[It's like a vacuum. Even though nothing can be seen, in any direction, screams and calls are swallowed up, and no echoes answer. Sound? What's that? Walking will not produce footsteps. The ground itself is less like ground and more like glass.
Walking, there is nothing. No one. Except...
There has to be something. What else would be causing that itching, on your arms, your legs, your back. The burns are one thing, but this...as if attacked by a wild animal, sudden slashes cover the Chosen. Shallow at first, and then deeper, deeper. Along with the feeling that something wants them gone, immediately.
The silence isn't always pervasive. If they try to walk or not, eventually, after a short time of this assault, a quiet hiss will take root in their ears, growing until it forms words.
They are the words of familiar voices, someone the Chosen knows...but it is not words of comfort or joy. It's a phrase, something the Chosen has heard, something that hurts, repeating over and over and over. With every word, a new slash, a new burn.
no subject
Walking, there is nothing. No one. Except...
There has to be something. What else would be causing that itching, on your arms, your legs, your back. The burns are one thing, but this...as if attacked by a wild animal, sudden slashes cover the Chosen. Shallow at first, and then deeper, deeper. Along with the feeling that something wants them gone, immediately.
The silence isn't always pervasive. If they try to walk or not, eventually, after a short time of this assault, a quiet hiss will take root in their ears, growing until it forms words.
They are the words of familiar voices, someone the Chosen knows...but it is not words of comfort or joy. It's a phrase, something the Chosen has heard, something that hurts, repeating over and over and over. With every word, a new slash, a new burn.
The field is relentless.]