The Aftermath was NOT part of the Curriculum [Ulv/Open]

Breathe in, Breathe out.....

Breathe in,

Breathe out,


Breathe, breathe, breathe. That is what her thoughts told her. They told her to close her eyes, to breathe, to clear. Was it meditation? A Coping method? Sleep? A cold wind wafted across her face, trailing a gentle caress across her cheek. It was soothing, numbing. She wanted more. She wanted that numbness to spread throughout. To freeze the turmoil, halt the anguish. She wanted so many things. Ironic, when she was a girl who was in love with the dead. The dead don't want anything anymore. They are dead.

Then, what is this feeling? Why does it burn hotter despite efforts to quell it, to drench it in anesthesia. To pull it out numbed to everything, the pain killed, extracted out of it and cleansed. Why does her mind see her every time she closed her eyes? Its not that she wanted to forget, far from it. She wanted to remember, she wanted to hang onto those memories, to clutch them so selfishly close to her. Memories, though... They were fleeting and whimsical. People live on, they forget, they move on. They... They were bad people.

She would never forget, she would not move on, and she wouldn't live on. Even now, as the girl looked over the barren wastes. She could see her. She was there, just out of earshot. Just out of direct eye contact, in her peripherals. Silver hair swaying with the desert wind of the wastes. She was speaking, those lips moving up and down. What were they saying? Was it to her? She was staring after all, she was staring directly at her. The girl perched on the ruins of an old building dared not move, she dared not blink. If she did, she would be gone again. Just like a memory, fleeting and whimsical.

How long as it been?

How long has it been since she killed her? She recoiled, losing site of her. How could she not, the tremors came easy. The convulsions and urge to scratch, to itch and cut, to force something else on her body to cope, to deal, was obvious. Looking around, and around to see where she had gone, panic rose. She spun her torso, resting her hand on the side of the ledge to spin around to look behind her. Was she there? Had she come for her now?

The ledge was slick, even as she put her hand down she knew what it was. She could feel it. Warm and thick, the blood flowed lazily off the ledge. More tremors, more trembling. She found the air stifling, hard to breathe. Despite the chill air, she could not breathe. Her hand coated in that warm, crimson colored liquid. Her eyes widened, a shaky gaze peered upon the wheelchair. Yes, that Wheelchair. What other chair would it be? What other chair mattered more?

The flesh, filled the air thick with the smell of iron, of bile. Finally she could breathe. Her body sharply took it in. Staggered gasps.

It didn't get any easier. It never did. First it was dreams, then it was in reality too. Soon, there was no escape from the nightmare. Ceal's nightmare. The one where she felt the blood on her hands, The one where she watched Mirja deconstruct in front of her. The one where her soul was dragged into the abyss. Nothing mattered. Not a thing. There was no escape.

What am I doing here?

In truth, she had came here to practice the art she had left her with. Cultivation. It was meticulous, but it was numbing. It allowed her to clear her thoughts, to kill the pain. It was her drug, the one thing to stave off the nightmares. It was to be used with tai chi, but Ceal's form was flawed. She had not finished her training. She had gotten a foothold at least. It was in that hold she clutched onto it. To that last remnant she left her. That and the collar that spun across her neck. He had a new accessory to it, one Ceal added. It was a bell. It rung with her tremors, chiming away the evil. At least that was the intent. Sometimes it worked. Other times...

To close her eyes and cover her ears, feeling the slickness of the blood on her fingers.. this was the best she could do. Her attempt at cultivation failed today. It failed and Ceal's accursed mark started to glow as she gave into the nightmare again. She curled up on the ledge. A featle position by any standard. Blocking out the sound of the now ominous wind. She could not trust herself to not look back, to see that nightmare again. She would, though. She would see it again, and again, and again.

It would never leave her

Why did you save me?