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Description
Objective: Traverse the Tunnel

mood music: Hollow by Cloudeater

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Nightmist stands at the edge of the mist. Hesitant. Afraid.

It's an indescribable feeling, to be choked by nothing but your own fear. Chest tight, lungs frozen, blood pumping thickly and rapidly all at once. She can physically feel the panic freezing her veins, her eyes stuck where they are, wide and open, unable to close despite her want-- her need-- to look away, run away, get away. A few tendrils of mist creep close, brush her fur, and she wants to scream, but her jaw is locked shut.

She wants to cry. No tears fall. No ashy, dirty water brims from her dark pools. She is too paralyzed to cry. But the mist... it's the only way through. She doesn't feel herself move, but her paws hit the ground as they pad forward, and she slips into the all-too-welcoming, all-too-threatening embrace of the swirling, glowing haze.

One half of her mind is screaming "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT", but the more frightening half of her mind feels safe. At home. The mists are good. The mists protect. The mists...

She sees a flash of movement, a blur of grey shift amidst the creeping tendrils, and her eyes snap to the source. Nothing...? No, it's never nothing. Not in here. She continues, cautiously, and another shift in the mist catches the corner of her eye from her other side. Her fur bristles as she crouches defensively, and she emerges, close enough to be seen despite the thick, choking mist.

Nightmist had already felt distant, her mind retreating from the danger of the situation to watch it play out, leaving just her body and her instinct to carry her through. Now, though, staring into eerie, glowing eyes-- one, two, three, four... too many to count-- she is knocked from her body with jarring force, as if her mind doesn't know where it's supposed to be. She watches from the sidelines, she watches the red cat and the grey monstrosity stare at each other. She is the red dame, she knows this... but she's the dark creature, too.

It isn't just that their builds are the same-- the same lithe, tall limbs. The same slender body. The same muscular hind limbs, bushy plume, neck ruff, full cheek fur, big round eyes (the main ones, at least)... all the way down to the notches on each of their left ears. No, it's more than that. They are not identical cats from different worlds watching each other. They are one dame staring at her reflection.

The red one breaks away and slips backwards into the mist, and the grey one follows. The grey one is a relentless hunter. She will stalk this red dame until she can strike, and she will strike once, and she will make it count. The red one knows this. She knows this intuitively, as well as she knows herself. As well as she knows her own hunting style. They are the same; predisposed to hiding, stalking, and striking. No mocking their prey, no laughter. Silent, methodical, and deadly.

While it's frightening, the espion knows her enemy. She knows how she thinks. It's ingrained in her. Who better to be put up against than one whose methods you know so intimately?

She keeps ahead of the Ashen dame. She backtracks, zigzags, keeps her eyes and ears and and every hair on her body aware, because if she lets up for one second, that's all her monochrome counterpart needs to take her down. All the while, the grey one tries to cut her off, confuse her, but she can't; neither of them can get the jump on each other. They dance around each other in perfect synchronization. Two halves of one feral, cold, hollow creature.

After seconds or hours (she can't tell), Night's mind creeps forward again. Hesitant, cautious. She still feels detached, a soul floating aimlessly without a home; she's moving on raw instinct, which is for the best. She's afraid, so afraid, and she knows if she were fully there, she'd slip up. She's no match for this Ashen Nightmist unless she's just as primal and quick. She moves one way, red eyes meet hers. She ducks another, and soon enough, the endless gaze has caught up to her once more. In her silent fight for escape, she can't help but wonder...

Is this what it felt like to be hunted by me?

How afraid must her victims have been with her on their tail? If they were unlucky enough to sense her, to spot her, before she killed them? To know death could be anywhere at any moment?

How many scared cats had she stalked and hunted like prey?

How many would she hunt and kill if she were to become the Ashen once more?

It's not an impossibility. This monster, it's her fear. Her fear of what could happen, of what had happened, of what she can never escape. Not really.

She ducks under the claws of the many-eyed dame. The red eyes bore into her black-and-greens. There is a moment as she dodges that their eyes stay locked, and her fear multiples. She nearly freezes. But... the mist. It's growing thinner. She reflexively dashes through the weaker haze. It's a mad dash, the monster right on her heels, until--

She's out. She can breathe. She's alive. She looks back, and sees her red-and-grey self staring at her from the edge of the mists. She cracks a smile, and the monster doesn't smile back. Her eye-covered reflection can't leave the hazy prison, but Nightmist can.

Therein lies the difference between she and her morbid form. She-- It-- is merely a possibility. Something that could come to pass, but could very well never exist outside of this realm. She, though... she is what's real now. She's here, alive, and she's not the monster.

She turns her back, eyes scanning her surroundings until they lock on the familiar dark, slender form of Wraith. It's time for her to do the hunting.

