ABYSS.

𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐅 𝐇𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐃𝐄 𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.   what does it feel like?  like there’s water filling your lungs    ———-    slowly,  agonisingly   ———–    until one day they overflow and you’ll be left to drown in poseidon’s rage?  like a calamity of hellfire coursing through your veins,  leaving naught but a trail of ash?   nothing,  you tell them.  the grief feels like nothing.   an absence of all that was before,  and the presence of a stygian abyss,  new and angry and spreading forth from the emptiness in her chest.

❝    i’m okay.   ❞   she says.  because it’s easy,  because it’s better than naming all the ways she feels broken down and rotten and cold,  because she believes that if she repeats it like a prayer one day it will be truth.   ❝   somebody’s gotta keep watch.   ❞   

desolation whispers soft temptations to her,  beckoning to her. a melancholic thought    :    to believe herself better alone than in company of those she could simply lose.    ❝    ———   i was thinking of making a supply run today,  if you’re bored of the walls here.    ❞    her eyes flicker to face maggie,  never quite meeting her line of site,   and the smile she attempts falls short of genuine.  she is unmoored,  begging for a lifeline.

❝  𝐎𝐇  ,  𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄’𝐒  𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  ,  𝐀𝐋𝐋  𝐑𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓  .  ❞  shawky  shields  his  eyes  from  the  sun  and  glances  further  along  the  horizon,  gaze  dancing  across  ,  scouring  for  any  kind  of  landmark  that  might  help  .  ❝  there’s  an  OLD  SETTLEMENT  out  here  ,  probably  right  in  front  of  us  ,  too               it’s  just  hidden  under  a  bunch  of  sand  right  now  .  ❞

he  walks  a  few  steps  in  one  direction  ,  RECONSIDERS  ,  and  takes  two  steps  in  another  direction  .  ❝  from  what  i’ve  read  about  the  place  ,  the  settlement  had  a  few  structures  tall  enough  to  stick  out  of  the  sand  .  strange  shapes                         can  you  recall  𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆  peculiar  extending  from  a  dune  or  something  ?  a  strange  bit  you’ve  SEEN  and  always  wondered  how  it  got  out  here  ?  ❞

❝    𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄'𝐒 𝐋𝐎𝐀𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐒 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄.    ❞    she begins simply,   ❝   most of them were destroyed in the old battle over jakku.   ❞   a beat.   ❝   that’s what left the graveyards.  anything that was left behind would have been scavenged already.   ❞   slender shoulders ascend into the beginning of a shrug before falling flat to her side.   a weighted ghost of apathy tries again and again to  pry its way into her heart.   [   compassion is your curse,   the wastelands here have never valued kindness.   ]

❝    i’ll save you the trouble.     i feel good.   ❞

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘   &  the laugh he pulls from the depths of his lungs is short  &  dry.   there’s comfort in this masquerade.   ❝   you’re tough as hell,  y’know?  ❞   visage cants sideward,  eyebrows quirked in his slight taunt.   ❝  forgive me for still being   mildly concerned    about you.  ❞

❛   n’va said it did,  sweetheart.  ❜   her words are stitched with incertitude.  cicatrices of blades  &  sears veil her hands as they descend to her sides,  her nose wrinkling in obvious chagrin.  originally ardent irises begin to mute,  drifting to the saloon’s floor.  she,  the oddity in the establishment.  the suspicion of optics gazing at the back of her head rests in the pit of her stomach.  settling in her consternation, bon mots are her go-to in this affair.     ❛   y’think i came all this way t’surprise ya,  t’show how much i care mooney,  only t’get ‘jected.  ❜  

HER EYE-ROLL IS INSTINCT,     poised and ready as the beginning of the nickname she abhors slips from another’s tongue.  she could sense it coming from a mile away.   ❝   who said anything about rejecting you?   ❞    her venom is tucked back,  hidden betwixt teeth and tongue,  as she offers a smile and pushes a drink across the counter with her index finger.    ❝   you’re better company than most who come through here,  wouldn’t want to send you packing now would i?    ❞    what is softness in the valley?   a blessing or a curse?   she’s always found some succour in playing with fire.     ❝   what’ve you been up to,   courier?   ❞

