Sequestered ((Solo))

[DarkDelights]

I remember when the carnival came to Radasanth. There was a parade. Dancers in jester's motley...

The Witch's hands flickered in and out of reality several times before stabilizing, as if the signal was coming in weakly.

She smiled softly, eyes closed, her swooping black lashes still.

Elephants and monkeys. Silly things. Vendors and popcorn.

Her hands flickered again.

Kaiden Lear, he was an elf, and he looked my age. His eyes were blue. Oh, and Lana Oliviar, we were like twins. She always smelled good.

She could smell her.

Her hands flickered some more. So did the rest of her form. She could feel the disconnection.

The Witch headed for a distant semi-circle of white ghost-light. The end. Abaddon.

She flickered again, and clutched her skull in the grip of a migraine.

“NoOoo!” she whined pitifully.

The Woman scrambled on all fours, searching for the ebon torch, but it was nowhere to be found.

The soothing white light, with a touch as soft as downy fur.

She clutched her skull which burned and constricted and clouded her senses with the black smoke of burning rubber.

The-Utter-End. Just out of reach...

Grating metal shrieked as jagged shards forced their way past each other inside her brain. Great objects, green tanks, atomic bombs, and fighter jets without wings, all torn to shreds in a tornado of savage grinding wind. Ballistae and catapults splintered effortlessly.

The Witch surrendered in child's pose, as the images of war across all of time whirled in her mind, out of place. The end of all things. Armageddon.

Stop.

The Citadel of the monks of Ai'Brone crumbled into the dust of ages.

She curled, brought her knees to her chest, sobbing as her sanctum began to melt away. When her form was manifest, it boasted the infernal markings written in Black Speech, and the tattoos foretelling of the end of times, her virgin skin wrecked. Then she disappeared altogether.

((End of Part 1))