Fallen Phoenix
Aboard the Vhailor
A loud gasp for air could be heared echoing between the walls of the room. It was darkness surrounding him as he breathed heavily, a sweat forming across his forehead. He was burning hot, and upon noticing not his own hand - scarred, charred and ashen - but instead one of skin, flesh, blood and bone, he panicked believing he was still inside a dream, or perhaps a nightmare brought on by the demon lay dormant within him - his other self. He flew out of the bed onto his feet. A bed? The Ashborn did not sleep - he couldn't! The room was pitch black, and he kept stumbling into things as if his chambers had purposely been littered by obstacles just to enrage him. Crashes and loud thumps pierced his own ears as he finally broke something made of glass. He didn't care what it was - he immidiately grabbed a broken piece of it with his hand. He attempted to spot some sort of reflection, but all he could see was a pair of crimson eyes staring back at him; fiery red coupled with brightly yellow pupils. They were not his own, they couldn't be! This was all some sort of trick!
He panicked once again, this time his legs refusing to carry him as he fell to the floor with a loud *thud*. He had trouble walking, or doing anything for that matter. It was as if he was doing it for the first time. He was terrified. He called out, loudly, to anyone able to hear it. He cried for help, like a boy calling for his mother after a terrible nightmare. "K-Kä... Kära!" was the first word formed by his lips. "My Queen, where are you?!" he shouted out into the dark nothingness of his room. He had no recollection of what had happened just the previous day, of how he was resurrected by the Dark Lord of the One Sith and brought back from Death's Halls to serve his master once more. All these new sensations assaulting his entire being set him aflame, his body burning-hot to the touch, sweating and heaving. Why didn't the piece of glass in his hand melt? Why didn't it break?! He increased his grip of it, now using both hands as he attempted to crush it, but all it managed to do was cut up his palms and smear it with his own blood. Blood, followed by such pain. Eventually it broke under his strength, shattering into pieces burying themselves into his skin. Again he cried out, even louder. Tears began to run down his cheeks as he very slowly came to realise what he had become - a monster.
@[member="Kära Vi'dreya"]
A loud gasp for air could be heared echoing between the walls of the room. It was darkness surrounding him as he breathed heavily, a sweat forming across his forehead. He was burning hot, and upon noticing not his own hand - scarred, charred and ashen - but instead one of skin, flesh, blood and bone, he panicked believing he was still inside a dream, or perhaps a nightmare brought on by the demon lay dormant within him - his other self. He flew out of the bed onto his feet. A bed? The Ashborn did not sleep - he couldn't! The room was pitch black, and he kept stumbling into things as if his chambers had purposely been littered by obstacles just to enrage him. Crashes and loud thumps pierced his own ears as he finally broke something made of glass. He didn't care what it was - he immidiately grabbed a broken piece of it with his hand. He attempted to spot some sort of reflection, but all he could see was a pair of crimson eyes staring back at him; fiery red coupled with brightly yellow pupils. They were not his own, they couldn't be! This was all some sort of trick!
He panicked once again, this time his legs refusing to carry him as he fell to the floor with a loud *thud*. He had trouble walking, or doing anything for that matter. It was as if he was doing it for the first time. He was terrified. He called out, loudly, to anyone able to hear it. He cried for help, like a boy calling for his mother after a terrible nightmare. "K-Kä... Kära!" was the first word formed by his lips. "My Queen, where are you?!" he shouted out into the dark nothingness of his room. He had no recollection of what had happened just the previous day, of how he was resurrected by the Dark Lord of the One Sith and brought back from Death's Halls to serve his master once more. All these new sensations assaulting his entire being set him aflame, his body burning-hot to the touch, sweating and heaving. Why didn't the piece of glass in his hand melt? Why didn't it break?! He increased his grip of it, now using both hands as he attempted to crush it, but all it managed to do was cut up his palms and smear it with his own blood. Blood, followed by such pain. Eventually it broke under his strength, shattering into pieces burying themselves into his skin. Again he cried out, even louder. Tears began to run down his cheeks as he very slowly came to realise what he had become - a monster.
@[member="Kära Vi'dreya"]