[ She should have been more circumspect. Should have have taken note of the excitement and intrigue behind the door and thought to knock upon it first. She had allowed curiosity to get the better of her, and she had opened it without introduction. Whatever it was she had come to the Darkling's room for, she forgets in an instant when she finds the space filled with only horror.
The disorientation of it all is palpable, as if walking into a surreal nightmare, opening a door in the Bearings only to step into too many old memories.
She too has seen twisted bodies of gore like the alien's true visage. The piles of meat and parts the Dreus would sometimes leave behind after some unfortunate soul happened to become the target of his madness and wrath. That is all she can think of looking on that form. Madness. The sickly sweet taste of madness that had permeated her life as the Godking's gardener. Worse still the thing is surrounded by shadow sons. She had spent her entire life hunted by those forms, harassed by that chittering insectoid noise they made, the clicking of their teeth.
Her mouth goes dry, hand falling away from the door, limp and useless, her face is pale, her eyes wide.
Is her heart still beating?
The switch thrown, her panic begins to wail. A vibration that could very nearly break glass, that pierces into the skull with an ugly surety.
And then the room begins to change, to melt, the textures of things sluicing off in a greasy mess; like melting fat. Underneath is a world of fetid rot, diseased flesh, buzzing flies. The floor is tacky with blood up to the calves. More shadows than merely the summonings of the Darkling scream and chitter from every conceivable corner.
Intertwined with their inhuman noises is the voice, the impossible scalding heat:
Imagine he said all the flesh that is eaten, the teeth tearing into it, the tongue tasting it's savour, and the hunger for that taste. Now take away that flesh, take away the teeth and the tongue, the taste and the hunger, take away everything as it is....
She trembles, her entire body, like she might not be able to keep her feet. ]
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The disorientation of it all is palpable, as if walking into a surreal nightmare, opening a door in the Bearings only to step into too many old memories.
She too has seen twisted bodies of gore like the alien's true visage. The piles of meat and parts the Dreus would sometimes leave behind after some unfortunate soul happened to become the target of his madness and wrath. That is all she can think of looking on that form. Madness. The sickly sweet taste of madness that had permeated her life as the Godking's gardener. Worse still the thing is surrounded by shadow sons. She had spent her entire life hunted by those forms, harassed by that chittering insectoid noise they made, the clicking of their teeth.
Her mouth goes dry, hand falling away from the door, limp and useless, her face is pale, her eyes wide.
Is her heart still beating?
The switch thrown, her panic begins to wail. A vibration that could very nearly break glass, that pierces into the skull with an ugly surety.
And then the room begins to change, to melt, the textures of things sluicing off in a greasy mess; like melting fat. Underneath is a world of fetid rot, diseased flesh, buzzing flies. The floor is tacky with blood up to the calves. More shadows than merely the summonings of the Darkling scream and chitter from every conceivable corner.
Intertwined with their inhuman noises is the voice, the impossible scalding heat:
Imagine he said all the flesh that is eaten, the teeth tearing into it, the tongue tasting it's savour, and the hunger for that taste. Now take away that flesh, take away the teeth and the tongue, the taste and the hunger, take away everything as it is....
She trembles, her entire body, like she might not be able to keep her feet. ]