Migraine

[LadyRebecca 1050]

[Ambiance]

 

It’s hard to wake up from a nightmare if you aren’t even asleep.

 

The weakening sensations of age creeping into your very bones and whittling away at their strength and support until the structure of your very being feels as though it’s on the verge of collapse. The throbbing, pounding pulsations of never ending, splintering migraines and torment rendering your sanity and capability to think to dust. Numb, deft limbs operating by sheer mechanical impulses and no longer by will. Every action is instinctual, nothing is wanted - the mechanisms of moving through a nightmare.

 

With every breath,  laborious in nature,  your throat is constricted with the ever-present, gnawing anxiety and your lungs grimace. Dread invades your form and licks along each nerve ending, beginning within the mind and coursing through every appendage and pore before finally taking residence within the base of your abdomen. There, it remains, never leaving, always reminding.

 

They render you useless, immovable, fatigued, and sluggish, bodily functions automatic and systematic. This constant state, obstinate and unleaving, while chaotic in description, is concord in reality. A peaceful chaos. A war waging with no victor in sight until the light of dawn begins to creep over the horizon, abolishing all nightmares from existence.

 

But what happens when your existence is the nightmare? What happens then? What happens when the light of day can no longer dispel the raging fits of chaos? There are no more than two options. You fight or you die. There is no in between, there is no halfway mark. There is no winning, no chance of outstanding the shadows that whisper hushed nothings. You succumb and you lose. The peaceful chaos will reign victorious.

 

But there is the other extreme.

 

You fight. Every day with every strained and fatigued breath of air tearing from your throat, you clash and demand release. Parry and counter each assault with vigor and relentlessness. Slamming into the world as though the force of a lightning strike came down from the heavens, you too will drive every remaining portion of your sanity to the edge. The contention, the chaos, the seductive thought of letting it take over, it can not.

 

You are who you are. The chaos is not you. The whispers are not your own. That voice that whispers over and over again the loss of your being, your mind, it isn’t you. Neither is that screeching horror resonating within your eardrums and shattering your thoughts with torment and blood.

 

---

 

 

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. Gnawing at the rogue hangnail affixed beside her thumbnail, a mali’lari gazes out to the raging storm beyond her window. The wind tore through the trees and scattered the leaves to no one knows where. The constant patterings of the falling rain, cascading against the stone and eaves of the manor and the quiet, almost melodic plips across the leaves created an aura of peace. Every so often, a stark streak of white tore across the darkened horizon, illuminating the fields before her for no more than an instant and resounding a boom in her eardrums moments after that.

 

“It’s a funny thing that something as dark and gloomy as a rain storm offers comfort.” she thought to herself, settling her shoulder to the arch containing the pane of glass. Continuing to pick and chew at the annoying piece of skin about her thumb, a low, fatigued sigh escapes her.

 

The ‘aheral woman was not extravagant in appearance. In fact, she could be considered average in any regard. Increased height, cascading alabaster hair, pointed ears, the usual. Even her pale blue eyes seemed to blend in with any other of her ilk.

 

Another sigh pulls from the elfess as she relinquishes her teeth from their torment, defeated by the hangnail as it clung to her nail. Briefly glancing over her hand as she further moved it away to settle on the chilled, rough stone of the frame, her gaze lingers over a single silver band, adorned on her middle finger.

 

The emotion was an odd one, hard to describe. She felt not pity nor sorrow, yet she did not feel joyous or elated. Instead, she felt… remorse? Regret? A pang of contrition would suffice. Reaching for the sterling band with her opposing hand, she slowly begins to twist the ring, silently watching as her porcelain skin remained whilst the accessory was moved.

 

“I’m sorry, Erinali. I didn’t mean to hurt you so.” While her thoughts echoed the lamentations of the rain outside, her heart did not agree. While her rationale was kind and apologetic, her feelings, or lack thereof, remained callous, cold, and as steadfast as the walls surrounding her.

 

Once again, a disheartened puff of air escapes her. There wasn’t much she could do, really. Her knowledge, while extensive, was limited when it came to the calls of the heart. They were a foreign dialect to her, falling on deaf ears. And now, there was a barrier placed between herself and her heart, not put there on her own accord.

 

“You know he was only using you, right? He didn’t mean anything he said, you’re nothing but a harlot.”

 

She didn’t expect the harsh whisper to cut across the peace that had enveloped her mind. Jolted at the disgusting and stomach turning thought, a dark expression creased Itiireae’s face.

 

“No, he wasn’t. He’s just delusional and too willing to put his heart on display.”
 

“That’s what he wants you to think.”

 

“No, that’s a fact.”

 

“No, it’s a lie. You’re lying to yourself. You meant nothing to him, you mean nothing to anyone.”

 

“Stop it.”

 

“It’s true.”

 

“No, it’s not.”

 

“Keep lying to yourself, foolish girl, see where it gets you.”

