if i'm your salvationthen welcome to hell8 years old
imprint / mate
pack
Old habits die hard - or sometimes not at all. Myrria carried with her two dark, possibly unforgivable, habits. When one is sated the other wanes, but never can she be rid of both at the same time. She wanders haphazardly across the debris from a catastrophic storm that had come and gone. Every now and then she stumbles, weaving in a drunken manner with eyes wide and open to the world around her (and other worlds in her mind).
The typical scenery of the crags is morphed and obscure. Each fallen tree is a netherbeast’s carcass, broken appendages and black blood staining the earth. Every rock and boulder is a swirling mass of dark energy threatening to engulf her whole. So she avoids them mostly, jumping away from their grasp rather clumsily as she staggers about.
She aimlessly wanders toward one of the smaller pools within the trees of the bluff and comes to a wavering halt when she sees her reflection. Apprehension at the sight of what stares back at her takes over first as she dithers in place, her eyes glued to the surface of the water. The reflection was distorted by the movement of the water, shifting and transforming her features into a gnarled smile with jagged monstrously large teeth. She wasn’t… normal. There’s no way she really looked like this. She kept telling herself it wasn’t true, but deep in her gut this was how she felt. This was how she saw herself. A diseased monster. Shameful. Forsaken.
She screams with a wild snarl and strikes the water with open jaws, doing nothing more than disturbing the pool and drenching herself in the process. But the image is gone for now. That’s all that matters.