I believe your future is bright

Spiel ohne Grenzen: Chapter Seven

The city didn’t look so bad in this light – still a little washed-out, a little worse for wear, but pretty in the way it sloped down to the dark band of the river and then up towards the hills on the other side, with a handful of old church towers and spires and copper roofs jutting out here and there among the harsh lines of the newer blocks. By all accounts, this had been a magical place once, before the Allies had set it ablaze. And maybe it still was, though Cassian wasn’t sure how benevolent that magic was these days. He wasn’t usually given to superstition, but stories of ancient curses on ruined cities ran in his blood, and it seemed absurd to think that this city of all places should be exempt – this city with all its fresh ruins, and all its hills and riverbanks that were really overgrown heaps of charred rubble, and the pale skies above.

Old Ice

It was neither darkness nor cold that she dreamed of, in the succeeding months and years. Truthfully they were an afterthought at worst, though admittance of this was met with confusion and disbelief in society. No, what followed Jyn Erso into the darkest recesses of her dreams was the ice. The groaning sounds it would make, the towering, entirely strange shapes it would form in the darkness beyond the ships, and the unspeakable vastness of it, endless lifeless nothingness in every direction to the horizon and scores of miles beyond. There was, Jyn had discovered, a horror to such emptiness, a terror so all-encompassing, so primal it had struck her dumb and blind at times. The icy plains, the empty, barren shores of the islands and coasts, the frigid black depths beneath the keel of the ships – all so achingly, awfully empty. In her dreams, when she closed her eyes, that horrific void returned, swallowed her up, drowned her, with none nearby to save her or even see her go.

She kept up the cold smile, stood her ground, and wondered if he knew how often she had wished that it had at least been his blood on her hands, his skull she had caved in with that icy rock. If he knew just how certain she was that, if handed another such rock now, she would not hesitate to use it.

Old Ice

It was neither darkness nor cold that she dreamed of, in the succeeding months and years. Truthfully they were an afterthought at worst, though admittance of this was met with confusion and disbelief in society. No, what followed Jyn Erso into the darkest recesses of her dreams was the ice. The groaning sounds it would make, the towering, entirely strange shapes it would form in the darkness beyond the ships, and the unspeakable vastness of it, endless lifeless nothingness in every direction to the horizon and scores of miles beyond. There was, Jyn had discovered, a horror to such emptiness, a terror so all-encompassing, so primal it had struck her dumb and blind at times. The icy plains, the empty, barren shores of the islands and coasts, the frigid black depths beneath the keel of the ships – all so achingly, awfully empty. In her dreams, when she closed her eyes, that horrific void returned, swallowed her up, drowned her, with none nearby to save her or even see her go.

She kept up the cold smile, stood her ground, and wondered if he knew how often she had wished that it had at least been his blood on her hands, his skull she had caved in with that icy rock. If he knew just how certain she was that, if handed another such rock now, she would not hesitate to use it.

Old Ice

It was neither darkness nor cold that she dreamed of, in the succeeding months and years. Truthfully they were an afterthought at worst, though admittance of this was met with confusion and disbelief in society. No, what followed Jyn Erso into the darkest recesses of her dreams was the ice. The groaning sounds it would make, the towering, entirely strange shapes it would form in the darkness beyond the ships, and the unspeakable vastness of it, endless lifeless nothingness in every direction to the horizon and scores of miles beyond. There was, Jyn had discovered, a horror to such emptiness, a terror so all-encompassing, so primal it had struck her dumb and blind at times. The icy plains, the empty, barren shores of the islands and coasts, the frigid black depths beneath the keel of the ships – all so achingly, awfully empty. In her dreams, when she closed her eyes, that horrific void returned, swallowed her up, drowned her, with none nearby to save her or even see her go.

She kept up the cold smile, stood her ground, and wondered if he knew how often she had wished that it had at least been his blood on her hands, his skull she had caved in with that icy rock. If he knew just how certain she was that, if handed another such rock now, she would not hesitate to use it.

Old Ice

It was neither darkness nor cold that she dreamed of, in the succeeding months and years. Truthfully they were an afterthought at worst, though admittance of this was met with confusion and disbelief in society. No, what followed Jyn Erso into the darkest recesses of her dreams was the ice. The groaning sounds it would make, the towering, entirely strange shapes it would form in the darkness beyond the ships, and the unspeakable vastness of it, endless lifeless nothingness in every direction to the horizon and scores of miles beyond. There was, Jyn had discovered, a horror to such emptiness, a terror so all-encompassing, so primal it had struck her dumb and blind at times. The icy plains, the empty, barren shores of the islands and coasts, the frigid black depths beneath the keel of the ships – all so achingly, awfully empty. In her dreams, when she closed her eyes, that horrific void returned, swallowed her up, drowned her, with none nearby to save her or even see her go.

She kept up the cold smile, stood her ground, and wondered if he knew how often she had wished that it had at least been his blood on her hands, his skull she had caved in with that icy rock. If he knew just how certain she was that, if handed another such rock now, she would not hesitate to use it.