I can't love what never turns nasty.
The relic is in tasting reach, and then all at once it’s not, and the only thing O feels as she comes crashing through the portal into the sand is the brief, dull pain of collision and then the anger.
Her body burns with a strange combination of disappointment and rage—how can she have been so close and then be thrown away so quickly?—but there is no time to sulk on it, because the whole island is falling apart. Like paper curls to ash. Like flower petals torn by the wind. She scrambles to her feet, and already the sand is turning black and unsteady. Trees groan and crack before they crash completely, the earth itself trembles, water is washing up far past the line in the sand that it should.
The anger in her chest starts to commingle with panic. Her head grows dizzy-light, and then without a pause for thought (what is there to think about?) she’s racing off toward the bridge faster than she’s ever run before. So fast the world is a blur and her lungs start to burn, so fast she nearly trips over the littlest ridges in the sand, but—
But she’s made it to the bridge. It twists and writhes, it nearly throws her off balance; for a moment her breath catches in her throat, her pulse spikes to new heights. She might not make it.
It is the first time she’s felt real fear in quite a long time.
The shore rises ahead of her, not so far away. It shimmers like a mirage. But it’s close, she knows it’s close, it must be close. With every leaping stride the bridge seems to shake a little more, the cracks start to spread.
It sounds like bones shattering.
She stumbles, and touches down on the other side’s shore.
STAFF EDIT***
@Apoloniahas rolled a 2! They have been awarded +250 signos.
