At the heart of the darkness spins a cyclone of shattered glass. The individual shards, tossed by the greater storm, spin independently and at their own speed. Occasionally, a shard will slow enough to show the memory it contains:
...A figure made of black and green mist...
....Thorny running through a moon-lit garden full of glowing plants, her childlike laughter hauntingly out of place on the woman's lips...
...Christopher, lost in a spell, unaware of the growing burns on his hands as he etches a new blade...
...Fender, torn and bleeding, laughing at her success...
...A fist covered in swirling, flickering red lights smashing a mirror...
...A woman's thigh, the frost white flesh marred by a great wound closed with tiny stitches...
...Christopher, oblivious to all else, lost in a kiss with an unseen companion...
High up in the eye of the storm, Thorny spins, stretched on her toes with her arms above her, eyes closed. In the still blackness beneath her rests Christopher, watching and waiting for her to open her eyes.
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Comments
You know how brilliant I think you are. <33 Seeing this a little more polished is awesome.
Stop encouraging my muse!
I'll try to write more. I make no promises.
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Short version: Thorny's identity was completely suppressed and largely destroyed. Christopher's mind became intertwined with hers, his primal side emerging as her new personality. Her inner, sleeping self is slowly healing. When it wakes, the connection between them will be broken.
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Like I said, it's complicated. My muse has a warped sense of humour.
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