As death's supple embrace had gripped me tight, I knew that this world was to be my grave. The scorching heat of the alien sun faded, giving way to the icy fingers of the void as I felt my spirit rattle its earthly chains. While my eyes were glued shut, my mind had known that the time had come. I was ready to die - to be released from this broken body and remade to live on again in the afterlife. The last thing I could consciously recall was fire and blood, but what awaited me were shores of silvered glass, rolling away into fields of evergreen. A stark contrast to what fate awaited my flesh upon that benighted world. The sight of such beauty was too beautiful for someone like me to bear witness. I was but a slave, worthless and broken. Who was I to deserve such an alluring vision? As I drew closer to these silvered sands, my eyes found themselves enthralled by a being, haloed by a mane of fire and scantily clad with austere silken strips of billowing fabric. She was calling to me, her every word revitalizing my ethereal form. Unbidden, my arms reached towards her, hoping to meet her outstretched hand. She wanted me, and for some inexplicable reason, I wanted her too.
Then, as my flight had brought me closer, I saw the truth that was hidden behind the swelling fabric. Blood pooled above her breast, pouring out from her eyes and mouth, dripping onto the sands below. She had twisted into a haunting memory, and horror slowly wormed it's way into my heart. Everything was cold. This was Hell, and a Spectre of my past had waited upon the malformed shores of the afterlife to greet my soul. I recoiled against her touch, fighting to break free from her sudden embrace. No. I killed her. As I fought, Her grip tightened, pulling me down into the shards of broken glass. She wanted me to witness this. To remember all that had made me into who I was. No. I didn't want the pain. Not again. NO!
The darkness faded as my eyes shot open, and ragged breaths of arid air surged into my lungs. I burned under the heat of Malastare's distant sun, but what intrigued my ailing form the most was the sensation rippling through the tips of my fingers. Sand was expected, as mere moments ago I was nearly submerged by the rolling tidal waves of the crystalline dunes. However, what they felt was pliant to the touch and the furthest thing from the coarse grains I could ever imagine. The fact that my fingers could feel, and to that end, I was not dead - filling my heart with joy. Forcing my eyes to open with a flutter of flesh, I saw, through bleary eyes, what my hand brought into its embrace.
Exposed skin that was silken to the touch, flawless in all forms - save for the fact it was marred by an artists ink. Who was this and why had they come to me in my hour of need? A scavenger was the first conclusion my mind had drawn, leaving me to wonder if they were here to steal whatever belongs my ruined body retained from the struggle. That notion was quickly dashed as I felt a warm liquid squirt against my sundered flesh. Were they cleaning my wounds? A friendly face? It was possible, but I couldn't be sure. Opening my eyes wider, and blinking some of the crude detritus that sought to gum them closed, I saw that the figure was sitting and that it was a woman. Well. That was unexpected.
As my violet eyes danced across her supple figure, I found myself enthralled by her angelic visage, more a product of a heat deprived imagination rather than a sensible judgment. She was half-naked, covering her modesty with nothing more than contrasting strands of fabric. Her face was maned with fiery strands of crimson hair, harkening back to the haunting visage that I had seen in my personal purgatory. Shock and surprise pulsed through my veins, causing my body to jerk violently under her touch. No. She had followed me back to the land of the living. I couldn't let her touch me. Not here, not now, and not like this! Then, with adrenaline forcing clarity into my sight, I saw that she was not the haunting shade from the shore of broken glass.
She was a friend, or close enough that the distinguishing factor mattered little. A fellow pilot had seen my agony and had pulled me free from my impending doom, Using her clothing, leaving her exposed to the heat, this woman furiously padded my wounded chest in the hopes to stem the crimson tide. I had to commend her effort, not many within the squadron had taken to their medical training with much gusto - all because of a poor instructor I believe. Though, seeing this woman clean my wounds with an almost practiced precision, I felt like she had taken a liking to the subject matter enough to retain that man's boring lessons. Then again, as my eyes had caught a glimpse of the fire-crowned woman as she pulled away, I knew almost instantly why such teachings were retained. How better to play doctor with her lovers, than to know the basic tenets of medical care?
"Tela..." I mouthed weakly, "Thank.. you."
My throat was parched, and it was hard to speak - but my honor had demanded that I acknowledge her efforts. However, as my gaze fell towards my hand, I found that I was seemingly thanking her in more ways than one. As she cleaned my wounds, the arm blocking the cavity in my chest was discarded - allowing my fingers to grab hold of her hip when my consciousness flooded back into reality. Then, when I had spasmed, the strength in the limb had ebbed, falling into the dune's embrace and sliding towards her meaty flank. Thus, as I thanked her, my fingers unwittingly tensed and goosed her figure. That was sure to send the wrong message, but as wounded as I was, it didn't matter how my deeds were perceived anymore.
| [member="Tela Uolmi"] |
