הניאל (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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imeeji_frontstage2022-08-07 12:02 pm
rosetograce) wrote in imeeji_frontstage2022-08-07 12:02 pm
Flowers of Heaven II: Star of Bethlehem
Who: lost(?) idols
Where: ???? a mysterious courtyard
When: day 490
[ You awaken to the feeling of cool stone at your back, and a night sky overhead.
All around is a courtyard—a wide circle of marble tile, alternating black and white, interspersed with stone benches and flowerbeds and ornamental trees, all lit by the lambent gleam of strangely vivid starlight.
It is beautiful. And it is decaying. The stone is cracked; the flowers wild and overflowing between the cracked stone; the trees bent and twisted with age, the ground around them littered with fallen fruit. There is a fountain in the center of this space, but it too is broken-down: the water sits stagnant, and nothing remains of the design except a basin and the shattered base of a once-golden sculpture.
—And surrounding it all are not walls, but dense mounds of kudzu, climbing over itself until it towers as high as any watchtower.
How did you get here?
The last thing you vaguely recall is a sudden fit of drowsiness. There’s no sign of any guide or host around, and your powers don’t currently work either. In fact, if you have any corruptions, whether mental or physical, they too are … gone? No, perhaps that's not quite it; you can still feel them—faint, like a phantom limb. Invisible, and unable to affect you.
But there is one notable exception to the rule: all wings, corruption-induced or not, remain in place, as natural as the starlight.
There are other idols around you, all waking up the same way. Is this meant to be some kind of game…? ]
Where: ???? a mysterious courtyard
When: day 490
[ You awaken to the feeling of cool stone at your back, and a night sky overhead.
All around is a courtyard—a wide circle of marble tile, alternating black and white, interspersed with stone benches and flowerbeds and ornamental trees, all lit by the lambent gleam of strangely vivid starlight.
It is beautiful. And it is decaying. The stone is cracked; the flowers wild and overflowing between the cracked stone; the trees bent and twisted with age, the ground around them littered with fallen fruit. There is a fountain in the center of this space, but it too is broken-down: the water sits stagnant, and nothing remains of the design except a basin and the shattered base of a once-golden sculpture.
—And surrounding it all are not walls, but dense mounds of kudzu, climbing over itself until it towers as high as any watchtower.
How did you get here?
The last thing you vaguely recall is a sudden fit of drowsiness. There’s no sign of any guide or host around, and your powers don’t currently work either. In fact, if you have any corruptions, whether mental or physical, they too are … gone? No, perhaps that's not quite it; you can still feel them—faint, like a phantom limb. Invisible, and unable to affect you.
But there is one notable exception to the rule: all wings, corruption-induced or not, remain in place, as natural as the starlight.
There are other idols around you, all waking up the same way. Is this meant to be some kind of game…? ]
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Ok, Linkin Park, ... [ he grits his teeth and sucks in a sharp breath, trying to focus on something - anything - to avoid those stupid thoughts from invading his mind. ]
[ he settles on... bee movie. ]
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...But how strong, really, is the sheltering wall of refuge in audacity? Of spite-fueled pride? just sugar and glass—just the idea of belief, which crumbles in your bleeding hands?
How could something as frail as that ever be enough? ]
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[ he huffs, loudly! and continues forcing himself to move forward. one foot in front of the other in front of the other. ]
[ maybe if he... hums??? ] Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo... [ something horrible and repetitive should do the trick. ]
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...ahead of him, this time—broken swords littered across the steps, brittle and rusted metal; a smear of golden blood across the floor like a crushing head wound. and there, in the darkness—
something like the sleeve of a once-white robe stained gold-and-black. is there someone here? ]
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Hey! W- Wait!! Don't leave me in this nightmare!!!
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it's an empty sleeve, a sword driven so hard through the shredded cloth that the blade broke, wedged into the floor; and before him, a stairway littered with empty, bloodied robes. did he think there was anything left to save here? any wound that could be healed?
there is nothing left. ]
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it's empty, after all; perhaps this place has been empty, meaningless, forsaken for a long time. forgotten by whoever it was meant to protect, if they still survived. or, perhaps, the thing they were meant to defend was long gone, considering how hollow, how empty, how rotted-from-the-inside this whole place feels.
he picks up a robe; it crumbles to ash in his hands, the once-pure and now morbidly beautiful fabric so fragile it might have never existed. ]
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Even if you don't believe in you... I believe you. Believe in me who believes in you!!
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is there really anyone else down here? is he talking to someone, or is he talking to himself? after all—
what can he even do for anyone, here? ]
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what does he believe in? for himself. can he remember? has he found it yet? ]