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Word Count: 1,003 words

Description
Objective: Traverse the Tunnel

mood music: Hollow by Cloudeater

--------

Nightmist stands at the edge of the mist. Hesitant. Afraid.

It's an indescribable feeling, to be choked by nothing but your own fear. Chest tight, lungs frozen, blood pumping thickly and rapidly all at once. She can physically feel the panic freezing her veins, her eyes stuck where they are, wide and open, unable to close despite her want-- her need-- to look away, run away, get away. A few tendrils of mist creep close, brush her fur, and she wants to scream, but her jaw is locked shut.

She wants to cry. No tears fall. No ashy, dirty water brims from her dark pools. She is too paralyzed to cry. But the mist... it's the only way through. She doesn't feel herself move, but her paws hit the ground as they pad forward, and she slips into the all-too-welcoming, all-too-threatening embrace of the swirling, glowing haze.

One half of her mind is screaming "DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! GET OUT! GETOUTGETOUTGETOUT", but the more frightening half of her mind feels safe. At home. The mists are good. The mists protect. The mists...

She sees a flash of movement, a blur of grey shift amidst the creeping tendrils, and her eyes snap to the source. Nothing...? No, it's never nothing. Not in here. She continues, cautiously, and another shift in the mist catches the corner of her eye from her other side. Her fur bristles as she crouches defensively, and she emerges, close enough to be seen despite the thick, choking mist.

Nightmist had already felt distant, her mind retreating from the danger of the situation to watch it play out, leaving just her body and her instinct to carry her through. Now, though, staring into eerie, glowing eyes-- one, two, three, four... too many to count-- she is knocked from her body with jarring force, as if her mind doesn't know where it's supposed to be. She watches from the sidelines, she watches the red cat and the grey monstrosity stare at each other. She is the red dame, she knows this... but she's the dark creature, too.

It isn't just that their builds are the same-- the same lithe, tall limbs. The same slender body. The same muscular hind limbs, bushy plume, neck ruff, full cheek fur, big round eyes (the main ones, at least)... all the way down to the notches on each of their left ears. No, it's more than that. They are not identical cats from different worlds watching each other. They are one dame staring at her reflection.

The red one breaks away and slips backwards into the mist, and the grey one follows. The grey one is a relentless hunter. She will stalk this red dame until she can strike, and she will strike once, and she will make it count. The red one knows this. She knows this intuitively, as well as she knows herself. As well as she knows her own hunting style. They are the same; predisposed to hiding, stalking, and striking. No mocking their prey, no laughter. Silent, methodical, and deadly.

While it's frightening, the espion knows her enemy. She knows how she thinks. It's ingrained in her. Who better to be put up against than one whose methods you know so intimately?

She keeps ahead of the Ashen dame. She backtracks, zigzags, keeps her eyes and ears and and every hair on her body aware, because if she lets up for one second, that's all her monochrome counterpart needs to take her down. All the while, the grey one tries to cut her off, confuse her, but she can't; neither of them can get the jump on each other. They dance around each other in perfect synchronization. Two halves of one feral, cold, hollow creature.

After seconds or hours (she can't tell), Night's mind creeps forward again. Hesitant, cautious. She still feels detached, a soul floating aimlessly without a home; she's moving on raw instinct, which is for the best. She's afraid, so afraid, and she knows if she were fully there, she'd slip up. She's no match for this Ashen Nightmist unless she's just as primal and quick. She moves one way, red eyes meet hers. She ducks another, and soon enough, the endless gaze has caught up to her once more. In her silent fight for escape, she can't help but wonder...

Is this what it felt like to be hunted by me?

How afraid must her victims have been with her on their tail? If they were unlucky enough to sense her, to spot her, before she killed them? To know death could be anywhere at any moment?

How many scared cats had she stalked and hunted like prey?

How many would she hunt and kill if she were to become the Ashen once more?

It's not an impossibility. This monster, it's her fear. Her fear of what could happen, of what had happened, of what she can never escape. Not really.

She ducks under the claws of the many-eyed dame. The red eyes bore into her black-and-greens. There is a moment as she dodges that their eyes stay locked, and her fear multiples. She nearly freezes. But... the mist. It's growing thinner. She reflexively dashes through the weaker haze. It's a mad dash, the monster right on her heels, until--

She's out. She can breathe. She's alive. She looks back, and sees her red-and-grey self staring at her from the edge of the mists. She cracks a smile, and the monster doesn't smile back. Her eye-covered reflection can't leave the hazy prison, but Nightmist can.

Therein lies the difference between she and her morbid form. She-- It-- is merely a possibility. Something that could come to pass, but could very well never exist outside of this realm. She, though... she is what's real now. She's here, alive, and she's not the monster.

She turns her back, eyes scanning her surroundings until they lock on the familiar dark, slender form of Wraith. It's time for her to do the hunting.

--------

Word Count: 1,003 words