❝    NO MONEY,   NO HONEY.    ❞      child of the wastelands,   wanderer of the mojave,   your love is poison.    the desolation,   the ache    :    she is what remains in the ash.    ❝   my love don’t come cheap.    ❞

𝐀  𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃  𝐎𝐍  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃  ,  squinting  ,  peering  off  into  the  distance  at  all  the                         sand  .  a  lot  of  it  .  large  dunes  ,  rolling  hills  of  it  for  miles  and  miles  .  he  fans  his  face  with  his  hand  and  glances  at  the  woman  beside  him  ,  who  seems  to  be  just  as  ,  if  not  more  capable  than  he  in  terms  of  …  a  lot  of  things  .  better  to  be  out  here  with  someone  else  ,  rather  than  ALL  ALONE  ,  he  figures  .

❝  and  i  know  i’ve  asked  this  a  thousand  times                      rey  ,  was  it  ?  𝐑𝐄𝐘  .  but  you’re  absolutely  certain  you  know  where  we’re  going  ?  we’re  not  –  walking  in  circles  or  something  crazy  like  that  ,  because  i  wouldn’t  be  SURPRISED  if  we  were  …  ❞

an  adventure  with  @abysel

SHE KNOWS THE ATHANASY OF THIS CURSED LAND.   the constant outstretched phaeic plains devouring,   taunting,   consuming  any blithe that had once made a home in her.   somewhere out there    ---------   buried six feet below the sand    -----------    lies the girl she once was,   the girl she never grew to be.  she beholds   [   as he does   ]   as the sand rises and settles, no deviation given to their environs.  the gesture aches with FAMILIARITY.    a home that is no more than a cage.

❛    even  the  godless  end  up  worshipping  something,   ❜       𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧  𝐭𝐡𝐞  𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐬  of  your  throat  and  pull  out  the  barbed  wire.  from  your  unhinged  ribs,  you  take  away  the  shrapnel.  nestled  in  your  hipbones  are  all  the  crucifixes  the  cult  people  and  your  own  mother  have  willed  into  your  vessel  that  putrid  day  your  humanity  died,  and  in  it  are  all  the  lies  you  have  said  to yourself.   𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦.  the  sky  becomes  flurries  of  ink - shaped  rats  which  hover  for  a  moment,  sullen  and  unclear,  dirty,  before  surrendering  into  the  fangs  of  the  sky’s  intimate  greed.  day  by  day  you  will  fill  the  sacrificed  spaces  in  you  with  clean  goat’s  blood,  until  you  are  a  body  swimming  in  your  own  holy,  liminal,  tender  resurrection,  looking  for  someone  new  to  ween  from.  

  magic  reaches  to  grasp  the  sole  candle  illuminating  the  room,  heat  disintergrates  in  your  non -  existent  touch.  you  flicker  it  :  on.  off.  𝘰𝘯. 𝘰𝘧𝘧.   the  memory  of  your  mother’s  knife  snakes  its  fangs  into  your  jugular  vein.  the  day  you  become  a  witch.  on.  off.  on  off.  you  hardly  try  to  hide  your  annoyance  that  steams  from  the  memory :    ❛   you  will  too   ❜

ix.             @abysel         /        starter  call.

❛    WORSHIP YOU,   YOU MEAN?    ❜     alabastrine visage cants sideward,  raven brows quirked in her doubt.   it’s bordering on cynicism,  a weary and jaded cataclysm that doesn’t quite match her youthful appearance.  she’s always been an enigma waiting to be unravelled,   but to try now is sisyphean.   the truth of her suffering is enough to make pretend gods blaze.   ❛    because i’ll tell you right now you haven’t been the first to try,  and i’m really not the   worshipping sort.   ❜    her faith,   in heroes,  in anything,  flickered out as feebly as the candle light in front of her now.