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[center][i]There was no warmth to shield her in the death of night awoken, no soft breath to soothe the netherworld of her waking fears.[/i][/center]
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[CENTER][url=https://open.spotify.com/track/65O73gCRknGpo7dwcfcSi2?si=f3950a7d86504d9c][img]https://i.imgur.com/HOCghre.jpeg[/img][/url][/CENTER][indent][sub][COLOR=978184][B]Location:[/B][/COLOR] [I]Unknown.[/I][/sub][sup][right][COLOR=#978184][b]Human #5.032:[/b][/COLOR] [I]limbo.[/I][/right][/sup][/indent][center][sup][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#928b85]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#9b948d]_____[/color][/sup][sup][color=#928b85]_____[/color][color=#89837d]_____[/color][color=#807a75]_____[/color][color=#77716d]_____[/color][color=#6e6965]_____[/color][color=#64605d]_____[/color][color=#5b5754]_____[/color][color=#524f4c]_____[/color][color=#494644]_____[/color][color=#403d3c]_____[/color][color=#373534]_____[/color][color=#2e2c2c]_____[/color][/sup][/center][INDENT][sub][color=#978184][B]Interaction(s):[/B][/COLOR]&[/sub][SUP][RIGHT][COLOR=#978184][b]Previously:[/b][/COLOR] [color=gray][I]the essence.[/I][/color][/right][/SUP]
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She plummets as a wisp lost and flickering as fragmented red slivers spindle away from her still body as she falls through the world beholden to her whims. Through a world of worlds, likened to shards of glass –a mirror– before Amma draws in a ragged breath, lungs inflating with smog, her body suspended onto throes of descension as blackened clouds finally part. Below, a churning pit of despair awaits with a writhing mass of limbs, coiling palms, talon-forged gestures poised to embrace, and her name a fractured, guttural roar rapt with appetence. Her impact is jarring, a quake felt through the confines of the universal plane of hell unknown, a swelling influence and realm of finality that has long awaited her arrival and salivates with her potential lain there in a tugging, pulling, pushing amalgamation of grappling figures. Her fingers clasp over her heart, nails against a pulsating scar, palms caressed against white petals that represent a delicate touch of purity against the forsaken realm– symbolism wrought through its make that she protects with what strength she has left.

Down the lines of her figure, Amma can feel every drag and pull, every penetrating curve that scrapes against her flesh, down the planes of her back where abstract lines bleed away from her spine, flayed open anew with her awakening sobs. Gasps and gritted teeth awash in red sunk deep into the pout of her lip as she lashes out with a shaking hand, desperately perched on the precipice of the void above and below, but they continue to haul and yank her down and down and down–[i]where no light can reach you, where no one can hear you scream.[/i] Talons carve against her neck, caressing up the line of her jaw, writhing against her face, fingers shoved betwixt her lips on a scream of defiance that she chokes around, sputtering against the assault as more limbs weave through her mass of hair and pull, she feels sharp pricks at the corner of her eyes, needles that nearly sink deep beyond her lashes peeled wide in horror. Agony alchemizes into adrenaline, her body convulsing with every groping palm that shreds away at silk and chiffon tangled around her trembling legs; another roar belches out her name in a gurgling call, and something wet and horrid slithers its way up her back, crushes against her spine bowed and taut, threatening to snap. And then Amma sees it, a great serpent with her eyes staring back into the depths of fractured remains, coiling around her body. A forked tongue lashes away at her scars, flickering with the taste of her life spooling away, pieces of a soul broken beyond recognition, writhing hisses that compile as a voice of both feminine and non, a whisper that pings with familiarity as it damns her to the awaiting abyss.

	[color=000000][i]We’ve been waiting for you. [/i][/color]

And there she lands with such an impact, shoved deep down into the awaiting black so suddenly, that there is no sound to erupt from lips peeled wide, just an echoing thud that booms away into the darkness, mouth wrenched open and ringed in hellacious marks of malice. Her bones sopped in crimson shadows awash with hate, tongue gnashed against her teeth from the intensity of pain that overwhelms every reasonable thought of humanity. She slowly rolls to her side, the simple motion boiling white-hot through marrow, her body curling inward against the onslaught of agony to preserve what shards of herself remained. An echo of a gasping cry rent deep from within, punching through her shuddering ribs and plummeting stomach; she convulsed, plum-red liquid spewing from her lips, a mingling of blood and saliva and tears as she heaved once more, clawing desperately against the damp ground on which she prostrated on. Bitter cold burrowed underneath blackened fingers, drenched muck squelching betwixt her trembling hands as she raked her palms through the dark, hopeless and reaching in vain for a semblance of self and control that evaded her. A silver globe lurked above, a mocking radiance of white light that fell upon her in pale wreaths of deadened life, for as above and so below, Amma Cahors had finally reached the final pit of her hell.

