#rhydin

Not sure who remembers RhyDin but I was thinking about it the other day. 

I played in RhyDin around 97-02ish before moving onto Yahoo and leaving altogether.

bro not jordin and rhyne too

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Memories of the rest of The Night were hazy at best. Vestiges of smoke that filtered through her conscious thought – played on an endless loop in her dreams – only to blissfully disappear when she awakens.

“What did you do to me!?” a panting sob, punctuated by a shriek.

“You did it to yourself child.” Smug, and sounding strangely sated, the words were crooned into her ear, while dark fingers brushed almost lovingly down her cheek.

“NoooOooooo!”

Laughter.

“Please! Please make it stop, bring me back!”

“Are you so weak? I thought you to be stronger than this.”

“Help me! Please!!” she begged and begged, hands in her hair, eyes rolling madly in her skull. She never begged, not like this, no.

“I did help you, I gave you exactly what you wanted.” He laughed again, delighted, enthralled – joyful.

“No, I didn’t want this! LET ME GO!”

“No.”

Crying, “Please…”

“No mine little one,” he purred, gathering her closer, “too late for that now.”

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It was about two years, give or take. She went away and as far as she could, traveling by plane, car, and boat - not always in that order. And when she found she wasn’t quite far enough, she traveled by moving in through those delicate spaces - those in-between places - where Light married to the Dark and reality was subjective, at best.

Escape, escape.

She sought it where she could, in the dizzying burn of alcohol, in the mindless din and drone of a crowded room, and in the deep, dark depths of a dreamless sleep. The fear and agony chased her round-robin, with desperation and misery adding their names.

What had she done? What is she doing?

Coffee lacked the allure it once had, now turning sour in her stomach, and bringing bile to the back of her tongue. Sleep, sleep, sleep. Vera felt as though she could sleep for a thousand years, underneath a thousand hills, and never have enough rest.

Another bad night followed by countless hours, the Gypsy lost to the light of street lamps and the fuzzy glow of neon colors. Darken streets gave way to a forest, moonlight now the only source of light. Well worn paths snaked through the briars and the trees, newly green.

Where was she now? Had she passed through the in-between again?

Those precarious spaces made of more sinister shadows then sunshine. She always said it was like Alice stepping through the Looking Glass – this is the other side of the Mirror. Seamless and easy, she didn’t even have to think about it much anymore.

Back home, back in Rhydin now.

The old Inn appeared to rise seemingly out of nowhere. But all roads lead to the Red Dragon Inn of Rhydin. She could smell the ozone in the air, sharp and distinct, the acrid smoke of someone’s cigarette, and the musk of …wolves?

The bloody hell, wolves!?

Unsteadily she turned sharply on a heel and looked around, her arms making a weak flail while she tried to keep her balance. Yes, she may be drunk, yes, she may be running willy-nilly with no clear destination in mind, and yes! She just may not be as think as she smart she is but!

There was no mistaken it – that was wolf musk, no doubt from Channel’s Supernatural line of products. A peasant girl like her, raised in the sticks of Romania (Targoviste, hometown!) would know it anywhere.  

Now, now. Oh, better sit down. Blinking rapidly Vera giggled quietly (she thought it was quiet) and crouched at the base of a tree, hugging the wine bottle she had borrowed close to her chest.

Now, now – frowning the Gypsy attempted to gather the loose, tattered threads of her thoughts, amber eyes rolling up to stare at the star-strewn sky through the leafy canopy of her tree.  

Where am I again?

Oh – there is an Inn over there.

Maybe she can sleep without worry and hold fast to the effervescent illusion of freedom.