[SWP] ACT VI: if you can dream

[Apolonia]

i see everything;
that is my curse

—it holds.

There is a sound of clattering, hoof on glass, or sword against sword. O pitches forward as she lands, stumbling thanks to the force of her run, but the sea-black river does not crumble or shatter under her weight. An exhilarated whoosh of breath is punched from her chest. She laughs. A girl’s laugh, a real laugh.

But the sound drains away from her within the next few seconds. Her pace doesn’t slow or falter and yet somehow the moat does not become any smaller. No matter how fast she runs, no matter how many muscles burn under her skin, the distance between her and the relic does not seem to close by even an inch. For fuck’s sake. The breath in her lungs is starting to burn now, clawing streaks of fire against her chest. The drumbeat of her heart pulses louder, and louder, and louder.

And oh-so-suddenly, the moat closes. Sharp fear rises in her chest. She can’t stop running—there are blood-red petals blooming only inches away from her, and the relic gleaming just behind them, bright gold-and-diamonds. So close, so close. Every nerve is buzzing with cold starfire; as she heaves for breath, her nostrils flare blue-black and bright-pink, foam spills from the corners of Apolonia’s mouth as she gasps for oxygen.

But wait.

This is too easy, far too easy. No blood has been spilled nor bones broken; her axe is still right there at her side; contestant after contestant has already fallen away and the competition has thinned from just minutes ago. There has to be a trick. 

The gods are not often so kind. Especially not to a Briar.

She does not halt, but her step slows. Her head draws back; a slough of blue-black hair follows behind in a wave. The sound of her hooves against the black glass sounds like a warning. And for once she heeds it. With tightly-wound muscles her stride grinds to a lazy canter and she lets the waves of competition pass her, so many foolish mortals falling for the oldest trick in the book. 

All good predators know how to wait.

“Speaking.”

credits

O chooses option 2!