vraska
Good. Cowards don't do well in Caido.
She lifted her gaze from where it was cast, brow knit like a fleet of storm clouds cresting leaden eyes. She was not startled by the unexpected commentary - in fact, she did not realize it came from another someone, and not some disembodied spirit, til she noticed a black figure stirring at the edge of her vision and turned her head to look at the stranger.
There stood a woman cast in iron, not so unlike herself but with a visage chiseled by years of life that Vraska had not seen... perhaps it was herself, or rather who she would have been - but, no. Blonde hair crowned her head and her eyes were a ghostly blue that shone in the pale sun as if brandishing some secret knowledge; judging her for her sins and for her misgivings. Her heart gave a painful shudder and she winced against its fitful lament, fighting back the prick of tears behind her eyes. She had cried enough, what use was there for it? She was lost to the world, perhaps doomed to wander in the world between worlds where there is naught but ruins and dust.
She peered down toward her palms, spread open in front of her. One was covered in ashen soot, the other was pink and chapped, and both were still stiff and tingling with the ghost of bitter cold. Her calloused fingers trembled as she considered them, and she wanted to take them off and throw them aside.
"I closed my eyes to death and I awoke to this place-" she muttered, to herself most of all. Again her mind's voice reminded her I deserve this, and she shrugged her aching shoulders. They felt heavy, oh so heavy. She brought her fingers up to the clasp of her cape, fumbling with it for a moment too long before it came loose and she threw it to the dust. A moment's pause as she choked on a breath of dry air, and thought again of her mother, a brief sting of remorse rearing its head.
"What fate has befallen me?" She questioned, her features writ with notes of cold cynicism and relinquishment.
She lifted her gaze from where it was cast, brow knit like a fleet of storm clouds cresting leaden eyes. She was not startled by the unexpected commentary - in fact, she did not realize it came from another someone, and not some disembodied spirit, til she noticed a black figure stirring at the edge of her vision and turned her head to look at the stranger.
There stood a woman cast in iron, not so unlike herself but with a visage chiseled by years of life that Vraska had not seen... perhaps it was herself, or rather who she would have been - but, no. Blonde hair crowned her head and her eyes were a ghostly blue that shone in the pale sun as if brandishing some secret knowledge; judging her for her sins and for her misgivings. Her heart gave a painful shudder and she winced against its fitful lament, fighting back the prick of tears behind her eyes. She had cried enough, what use was there for it? She was lost to the world, perhaps doomed to wander in the world between worlds where there is naught but ruins and dust.
She peered down toward her palms, spread open in front of her. One was covered in ashen soot, the other was pink and chapped, and both were still stiff and tingling with the ghost of bitter cold. Her calloused fingers trembled as she considered them, and she wanted to take them off and throw them aside.
"I closed my eyes to death and I awoke to this place-" she muttered, to herself most of all. Again her mind's voice reminded her I deserve this, and she shrugged her aching shoulders. They felt heavy, oh so heavy. She brought her fingers up to the clasp of her cape, fumbling with it for a moment too long before it came loose and she threw it to the dust. A moment's pause as she choked on a breath of dry air, and thought again of her mother, a brief sting of remorse rearing its head.
"What fate has befallen me?" She questioned, her features writ with notes of cold cynicism and relinquishment.