 

Slowly, the dull pounding began to intensify between her ears, a low hammering battering her consciousness. A muffled groan is all she offers, closing her eyes and reaching upwards to pinch at the pressure point on the bridge of her nose. It never happened when she was ready. In the sparse and few moments of her rest, that’s when it occurred. The jabs were quick, never lingering and only enough to stir her to brief restlessness.

 

A quick shake of her head is all she managed as she turned, departing from her post with sluggish steps and leaving the beautiful, calm chaos outside where it belonged. It was the same ordeal, day in and day out. Those precious minutes of respite were snagged, confiscated before she could truly feel at ease. It was maddening. The hollow footsteps that carried her from room to room had no real destination, simply moving, continuing, automatic. But within her lithe physique, she felt nothing but cold, cold and numb. It was like the blood had stilled within her veins and muscles no longer tensed to move. Blocking it out, focusing on the empty feelings, that’s all she could manage. It helped, but not for long. There was only one thing that she kept thinking, or at least, she thought it was her. That through it all, there was only one solid, confident fact to all this - either she would linger in these suffocating shadows, or become the nightmare herself.

 

“Trying to get away from me, hmm?”

 

“Silence yourself.”

 

“Oh but I’m not going anywhere.”

 

“...”

 

“How does it feel knowing that even yourself is against you?”

 

“You are not me.”

 

“I am the part of you that you hide away. I’m the real you.”

 

Escaping the menace of her mind was futile. She knew that, yet she couldn’t stop. Stopping meant she had given up, lost. The elfess had never given up without a fight, she had always been the one to stand firm, to look fear in the eye and spit in its disgusting face. It was easy enough to do, that's when the onlookers were outside of her own consciousness. The facades she wore were an easy mask to conceal the trepidation she swallowed.

 

It was just this continuous, gnawing sensation at her lungs and heart, never ending. She was scared, whether she believed it or not. For years, decades, over a century, she had found comfort in her solitude. Escaping to the corners of her own mind, she discovered peace. And now, it wasn’t there anymore.

 

“Do you think you're wanted? Do you think you're accepted?”

 

“I need not affiliate myself with the concerns of others.”

 

“But you do. You think about it. I know you do. I'm your thoughts.”

 

“You are a torment.”

 

“I am the truth.”

 

She found a place, a place to attempt to settle the clawing pains ripping through her mind. Looking to an abandoned closet, her heavy fingers slowly turned the knob, taking years to perform such an easy action. Her eyes scanned the interior: while dusty and in need of a cleaning, it would work.

 

The little click of the latch engaging behind her was the only sound in the empty abode. Maybe she ha- no. No, not her, the torment.  Maybe the torment was onto something. It was rare she engaged with other individuals now. Now she just… existed. A lone shadow walking these halls, trailing her pale fingers along the cracks in the bricks and resounding her quiet footfalls down the creaking, oaken floors.

 

She slumped against the back of the closet, closing her exhausted eyes off from the dark interior of the confinement. Sliding her back to the floor and pulling her knees to her chest, her position remained pitiful and pathetic. The drumming inside her skull was relentless, constant.

 

 

“You're weak.”

 

“No I'm not.” she whispered to no one but the closet.

 

“Admit it. You're unlovable, cold, worthless, and useless. You have no purpose.”

 

“I'm not.” she spoke aloud once more. Her voice was strained, emotion edging her syllables, emotion she wished to contain.

 

“Pathetic. You can't even face the truth. I am the truth. I am the only one on your side. I am the only honesty you will ever know.”

 

A streak of white flashed before her vision, despite her closed eyes. It wasn't beautiful, it wasn't the exterior lightning she had observed. No, no it was the pressure. The pressure inside of her mind was increasing to the point of explosions of light behind her lids. Whimpering, she cowered. She sought to hide away from the pain, the menace, the growing panic that blossomed within her ribs. Alone, scared, and helpless, she hid. For she could not wake up, she could not run away, she could only hide.

 

The hot tears spilling frustration down her face and the muffled, hiccuped whimpers were her only companions. The only other noises from the pounding between her ears and the haughty laughter of the voice inside her mind.

 

“Keep lying to yourself, foolish girl, see where it gets you.”

 

Spoiler

I like to just write sometimes.

 

[OzYmandi 647]

((Oh ****, thats really nice.))

[KorusPrime 130]

((You do a very good job of capturing the loneliness and terror a Shade Caster feels... +1 Good post))

[Guest]

Somewhere in a crossroad between worlds stands a pallid white-haired figure arguing with a tentacle beast. Unbeknownst to him, he feels an ounce of sympathy for those who can't manage their own madness. A odd thought indeed, but one exemplifying his estranged mind.

 

(why is q u e e r  banned wtf) 

[Parion 1130]

Spoiler

The smoothie approves.

 

 

[Eandyil 92]

((Becca.. my lord, you're good at this. How have we not RP'd more?

[Dreek 1633]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.