SIM:Adarnis - Wings of Icarus

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:: Cold. Running. A pause. A thorn tearing through flesh, drawing an infinitesimal amount of blood. Flowers, dark and strange. His mind processed the imagery insolently, committing the smallest of feature to memory which perplexed him more than the pain, now cramps and aches bombarding his adolescent body. With every tread, he was raining down a battery on his muscles.::

:: The wind tore at his bare flesh and he realised he was exposed to the elements. Running. Branches stuck from the ground like spears, cracking on his uncovered feet and piercing with their needle-like twigs. Another pain. His mind raced, looking for an answer in the trees and earth. Nothing. Empty blackness spreading through the night. He looked up at the moon and a word leapt into vision.::

:: Aidoann.::

:: His foot hit a root and he fell, hurtling to the ground. His shoulder hit the soil, but slipped. Pain. He couldn't stop now; he'd got so far in the isolated woods, he couldn't give up. Hands pushed his weak body, hands as soft and as gentle as a child's longing for their mother. Feet pushed their way through the brambles and thickets, determined to get as far away as possible.::

:: He looks back over his shoulder, his step fumbling at an angle as he tries to see his pursuers. He sees the guards, their torches lighting up the trees with purposeful accuracy, catching up. Hears his number called, his name shouted into the night sky. His foot stumbled on the rank wet grass, running like a madman. The damp and cold seemed riveted to his naked feet.::

:: Then a shot in the dread night, echoed by the forest. Na'morairi. Celliea. Aith. He was on the floor, on his shoulder, looking across at an engorged root. D'hannam - o0 Don't let them take me. 0o. On his back. He couldn't feel his leg. The butt of a rifle found his face. Aith. Hnafirh'au-d. He cried out with the feeble malice of a tired soul but it would make no difference to the outcome. A man, he can't see, laughs in his face.::

Unknown: Hnafiv'au-d?

:: He spits.::

Unknown: Verrul. V'yy'al, fvai.

:: A cylindrical shape of cold metal finds his throat, digs deep. He speaks quietly.::

Unknown: V'rhaen-ao'au.

:: End of Flashback ::

:: Dade lurched upwards from the bedclothes and grasped at the air in front of him. Nothing. He kicked the bindings on his legs, kicking the shackles from his feet. He tore back the covers and found his legs intact, no marks, no bruises, no blood. Gasping for breath as though he couldn't get enough. His chest was rising and falling heavily, a fresh gloss of sweat covered his body and the mattress underneath.::

:: Sitting up, Dade moved himself backwards and let his head fall back against the headboard, closing his eyes. Same dream. Not had it in a long while. What had triggered it this time? Hurt, spurned, slighted, livid, regretful, saddened... All emotions he'd suffered very recently but none of which described specifically what he felt. He ached with the thought of it.::

:: His eyes were becoming adjusted to the darkness in the room and he watched the shadows disappear into the corners. Dade pushed himself off the bed and scratched the back of his neck, holding it with his palm and cracking out the kinks. The light in the room wasn't enough to see what was lurking in the corners so his imagination took over. He knew every inch of the room and yet the robe that hung from the sliding wardrobe was someone watching him, the pile of clothes in the corner was someone huddled in hiding.::

:: As he stood, he felt his hand twinge where the splinter had stabbed into his skin. He flexed his hand as he walked through to the bathroom, ignoring the person watching through the crack in the wardrobe and the monster lurking under the bed. No one ever grew out of the fears that they harbour as a child; Dade's had lasted but he had controlled them. He knew there was no one in the room, he knew that for a fact and yet at the back of mind, his inner child wanted the light on as soon as possible.::

:: The light automatically switched on and Dade leant on the synthetic hard material sink, staring at himself in the mirror opposite. His hand reached out and he slid the mirror sideways, revealing the mixture of concoctions behind it. Shaving foam, razors (including a cutthroat one he picked up a few years back), small bottles of vitamins, and a hypospray kit filled with acinolyathin for his jaw and dressings for his hand. None of which he needed.::

:: Leaving the cabinet open, Dade ran the cold water faucet. He cupped his hands underneath and took a cup full of water, splashing it on his face. It did the job, springing to life his tired and sweaty skin follicles. He pushed open the sliding door of the shower cubicle and let the hot sonic relay start it's work. The steam was just what he needed to get all the grime off his body and relax a bit more.::

:: He slid the cabinet shut. His mind registered the imprint on the mirror as it appeared. He jumped, his heart racing, beating itself against the inside of his rib cage and he stepped backward. In the steam, words were written on the mirror. He hadn't done it. No one had been in his quarters. No one. He stepped forward slightly and read the words as best he could. The depiction of a pair of wings were in the right hand corner.::

Adarnis: ::frowns:: o0 Icarus? 0o

:: He wiped the image away with the palm of his hand just as it buried itself in his brain.::