[Weeks after the Exalt Oracle had been claimed, in the middle of a perfect, lovely day, one in which it might seem nothing could go wrong at all... Someone is screaming.
With no warning, no build, the equivalent of a sudden desperate, panicked pounding at the door, an attempt at Communion comes slamming into Set's psyche. There are no words, no plea for help in anything but a jumbled, inarticulate, weak longing for it, but stronger is the vicious shame, the fear, the rage, rage brighter than a blazing sun ready to flare.
There's a scalpel glinting in the light, a pain deep in the skull spreading, spreading, something that should never be touched flayed raw and pulled out, on fire at every ending. An eye, sickly green, dangles between gloved fingers, but then it is a stormy grey eye, dangling by the slick and severed optic nerve between bloody fingers in the rubble of a city under siege. Running, she's running alongside him, a jinba and a war god to whom shape meant nothing, wind streaming through ebon and crimson manes, water splashing, laughter, fingers gently brushing through wet hair. There are sharp teeth smiling sadistically, the shadowy silhouette blurred by something hot and wet and a backing of bright lighting. Ropes, straps, no matter how much she struggles she can't move, she can't fight, no, no, no, she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it and it doesn't matter, it hurts, it hurts෴
mid-Iqnu (cw: torture, eye things)
With no warning, no build, the equivalent of a sudden desperate, panicked pounding at the door, an attempt at Communion comes slamming into Set's psyche. There are no words, no plea for help in anything but a jumbled, inarticulate, weak longing for it, but stronger is the vicious shame, the fear, the rage, rage brighter than a blazing sun ready to flare.
There's a scalpel glinting in the light, a pain deep in the skull spreading, spreading, something that should never be touched flayed raw and pulled out, on fire at every ending. An eye, sickly green, dangles between gloved fingers, but then it is a stormy grey eye, dangling by the slick and severed optic nerve between bloody fingers in the rubble of a city under siege. Running, she's running alongside him, a jinba and a war god to whom shape meant nothing, wind streaming through ebon and crimson manes, water splashing, laughter, fingers gently brushing through wet hair. There are sharp teeth smiling sadistically, the shadowy silhouette blurred by something hot and wet and a backing of bright lighting. Ropes, straps, no matter how much she struggles she can't move, she can't fight, no, no, no, she doesn't want it, she doesn't want it and it doesn't matter, it hurts, it hurts෴
And then there's nothing.]