strength was utterly spent, and yet she climbed upon her hands and knees with the last strength of her will. Finding John laying tied on the gravel, with fevered head and chin, she lay beside him and cupped his icy hand in hers in attempt to warm it.
"John," she breathed voicelessly. "John, sugar, it's me. It's me, sugar. You're going to be okay... You're going... be okay."
Even as she whispered, her hands faltered and her eyes fluttered. Dare she close her eyes? Dare she give herself this moment to rest? Yes. For she could no longer fear the demons or feel the cold gravel beneath her head. All was weak. All was tired. All was the exhaustion of a body utterly spent and a mind surrendered. Tiffany did close her eyes. She closed her eyes expecting to go from darkness into deeper darkness; to meet her tormentors faces with every ounce of horror they ever promised, and to fall into their reaching, clutching fingers once and for all.
Yet, as Tiffany closed her eyes, and felt all strength wince from the tightened sinews throughout her form, it was not darkness but a light that met her gaze. So curious it was to see instead of her demons that Tiffany paused from flinching away and set her eyes upon it. It was, at first, no more than a pinprick of light, as if she were staring through the miniscule hole of a truly dark sheet cast over her head. But as she continued to stare upon it, it seemed to grow before her - a soft white light piercing through the sullen darkness. Whether the darkness was of her mind, the abysmal mine itself, or perhaps both, Tiffany could not tell. The pounding in her head stopped. The aching pulse in her fingertips ceased. She felt her weight relieved so that she knew not whether she was laying on the ground or standing in the darkness. Yet, as the light increased, she felt no fear. Fear itself departed, and what remained was calm. What remained was peace. What trouble was there in this peace? All trouble was left behind; the earnest craving of the body's need to rest satisfied; and the fear of the hunter, fear for John - all fear was gone.
In the light, Tiffany felt more than peace. She felt loved; loved by something or someone who possessed love as she never felt it before. She perceived it as though she were in the arms of someone's embrace; an embrace unlike the arms of Gabriel or any man who ever said he loved her; an embrace stronger than the darkness or the disingenuous arms of the Tycoons. Compared to this love, any love Tiffany ever knew paled and peeled away like old paint losing its color in the sun. Compared to this light, all light was darkness. And in the darkness Tiffany left behind, that source of light once considered her lifeline, once held in vice-like death grip, now rolled from her open hand and out of her fingertips onto the cold, dark gravel.
Quote from Indy on September 27, 2020, 1:57 pmGrandfather stared at Ionone from his card-game, watching as his granddaughter struggled against the cold currents. How her heart raged on, her limbs struggled as the hurtling debris fell at random besides her. The coldness was her fear, the darkness her master. Deep in her mind, a child cried in pain.
“A kitsune does not fail” Grandfather said, setting down his cards as he starred sternly upon the weeping girl, made weak by her flesh, “If the hand is not in your favor, then make a better one”
She emerged on the dark island in a gasp, her body shivering. She set the child aside - it would not serve her- and donned the cloak of the kitsune. She could feel an exhaustion kept only at bay by will alone, for she could not relinquish, even for a moment, lest the kitsune leave her altogether.
Her nose directed her to where John had been tied. And to her surprise, she found another lying besides him. Her damp nose buried into Tiffany's ice-cold skin. Fearing the worst, she brought a padded finger-tip to her throat and searched for a pulse.
Grandfather stared at Ionone from his card-game, watching as his granddaughter struggled against the cold currents. How her heart raged on, her limbs struggled as the hurtling debris fell at random besides her. The coldness was her fear, the darkness her master. Deep in her mind, a child cried in pain.
“A kitsune does not fail” Grandfather said, setting down his cards as he starred sternly upon the weeping girl, made weak by her flesh, “If the hand is not in your favor, then make a better one”
She emerged on the dark island in a gasp, her body shivering. She set the child aside - it would not serve her- and donned the cloak of the kitsune. She could feel an exhaustion kept only at bay by will alone, for she could not relinquish, even for a moment, lest the kitsune leave her altogether.
Her nose directed her to where John had been tied. And to her surprise, she found another lying besides him. Her damp nose buried into Tiffany's ice-cold skin. Fearing the worst, she brought a padded finger-tip to her throat and searched for a pulse.
