[ The door to the jail cell opens as the guards move in to break apart the fight the boys have started. Ilde is just out of sight, flattened against the wall with her eyes closed, presence suppressed so that she would truly need to move to draw attention in the face of the distraction right now. Her right arm is outstretched, fingertips linked with the Darkling's where he and Y and the droid wait around a corner.
She closes her eyes more firmly, face wrinkling, spots flashing in the darkness of her eyelids as she increases the pressure inside of her mind. She has only created such a vast illusion once, when the Darkling and Nate had startled her into shock. It hadn't been on purpose, and it had taxed her a great deal, but she is certain with his hand in hers -- feeding her power, she feels like a serpent swallowing egg after egg from the nest of some magic creature, growing and growing, filled with poison -- that she can do it again. She feels around in her own mind for the sensation. It was not a pleasant it, it was like straining a muscle, dislocating a joint, pinching a nerve; the pain of mistreating the body.
She finds it with a jerk, biting her lip to stop herself from making any sound for the way that it hurts. She opens her eyes and stares up into the ugly overhead lights as her symbiote begins to fumigate the hallway, her sickness crawling. Her face goes pale, eyes dilating as the fever of it begins to prickle up her throat, sweat beading on her brow.
She thinks of the dungeon she had known so well. The one she had been forced to walk through in order to reach the garden beneath the palace. The desperate, skeletal hands that would reach for her as she passed, the screaming from the mad, the screaming from those unlucky enough to have the Godking's attention in that moment. The darkness begins to spread up the walls, the damp smell of rot and decaying bodies. The hallways no longer seem so bright and safe, instead turning claustrophobic, caked in dirt and blood, strangled with lichen. All flesh falls away from all forms, tattered and desiccated on skeletons with empty eye sockets. Some hang limp from the walls where their hands were chained, others lie in puddles of bones on the floors of their cells.
Ilde tightens her grip on the Darkling's hand and pulls him with her as she moves closer to peak at if Murphy and Bellamy are handling this. The panic, the visions, the strident ringing headache that comes with the screaming of her symbiote. ]
(This way. Move. Run. Go.)
[ In this ugly illusion, her disembodied voice is more ghostly than anything else, she hopes they can manage to move their feet so she can send them ahead with Y, and get them out of range of her symbiote. She turns to the Darkling then, a nod, that the boys are at least out of the cell, that his piece of this terror can be initiated.
The shadows should be more interesting than the corpses, more dangerous at that with their fierce claws, their unnerving chittering, their ways of crawling up and down the walls, disappearing into the darkness of this underground place, their eyes everywhere.
SPOOKY SCENE SET
She closes her eyes more firmly, face wrinkling, spots flashing in the darkness of her eyelids as she increases the pressure inside of her mind. She has only created such a vast illusion once, when the Darkling and Nate had startled her into shock. It hadn't been on purpose, and it had taxed her a great deal, but she is certain with his hand in hers -- feeding her power, she feels like a serpent swallowing egg after egg from the nest of some magic creature, growing and growing, filled with poison -- that she can do it again. She feels around in her own mind for the sensation. It was not a pleasant it, it was like straining a muscle, dislocating a joint, pinching a nerve; the pain of mistreating the body.
She finds it with a jerk, biting her lip to stop herself from making any sound for the way that it hurts. She opens her eyes and stares up into the ugly overhead lights as her symbiote begins to fumigate the hallway, her sickness crawling. Her face goes pale, eyes dilating as the fever of it begins to prickle up her throat, sweat beading on her brow.
She thinks of the dungeon she had known so well. The one she had been forced to walk through in order to reach the garden beneath the palace. The desperate, skeletal hands that would reach for her as she passed, the screaming from the mad, the screaming from those unlucky enough to have the Godking's attention in that moment. The darkness begins to spread up the walls, the damp smell of rot and decaying bodies. The hallways no longer seem so bright and safe, instead turning claustrophobic, caked in dirt and blood, strangled with lichen. All flesh falls away from all forms, tattered and desiccated on skeletons with empty eye sockets. Some hang limp from the walls where their hands were chained, others lie in puddles of bones on the floors of their cells.
Ilde tightens her grip on the Darkling's hand and pulls him with her as she moves closer to peak at if Murphy and Bellamy are handling this. The panic, the visions, the strident ringing headache that comes with the screaming of her symbiote. ]
( This way. Move. Run. Go. )
[ In this ugly illusion, her disembodied voice is more ghostly than anything else, she hopes they can manage to move their feet so she can send them ahead with Y, and get them out of range of her symbiote. She turns to the Darkling then, a nod, that the boys are at least out of the cell, that his piece of this terror can be initiated.
The shadows should be more interesting than the corpses, more dangerous at that with their fierce claws, their unnerving chittering, their ways of crawling up and down the walls, disappearing into the darkness of this underground place, their eyes everywhere.
Ilde pushes at the boys again: ]
( Go. Move. Run. )