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Awakening/Midnight Snack (A Phoebe Story) » July, 2018

The leaves of some remote forest have just begun to fall, and have left the otherwise pastel-green ground littered with slivers of reds and browns that sway gently in the howling wind. It is almost time for the sun to set...

Distantly, there is a loud snap followed by the incremental crackling of a tree's trunk splitting from a stump. Seconds later, the muffled sound of branches hitting the ground and leaves rustling rings forth. Not long after, a small figure throws a large pile of logs atop a mound of leaves that had been carefully scooped into a pile.

Against the setting sun's light, an immature little girl produces two huge katar, both of which are too large to use and too heavy to carry around. They shine, almost with a mirror finish. These weapons were forged very recently from the looks of it...

Holding one with two hands, the girl reared up and arched her back, then gave the katar a swing down towards one side, just barely skimming the edge of a stone resting nearby. The girl urgently chases down a stray spark and breathes a fire to life in a little nest of leaves which she kindly carries over to the campfire she'd prepared earlier.

With a lot of lung work, she finally manages to get the fire really going, and the flickering yellow light splits the inky black, which had just enough time to settle in. From the shadows near the campfire, the girl moves closer to keep warm. She is covered in dirty white robes that have been trimmed with pink at every opportunity. Her hair is messy and pink, dragging behind her for several feet as she moves about. Eyes just as pink are dimly glowing, though would appear abnormally bright against the darkness beyond. Her bushy semi-circular eyebrows furrow with concern as she pats her hands around the dimly-lit grass, searching blindly for something.

A crude wooden bowl is pulled up onto her lap from nearby, and she shovels a few handfuls of nuts and berries into her mouth before laying down on her side, dragging leaves from nearby and piling them up near herself. She lets out a big sigh, and cries herself to sleep.

Her dreams, whether sweet or sour, would come to haunt her this night. The normal sense of comfort in dreaming would find itself overridden by the feeling of dragging. She thinks to herself, about taking control of this dream... The dream that is falling apart to darkness.

A dream, she thinks, what dream? She inhales sharply, the fresh smell of autumn too strong, and too real. Can't be a dream, she thinks to herself. It is pitch black, and she thinks about gathering more logs for the fire- the very same fire whose warmth she can no longer feel.

Again, the feeling of being dragged. She twists her body around and sees the gentle flicker of a low fire- her fire, fading behind her. The drowsy feeling of semi-consciousness quickly fades as she struggles against the force dragging her away, sinking fingers deep into the dirt, grasping at tree roots and flowers to seemingly no avail. Her fingers catch on a stone and she pulls it from the ground, throwing it towards her feet. This seems to be enough for her assailant to drop her, and she scrambles to her feet, taking a wide stance and slowly shuffling back towards the fire. A novice in Zorahn and an adequate mage, the girl has abilities for certain, but not confidence. Her stance is shaky and unbalanced...

Her breathing sharpens and she hears the swishing of air from nearby, turning her head to observe. She takes the full brunt of an overwhelmingly-strong punch directly to the face, sending her flying backwards into the hot embers of the dying fire. The sound of sizzling flesh is quickly drowned out by panicked screaming. She braces through the pain, and covers her face in futility before taking a kick to the ribs, strong enough to yet again send her flying, this time into an old tree spine-first.

There is a raspy out-rush of air before she finds herself unable to breathe. The daze and the pain weren't helping her to notice that she's actually been picked up by the neck and pinned against the tree. The silhouette against the dim embers of the campfire combined with the shortly-rising sun helped her to just barely make out a figure: A man, likely seven feet tall, of a very burly build with one arm stretched out, clutching her neck. She can feel her strength fading, and her ability to feel is fading as well. Her dry rage fades to warmth as she feels the blood pressure in her head rising. Not good, she thinks to herself, not good at all. What's left of her conscious mind begins to race. Overwhelmed in a contest of strength, and her casting focus katar nowhere to be found, a strange presence of dread and hopelessness comes over her.

Everything becomes a blur, and her glowing eyes begin to fade. What grip she might've had on her attackers arm loosens, and both hands fall to her sides. Unable to speak, she pleads to herself for someone, anyone to save her. She feels her stomach go cold first, the numb sensation traveling down towards her waist. It doesn't stop there, though, and keeps getting colder. The brisk cold in her stomach is becoming sharp now...

Cringing from the pain, she manages to get a quick breath of air before an unusual rush of heat comes over her, save for her icy core. The man hasn't loosened his grip, but it feels like her heart is racing twice- no, three times as fast... She can't feel it beating, and this heat doesn't feel like it's from blood, either. This is something different, but she doesn't have time to think about that...

To her, everything goes white as the contrast between cold and hot in her body becomes too much. She screams furiously from pain and fear in a desperate attempt to be heard. In limited consciousness and eyesight, the only thing that comes to her is the loud sound of something powerful nearby; akin to the crisp snap of a lightning strike, the burst of air rumbling off the hills in the distance.

When her eyesight returns, she finds that her hand has been effortlessly buried in the man's chest, and he spits blood onto her face as he curses her in a tongue she is not familiar with. She screams, and tries desperately to dislodge herself from the man, succeeding and taking his heart with her. She looks on in horror as her attacker lay dying, watching his own beating heart drain empty in the girl's hand.

Suddenly, the ground comes out from under her. Wait, no, she fell? She isn't certain either way, but the intense heat she felt before has left her entirely and she feels frozen to the core. On the verge of hyperventilation, she can hardly move, and the sharp pain of urgent hunger hits her like a Voraath during the heat of mating season. She can feel herself losing control, losing consciousness, even the vivid sense of lifeforce being drained. All of it is quickly overtaken by this ceaseless need to consume something, anything. She knows, for sure, if she doesn't eat something now, this struggle would be for naught anyways.

She weakly picks her head up, her eyes darting about the dimly-lit forest. Her bowl of snacks is nowhere to be seen. No bushes or sprouts anywhere, either. Breathing starts to become more difficult, and she feels the stabbing pain of her stomach starting to digest itself. She needs to act quickly, she thinks to herself. Again, she finds herself unmoving yet searching desperately for sustenance.

As consciousness once again begins to fade, her eyes settle on the limp body of her attacker.