Eventide

You enter a cavern, the diseased soil dry and cracked beneath your feet. A low humming fills your ears, but it might as well be your imagination. The light is red, like the soil, like the walls around you. There are holes in the rock and there are shadows in them, but you don’t dare to look closer. You keep your gaze aimed straight ahead, towards the final chamber.

The witch lives here, you’ve been told. Child of the Plaguebringer, child of the Gladekeeper, neither, both; you have heard everything. You have come here seeking salvation, but the voices whisper you won’t find it here. The sweet smell of decay clings to the air and wraps around you like a thick, warm blanket. Breathing is difficult, and you know that with every breath you take, you inhale the disease.

The dragon looks at you, flowers around her blooming and rotting in a never-ending cycle. “You came here in search of something,” she rasps. The poppies between her claws die, replaced by lavender. “I can grant it to you.” Tulips. Lilies. Your lungs hurt and your eyes water, but you nod. Everything else in this word has left you. She is your only hope. Maple vines and wisteria wrap around you like a caress before withering away, dried and crumbling petals raining down your shoulder blades. “Then come with me, Searcher…”

You obey.

A tale of undeserved and innocent sorrow.

From the rotted nest, she crawled, dragging her pathetically weak body through the filth and grime out of her own nest. She laid on the ground, panting. Her gaze landed upon flowers that somehow survived the plague blossoming all around her. Noted, they weren't the most pretty, but they were plants. Amidst this pondering, the thought struck her that she needed to survive. And so, off she went, growing up much sooner than a hatchling normally would.

She wasn't much older when the itching began.

It started as just a small scratch. She reached with her back left to get behind right shoulder. the delicious feeling of a satisfied itch followed. Mmmmmm....yes. That felt good. But there was another, on her left now. She scratched it, and was greatly relieved. However as soon as she did, the other began to itch again. And then another one would join her company. And then another, and then another. What started as a simple back scratch became a fussing, scratching and rolling frenzy. She couldn't stop, no matter how hard she tried. Black skin flaked off in small bits, then larger ones. Her flesh cracked and split. She was terrified, but she couldn't stop. for days, she tore at the cracks with her claws, and shredded them with her teeth. But there was no blood. Just the dusty black flakes...they were scattered all around her feet and fluttered back up into the air as she continued her scratching. Eventually, there was nothing left to scratch. The entirety of her skin had been torn away, revealing her "true self". She was unaware of this. She knew the itching was gone. That was all that mattered. Out of the blue, she noted how thirsty she was. She wandered for a while, growing more and more parched, until all at once, she found a pool. It wasn't very big, But it was more clear than crystal. It was surrounded by a peculiar circle of fresh green grass, that blossomed with pale flowers. She was sure that the grass and blossoms would fade as soon as she entered the vicinity, being as one from the wasteland. However, to her amusement, it did not. Satisfied with what she had discovered, she bent down for her drink. she lapped up two mouthfuls of water, then suddenly, she recoiled from the pool in horror!

There, staring back at her from the water, was...well, it was her. but yet, it wasn't quite her. the her in the pool was shattered in several places, revealing the strange sight of what appeared to be the bark of the sycamore tree. Stranger yet, strange moss had sprouted around those cracks, and small pale flowers peppered the surface. As she moved, a dark cloud of spores and pollen filtered into the surrounding air. A strange and putrid smelling blossom emerged from her left shoulder, and its vines had slowly began reaching for elsewhere. It was then when it occurred to her that some had begun to bury themselves in her head.

And not a moment too soon, the pain began. A welling, screaming headache began in the places where the vines had dug and spread rapidly, and one by one, all her limbs fell slave to the pussing, oozing plant. she panicked and thrashed, attempting to loosed the vines from her skull. she tore at the flower, to no avail. the vines gripped tighter, and the puss from the blossom burned what was left of her front claws. A final cry escaped her lips before she stopped breathing all together. instead, it absorbed through her veined shell around her flourishing garden. at that moment, she gave up for loss; there was nothing she could do. she prayed desperately to anyone who would listen, but her voice was so small, in a huge well of noise inside her mind. Unbeknownst to her, her call had been answered.

Before her life was taken from her, her mind was drug out from her body and caught up elsewhere. An empty shell now wanders the earth to this day, unspoken, shambling, and thoughtless, while her soul escaped to elsewhere.