Post date: Jul 7, 2020 5:10:28 AM
Xanthium let the latch fall into its cradle, pausing there to take a long breath, her knitted brow pressed on the dark wood door. The room was the star-themed suite in the Cysaegir Hostelry, and had become her favored sleep chamber east of the Dragonspine, at least, while she was alone. Indeed, the room still held a hint of blood orange; the citrus tang was a comforting refugee from her meager evening meal earlier. Her next breath filled her nose with the sweet scent, and finally she turned, twirling on tip-toe with a grace she did not feel, and faced the small room.
The incandescent white orbs that roosted in the dark grey room's corners beguiled her, flashing brightly enough that her eyes were immediately drawn to the chamber's main decorative element, the crystal dancer before the bed. Xanthium continued her ball change step over to the statue, and stopped in front of the shimmering Aelotoi figure, thinking how the gentle curves and shining wings reminded her of her friend Traiva. The dancer was large enough to block her enemy in the room, the sleighbed with snowy-white sheets waiting for her. Sighing from the effort of staying on her arches, Xanthium finally dropped down to a walk, and crossed the rest of the distance to the head of the bed.
The next few battles were humbling. She disrobed down to her chemise, and each layer of clothing gone made her vulnerability closer, more tacit. By the time she got in bed, she was ashamed to see she was trembling. Her final task was to unwrap the curious and horrible gift from Jaysehn, the witchwood figurine of a crying child. She did so quickly, placing it upon the bedside table, and gave it a final, studying gaze. Hauntingly lifelike in its appearance, the child kneels, pitifully weeping away its sorrows. Still dressed in its bed-clothes, its emaciated arms grasp feebly at the remnants of a torn stuffed bear. Jaysehn claimed that this effigy would draw her night terrors to it, that she'd struggled with since her childhood.
She turned from it, and as she laid back upon the silken pillows, she began the first few hums of a soft lullaby. When she settled, she put her power into it, and felt the soporific magic start to take hold of her, soothing her rampant pulse into a calmer rhythm. Tonight, to test this figurine's power, she wasn't going to escape into insomnia, she would force herself to sleep with her dulcet song. Just as she was about to drift away, the corner of her heavily-lidded eyes caught the flicker of the door opening. She tried to will herself up, feeling frightened anew, but her body would not respond, the lullaby had claimed her. Her heart clamored and rang, but the limbs and lungs surrounding it slumbered on. Paralyzed, she could only watch, dazed, as a figure strode into the room.
"You and I need to have a little talk, Xandi." Seated now at the end of the bed was her mother, Ysharra's soft tones belying her ominous words and intrusion. Xanthium tried to respond, and once more felt nothing save the ache of fear in her throat. Not real, none of this is real...
"You know you can't help them. You don't even truly want to, why would you? What is this Socius to you, or even Mist Harbor itself? You're just there to prove something, and you'll fail."
The vision of her mother, with her streaming, ghost-white hair became more ethereal, still. Her voice had a mocking nature to it, and despite her mental reassurances, Xanthium felt herself be wounded by her accusations, tears welling up to join the terror. Ysharra leaned in, her silhouette distorted enough that her change of position brought her face directly in front of her own, hovering above her.
"It is not just me who thinks that, no. I brought another who wishes to confront you, dear."
Ysharra's face wavered and spun up, out of the way, as the room's other inhabitant dropped down from the deep grey ceiling. The beast's dark, armored carapace coiled down with silent grace, the only sound a soft clicking as the segments knitted together over her. Xanthium once again seized up, begging her legs and arms to move but as the thing pressed her down to the mattress, the weight of the monster and her own magic rendered her bound. Only her lips parted, and a moment later, with great effort, she turned her head, trying to shield herself from the insect-like creature.
For a moment the crying child's effigy greeted her, but was quickly interrupted by her mother's shade. The dark red amulet about Ysharra's throat glimmered into focus, and raspy, noxious scratching sounds joined the terrifying chorus around Xanthium's head. The inky, rippling flaw in the crimson crystal flickered, and Xanthium's eyes were overtaken with a tapestry of images; of a sylvan bent over in pain, his silver hair clotted with blood, a redheaded Faendryl with all the color drained out of her dead face. Bronzed skin rent with lashings, shielding a sylvan woman with platinum, scarlet-tipped tresses and a broken neck. Honey-hued hair hanging from a severed scalp, storm-grey sorcerous eyes staring forever into oblivion. Spread between them all, a halfling boy connected the tableau of horror, gazing at Xanthium with shock and misery.
"You know, this little thing might have worked, Xandi. If you hadn't stolen this amulet from your mother, and used your pretty voice to sing it a song."
The distant sound of the wood figure clattering to the floor accompanied a thick, nauseating feeling of a spine being driven through her chest, and where it pierced went numb, leaving her more helpless than ever. The visions of her friends and beloved writhed, and slowly rewound, showing every stage of their deaths and torments while her mother's doppelgänger continued.
"That means we aren't dreams, Xanthium. Much worse. We're your memory. A shadow you'll never be rid of. Sing for us again, if you can. You will certainly cry...ah, look, you are already."
The beast above her joined not-Ysharra's loathsome threats, and a mind-rending shriek of discordant sound burrowed into Xanthium's brain, and the visions replayed on and on. Xanthium shuddered and whimpered, her strength fading fast.
From outside, the hostelry's nightshift innkeeper wandered past the southern end of the upper hallway, making sure all was clean and calm. The night was silent, though he noticed that the Star Room's door had come slightly ajar. Knowing the young Ivasian was in there, he chuckled softly, clearly she and whoever was in there with her had distractions when they went in. As he pulled it shut, he heard the sounds of rustling silk, and smiled again, they were definitely busy! He turned, leaving the hallway to the almost muted tones of struggle and soft, still moans.
[Original: 07/05/2020]