Thalassa
It's Asta's humming voice that paves the way towards sleep like tendrils of signal smoke, a lullaby of safety, the resonant sound being felt more than heard in the dimming of her mind. Despite the weight of her worries, her exhaustion is heavier, pulling her consciousness deeper into the darkness where the emptiness is a pool of still water that caresses her mind in gentle warmth rather than a tsunami threatening to drown her in the thoughts she's too scared to face.
The monsters would come in the morning where the sun would cast shadows in the pit that hides the greatest devourer of all: nothing. It would suck and leech like a parasite, a constant reminder of what she's lost - of who she's lost. The light wouldn't make the depression any easier to crawl out of, but she would find small specks of guidance to keep her moving, tiptoeing around the cavern towards the faint glows of reprieve where she might find momentary purpose or distractions. But for now, Thal embraces the fall, a slow descent that has her drifting. Lucid thought steals the tension as it leaves, the lines of her face bleeding into peace. The purse of her lips relax, making room for the deep breaths of sleep that rustle the strands of hair tucked against cheek, forcing her shoulders down from her shoulders and further into the cushion of blankets. Only her hand holds its position, guarding the pendant against her chest like it might be the perfect shape for the hole that lives there now. Luckily, her subconscious holds that watch, the rest of her mind blissfully empty in her slumber, scared off by the Butcher and his shadow sitting sentinel at her side.
The monsters would come in the morning where the sun would cast shadows in the pit that hides the greatest devourer of all: nothing. It would suck and leech like a parasite, a constant reminder of what she's lost - of who she's lost. The light wouldn't make the depression any easier to crawl out of, but she would find small specks of guidance to keep her moving, tiptoeing around the cavern towards the faint glows of reprieve where she might find momentary purpose or distractions. But for now, Thal embraces the fall, a slow descent that has her drifting. Lucid thought steals the tension as it leaves, the lines of her face bleeding into peace. The purse of her lips relax, making room for the deep breaths of sleep that rustle the strands of hair tucked against cheek, forcing her shoulders down from her shoulders and further into the cushion of blankets. Only her hand holds its position, guarding the pendant against her chest like it might be the perfect shape for the hole that lives there now. Luckily, her subconscious holds that watch, the rest of her mind blissfully empty in her slumber, scared off by the Butcher and his shadow sitting sentinel at her side.
Walk with me to the end
Stare with me into the abyss
Stare with me into the abyss
