"Beyond the Veil, My Shining. Where mortals may not walk, for fear of losing themselves."
- - -
"Heheh...heh...heh..." A maddened chuckle fills your ears as heavy footsteps shake the villa. An enormous tearing sound precedes great rifts shearing through the aether nearby, from which steps Mysrai, the Shofet of Abyssal Scales.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "Maybe they're similar or related."
You give a horrified gasp.
You curtsey gracefully before Mysrai.
You think to yourself: Fret!
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "I'm sorry!"
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "I probably should have known, but forgot, and forgot a lot while I slept myself, but it was not this sleep!"
Looking faintly miserable, you say, "I'm sorry the thief said things he shouldn't have and that he said them because I made him feel...talkative?"
You slump down in sadness, slowly throbbing a deep amber.
Mysrai's eyes, wide, bloodshot, and maddened do not fully register your presence, only lingering on you for a few moments before They say, "...forgiven..." A moment later, the Shofet stumbles forward, clutching a palm leaf in one hand that sloshes milky white liquid to the reed mat.
You glance about uncertainly, your body turning a hazy shade of grey.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say to Mysrai, "Do You need help? Comfort? A blanket? Uhm...I only have one cookie. I can't eat it, but maybe You can. Alcohol?"
You think to yourself: Confusion? Concern? Deep concern!
With much of Their figure fading in and out of shifting realities draped around Them, there is little that can distinguish the gender of this small figure. It is only certain that They are a radiant immortal. Where Their body is visible, small tufts of short-cropped fur can be seen in intermittent patches, the flesh beneath visible pulsing with colourful hieroglyphics of a dead language. Set deep into an elongated, canid head are twin vortexes of inky black Void, stars and constellations spinning and swirling through the depths in nonsensical, hypnotic patterns. Atop Their head sit two peculiar ears, like cones that have been flipped upside down, swivelling constantly to capture more of the world around Them. Occasionally appearing from behind Their back is a thick tail that tapers to a thin point just above Their ankles. In the area just beyond Them, enormous limbs of black sand and forked red lightning twitch in restless anticipation to cause untold destruction through the strange and alien realities barely glimpsed through the chaotic sandstorm.
Long black fur, shot through with strands of deep crimson, extends in a mohawk that stretches down Their spine to the small of Their back.
They are wearing:
a simple tunic of gold-trimmed ebon that covers only one of Their arms;
shimmering ebon trousers that dance and warp underneath your gaze;
tightly wrapped bandage armbands around Their exposed bicep and wrist.
Mysrai pauses, staggering in place, and you see a great wound darkening the fabric on Their left side, pausing only for a moment before stepping forward again, falling to Their knees near the Liar. "...sleep...dream...safe..." The words are torn from ragged breaths, yet They still carefully take the tae'dae's head beneath Their paw to gently pour the milky white liquid down their throat.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "Oh no no. No no? Please do not be hurt. Who do I go to to get divine healing. Uhhh."
Euterpe, Muse of Music looks at you in confusion, not knowing who that person is.
The Jackal's staff is breifly visible as scarlet lightning warps throughout the room, causing the weapon to bend at odd angles when it materialises in this world.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "Don't go get anyone. Okay. Just worry."
You have emoted: Shulamit glows brightly, trying to glow pink but instead wavering somewhere near off white.
Finally, it appears that Mysrai's job is done, and They lurch to Their feet, pausing only to look at the open window. With a terrible maliciousness, a word drips from Their bared fangs, "...naughty..." A maddened giggle escapes Their throat before They turn and gently pat you on the side of the cheek, perhaps just a tad bit too roughly. "...good...friends..." Then, They are staggering once more, disappearing through one of the great rifts in the aether and vanishing with an abrupt cessation of being that repairs reality about you with a loud POP.
Glowing in tune with her words, you whisper, "Are you keeping them asleep?"
You think to yourself: What is a white liquid. That probably helps keep them asleep? Or maybe just eases p.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say, "Poppies."
You have emoted: Shulamit rubs her hands on her face, as though tired at herself.
You think to yourself: You've designed with poppies so often and forgot what they're actively used for.
You think to yourself: What helps someone wake up from poppy slumbers.
You think to yourself: Oh, Bizirik left.
You think to yourself: S...should I even go down that trail of thoughts.
You think to yourself: If They are giving the Liar poppies to sleep, should I not be waking the Liar?
You think to yourself: But if the Liar is asleep, they can't work through their feelings. It only postpones it.
You think to yourself: AND THEY'RE BLEEDING.
You think to yourself: HOW DO I DEAL WITH THAT.
You think to yourself: I DON'T WANT THEM TO SHARD. Even if the shards would be neat? I LOVE THEM AND WANT THEM TO BE SAFE. EVERYONE?
You have emoted: Shulamit looks exhausted, having an argument with herself in her mind.
Glowing in tune with her words, you say to the Liar, "I am going to. Sit here with you. And glow. And be comforting. Because that is what I do. While I ponder? Confused?"
You have emoted: Shulamit glows a bright pink, stabilizing on a soft dawn coloured hue.
You think to yourself: Wasn't Lord Nocht hurt? Did They take the hurt into Themselves?
You have emoted: Shulamit looks exhausted, collapsing next to the Liar while rolling random thoughts through her head.
You have emoted: Shulamit sniffs at the Liar's breath though, as if attempting to make sure her one thought is correct as to the liquid.
Beneath your carefully trained nose, you smell the sweet scent of honeyed milk...with only the barest hint of poppy.
You think to yourself: How to get babies to nap when they're teething. The old way.
You have emoted: Shulamit stretches out on the pillows, eyes closed but not quite touching the Liar, contemplating the domed roof above.
The painted stars overhead catch your eyes before they close, the constellations and patterns so different from the ones you're used to seeing at night, but comforting nonetheless.
You have emoted: Shulamit gently clasps her palms together, glowing reflective hues as she meditates, the smoke inside her slowing to a crawl.