Eva the Fairytale Maiden
Fairytale Maiden
Inner Sanctum Nobility
♔ Champion ♔
- Local time
- Today 10:51 PM
- Messages
- 1,685
- Age
- 32
- Pronouns
- She
((*WARNING: This prompt contains themes of grimdark, death and dying, the weight of human life and technical cannibalism. Please only read if you are confident in your mental health state <3 and Note the art does not belong to me.))
What does one think of before they die?
In that final breath. Before the darkness takes them.
Is it hope? Hope that there is something tangible beyond this decay of consciousness.
Resistance? A final struggle for life against the inevitable.
Longing? For the dream of what might have been. Had they just a few more moments. A different decision to alter their course from this moment.
Relief? To at last know the embrace of finality, to relinquish the gift of control and be filled with peace.
Yet still there are those whose minds are consumed by another final thought. One which grips the very core of being and denies even Death it's duty.
Vengeance.
It tastes of copper and salt water. Burning inside a slender throat, inhaled by the gallon, but never quite quenching the thirst. The craving of revenge always left in wanting beneath the waves. Deep beneath.
Down into the darkness no living human has seen. Where the crushing black oblivion of Davy Jones shatters the body under its weight. Crick Crack Currents echoing to the song of its force pressing bones to breaking; joints pulling apart as upon a rack.
Every precious bubble of the last surface breaths compressed from the lungs. Rope binding down limbs tightening harder than a Kraken as the iron drags down. Deeper. All warmth fading to every dropping fathom. Until there is only cold. So numb to feel on fire in the cold below.
Tears lost to the infinite space of water. Desperate cries drowned to silence by the sea. Last sights of the world above fade away to blurred darkness. One the natural world intended.
Time is swallowed up there. In the dark. In the space between spaces. Between the world of living and death.
For all the turmoil above, in the cold below, there is peace. There is silence. There is slumber.
But there is also... thirst. Yes. A craving within the lingering soul, trapped beneath the weight of the sea. A mighty want of a taste. For vengeance. For blood. For betrayal.
Then. Only then. Does the sea take pity. For she is as merciless in her wrath as the castaway creatures dwelling in her divine body.
Blind and deaf to the shifting waves below. All breath stolen so there is naught to breathe but currents of salted water.
When finally that iron rests upon the bed of the sea, the cursed deal has been made. And she has been reborn.
She who is the castaway. The sacrifice to a vengeful sea god. The ill-omen. The bad luck.
She who will reap her vengeance in her new form.
Hempen ropes which bound a set of feminine legs, forced together so tight by the crushing weight of the water, the pair is now one. Longer than before. The joints pulled from their sockets. Yet now, they move as fluid together as born to the sea.
A fish's tail. A glimpse is all a living human will ever see. A flip of a fin. A glimmer beneath the surface. A mere glimpse is a blessing to live another day.
Breathing is never easy. A constant burn of salt to the throat. A craving upon the tongue. A thirst never sated. She cannot stay above the waves for too long. Only enough to sing...
To lure a ship with her siren's song. Her voice made hoarse from swallowing the sea. Yet to them... to them she sings so sweetly. So innocent. So beautiful. So full of life...
To hear her as she was. Before suspicion threw her overboard.
Life and joy once thrived within her breast. Now... now there is only death and vengeance.
Blood in the water. So near. So fresh.
The wreckage scattered among the shoals. Many a body adrift. Many a face she knows. Or did once.
The Captain is her prize, as fallowed claws caress beneath the terror of his eyes. He knows her face. Hallowed as it is. Skin greyed as a corpse. He knows despite all efforts to avoid his end, even to the cost of those whose blood she demanded he bring her... his hour has arrived.
And so with her vengeance near tasted full, the mermaid smiles and asks, "What will you think of as you die?"
His last breath consumed by her lips as she drags him to the cold below. Blood floods the water surface. Copper stench stains the air. Gulls and sharks circle the feeding ground as the waves crash limp bodies against the shoals. A flip of her tail the last sighting by the only survivor - a young woman in disguise.
What does one think of before they die?
In that final breath. Before the darkness takes them.
Is it hope? Hope that there is something tangible beyond this decay of consciousness.
Resistance? A final struggle for life against the inevitable.
Longing? For the dream of what might have been. Had they just a few more moments. A different decision to alter their course from this moment.
Relief? To at last know the embrace of finality, to relinquish the gift of control and be filled with peace.
Yet still there are those whose minds are consumed by another final thought. One which grips the very core of being and denies even Death it's duty.
Vengeance.
It tastes of copper and salt water. Burning inside a slender throat, inhaled by the gallon, but never quite quenching the thirst. The craving of revenge always left in wanting beneath the waves. Deep beneath.
Down into the darkness no living human has seen. Where the crushing black oblivion of Davy Jones shatters the body under its weight. Crick Crack Currents echoing to the song of its force pressing bones to breaking; joints pulling apart as upon a rack.
Every precious bubble of the last surface breaths compressed from the lungs. Rope binding down limbs tightening harder than a Kraken as the iron drags down. Deeper. All warmth fading to every dropping fathom. Until there is only cold. So numb to feel on fire in the cold below.
Tears lost to the infinite space of water. Desperate cries drowned to silence by the sea. Last sights of the world above fade away to blurred darkness. One the natural world intended.
Time is swallowed up there. In the dark. In the space between spaces. Between the world of living and death.
For all the turmoil above, in the cold below, there is peace. There is silence. There is slumber.
But there is also... thirst. Yes. A craving within the lingering soul, trapped beneath the weight of the sea. A mighty want of a taste. For vengeance. For blood. For betrayal.
Then. Only then. Does the sea take pity. For she is as merciless in her wrath as the castaway creatures dwelling in her divine body.
Blind and deaf to the shifting waves below. All breath stolen so there is naught to breathe but currents of salted water.
When finally that iron rests upon the bed of the sea, the cursed deal has been made. And she has been reborn.
She who is the castaway. The sacrifice to a vengeful sea god. The ill-omen. The bad luck.
She who will reap her vengeance in her new form.
Hempen ropes which bound a set of feminine legs, forced together so tight by the crushing weight of the water, the pair is now one. Longer than before. The joints pulled from their sockets. Yet now, they move as fluid together as born to the sea.
A fish's tail. A glimpse is all a living human will ever see. A flip of a fin. A glimmer beneath the surface. A mere glimpse is a blessing to live another day.
Breathing is never easy. A constant burn of salt to the throat. A craving upon the tongue. A thirst never sated. She cannot stay above the waves for too long. Only enough to sing...
To lure a ship with her siren's song. Her voice made hoarse from swallowing the sea. Yet to them... to them she sings so sweetly. So innocent. So beautiful. So full of life...
To hear her as she was. Before suspicion threw her overboard.
Life and joy once thrived within her breast. Now... now there is only death and vengeance.
Blood in the water. So near. So fresh.
The wreckage scattered among the shoals. Many a body adrift. Many a face she knows. Or did once.
The Captain is her prize, as fallowed claws caress beneath the terror of his eyes. He knows her face. Hallowed as it is. Skin greyed as a corpse. He knows despite all efforts to avoid his end, even to the cost of those whose blood she demanded he bring her... his hour has arrived.
And so with her vengeance near tasted full, the mermaid smiles and asks, "What will you think of as you die?"
His last breath consumed by her lips as she drags him to the cold below. Blood floods the water surface. Copper stench stains the air. Gulls and sharks circle the feeding ground as the waves crash limp bodies against the shoals. A flip of her tail the last sighting by the only survivor - a young woman in disguise.