"My love was one of eyes so gold. His hands moved stones, or so stories told." The haunting melody, that was neither quite a tune, nor spoken in a plain voice, echoed down the dim corridors that made up the Regalian sewers. Tick. A seemingly young woman, clad only in what you might expect a jester to wear wandered the halls. The front of her motley was stained, with a rust colored liquid of some kind, the kind that could be attributed to dried blood or certain sauces they only sold around the holidays.
"But gone and dead my has been, his end was marked by tolling bells and the damned did weep." She continued, the rhyming scheme forgotten to the wandering woman as quickly as it had been adopted. Aun Afae had been apart of these sewers, of Regalia, for as long as she could recall. Longer perhaps. It was so hard to remember things beyond the moment. Beyond what visions danced in the woman's eyes. It was hard to remember anything, beyond the thirst. Beyond that noise.
Even now the ticking was nearly deafening in the woman's ears. No, beyond that. It was in her mind. That strange passing sensation, like liquid through a sieve. It had grown worse since the incident. The incident she could barely recall, save for a scattering of waking nightmares and the blessed ones she experienced when she managed to get any sleep. Sometimes she heard Him. Though not often anymore, no. He was dead. The woman paused at an intersection, her muddy-red-ish eyes slipped from one side to the other, a quiet debate over which way to go.
"Tick." She said aloud, though it was unfelt and unheard, mumbled from red painted lips. The woman spoke them now, no longer able to distinguish the sounds she thought she heard from the ones she made. "My love is gone but not forgotten, though his body may be moldy and rotten." She half-sang half muttered to herself, opting to move up one of the tunnels to her right.
A noise, a start, a slithering sound. Something caught the woman's eye. It got so much worse when she was thirsty. The woman peered into the murky hazy hall, had that really moved past her? Even the shadows seemed to have hands and claws. Watching, waiting. Tick. Had the shadows moved, or was it something else? Did it really matter?
The riddle-speaking nonsensical woman moved further down the tunnel, the tell-tale flicker of shadows and light indicating open flame down the way. Light. Flame, people. Blood. Tick. Aun may not have been able to distinguish what was real and what was not, but the woman knew her prey. Her song began again, with renewed purpose, prey was in sight and the woman wanted them to know she was approaching. She wanted them to be aware her approaching footfall meant bloodshed was to follow. Her siren's song would bring nothing but heartache. Run. Run from me. Go, flee. Please. These thoughts fluttered in and out of the troubled woman's mind as she approached, the haunting melody beginning again.
"My love is one who died at sea…" A fire pit roared, logs had been assorted around it, near a vined over entrance to something. The woman couldn't make it out. But she knew, knew something sat within. She had a strange almost preternatural sense about things. She knew things she shouldn't. Remembered things she couldn't. Had seen things few had. If only her words reflected any of that terrible knowledge. Instead when her mouth opened, nothing but twisted jagged madness fell. She could feel it, like a fever, when she spoke. Feel it come out wrong somehow. That horrible sense of liquid rushing past her sounded again, the ticking. That horrible sound. "Tick. Tick. Tick." The woman moaned softly, collapsing right before the vine covered gate.
"But gone and dead my has been, his end was marked by tolling bells and the damned did weep." She continued, the rhyming scheme forgotten to the wandering woman as quickly as it had been adopted. Aun Afae had been apart of these sewers, of Regalia, for as long as she could recall. Longer perhaps. It was so hard to remember things beyond the moment. Beyond what visions danced in the woman's eyes. It was hard to remember anything, beyond the thirst. Beyond that noise.
Even now the ticking was nearly deafening in the woman's ears. No, beyond that. It was in her mind. That strange passing sensation, like liquid through a sieve. It had grown worse since the incident. The incident she could barely recall, save for a scattering of waking nightmares and the blessed ones she experienced when she managed to get any sleep. Sometimes she heard Him. Though not often anymore, no. He was dead. The woman paused at an intersection, her muddy-red-ish eyes slipped from one side to the other, a quiet debate over which way to go.
"Tick." She said aloud, though it was unfelt and unheard, mumbled from red painted lips. The woman spoke them now, no longer able to distinguish the sounds she thought she heard from the ones she made. "My love is gone but not forgotten, though his body may be moldy and rotten." She half-sang half muttered to herself, opting to move up one of the tunnels to her right.
A noise, a start, a slithering sound. Something caught the woman's eye. It got so much worse when she was thirsty. The woman peered into the murky hazy hall, had that really moved past her? Even the shadows seemed to have hands and claws. Watching, waiting. Tick. Had the shadows moved, or was it something else? Did it really matter?
The riddle-speaking nonsensical woman moved further down the tunnel, the tell-tale flicker of shadows and light indicating open flame down the way. Light. Flame, people. Blood. Tick. Aun may not have been able to distinguish what was real and what was not, but the woman knew her prey. Her song began again, with renewed purpose, prey was in sight and the woman wanted them to know she was approaching. She wanted them to be aware her approaching footfall meant bloodshed was to follow. Her siren's song would bring nothing but heartache. Run. Run from me. Go, flee. Please. These thoughts fluttered in and out of the troubled woman's mind as she approached, the haunting melody beginning again.
"My love is one who died at sea…" A fire pit roared, logs had been assorted around it, near a vined over entrance to something. The woman couldn't make it out. But she knew, knew something sat within. She had a strange almost preternatural sense about things. She knew things she shouldn't. Remembered things she couldn't. Had seen things few had. If only her words reflected any of that terrible knowledge. Instead when her mouth opened, nothing but twisted jagged madness fell. She could feel it, like a fever, when she spoke. Feel it come out wrong somehow. That horrible sense of liquid rushing past her sounded again, the ticking. That horrible sound. "Tick. Tick. Tick." The woman moaned softly, collapsing right before the vine covered gate.