[i]Who knew dying would be so painful?[/i]

Soft light and trilling laughter, followed by pain-fused rasps, shunted from her swollen lips, blemishes immediately darkening and blooming with hues of violet from the stinging purchase of talons and hands. The writhing limbs suddenly disappeared as she looked up, beholden to the sphere looming on high with whips of inverted light coiling through the darkness, but they never fell upon her; instead, they stayed above with a soft glow marking where she lay with nothing but inky shadows to comfort her in this yawning well of despair. A quiet ringing fluttered betwixt her ears, the silence deafening yonder her agonizing gasps and rasping breaths, her throat gone bloodied and raw. Disjointed images filtered through the haze of torment as obscured faces, pleading eyes, and frailty scoured through her trembling hand with biting nails fixated on her wrist. The epicenter of ruin and despair founded on the utterance of a name, every syllable pulsating with frigid hate, the sin of wrath that forged the weapon that was she to destroy all she touched and kill all that stood in her way. The sound of her blood roared through her ears, her pulse hammering so loudly that she could feel it through every juncture of her body where she lay, languishing, deteriorating rapidly as she struggled to breathe, every pull of her lungs protesting against the sudden weight in her chest. 

Amma had never feared death before; as a child broken and sundered, she had yearned for it, begged for it. She had treated with the reaper of her nightmares time and time again to relinquish her spirit to a final resting place. Thus, here she was, finally lent to the deepest ditch of an afterlife, but why fresh tears welled and fell, she could not explain. Hot and heavy, her vision blurred, and her lashes fluttered with the silent tracks carved over her temples with relentless sorrow wracking through her battered body.

Her very empty body.

Where an oozing and chaotic influence often swelled around her figure, there was a keen shift of mundane delicacy, the eternal reap of scarlet twine and silver ribbons gone with the blackened rot that usually cantered after her likeness. There was absolutely nothing: no magnetic pull of the world at her constant ebb and flow, no sparks of red to dance through her quaking limbs, and no silver light to swirl upon her eyes with every sluggish drop of her lashes. To be so frail, to be so mortal, was such a reckoning that she could only laugh once again; to be deserted of her powers in death was both a blessing and a curse. To be of the lost and forsaken meant to be free of that which she silently abhorred and feared, an admission she had never spoken of to anyone. Was this fated circumstance or some predetermined notion of life to remove the shackles and burdens of destiny at peace in the chasm of loneliness endured?

Suppose this was the final price she was to pay, she thought, her mind listing to the side of complacency and acceptance, her body weakened, and her heart suppressed beneath the weight of her past. Suppose this was the final curtain call. Her laughter continued there and spiraled into the leagues of mania over the role she had to play, the design of life so cruelly adhered to two letters, and the choice of love. 

It came down to a straightforward admission amid her demented exuberance: she did not want to die alone. Not in the dark in which she feared most of all. 

	[color=000000][i]You’re already dead,[/i][/color] a voice uttered.
	[color=000000][i]You died a long, long time ago.[/i][/color]

	[color=#978184][i]Oh,[/i][/color] she giggled, plum-red lips stained and bruised and bloodied. [color=#978184][i]That’s right.[/i][/color]

Amma was dead—the shell of a girl who never lived. Tiamat was dead—the manifestation of pain and wrath for all the wrong the world had done. Revenge woefully bound through each epitaph.

Ammaranthe was dead—the beloved who only ever wanted a place to call home. A child damned, a child lorn and lost and subjugated under the might of self never felt. 
 
And so, who was then that lay there, body broken and battered, heart split open and bleeding torrents of despair and sorrow? Who was it then that lifted a trembling hand to curl over the white flowers pinned to a torn and ruined dress? Who was it then that continued to weep silently, tears unchecked as exhaustion pulled at her relentlessly? Who was it that lent herself to the departed realm and fought to keep her eyes open against the obsidian fog that blanketed her?

No one, just a dead monster, the dragon finally slain, she thought, returning to curl in on herself, body shivering from the sudden and damp cold, scraps and tattered remains of silken skirts draped over her bruising legs. Those crystalline blue eyes finally closed against the shadows, now a decrepit hue of swollen thunderheads dreaded and faded with lingering storms. The ringing in her head gradually tapered off on quieted groans and chittering whispers that repeated her names. One final thought came to her in those moments of absolution, followed by the vague scent of clove smoke, the fogged and hazed memory of an arm thrown across her, and then shredded bodies with shattered limbs, tawny feathers, and blood and death, her hand clasped around a frail throat. Her screams echoing off in the distant dark, causing her to flinch and curl tighter into herself. Her eyes briefly opened on the whisper of red that fled away into the black edges of her tomb, plucked straight from her chest, from the weakening heart within—a string of fate and a trembling hand that tried to grasp hold of it in vain and fell. And did not move again. 

	[i][color=#fce205]Her name isn't Tiamat.[/color][/i]
	[color=#fce205][i]And it's not Ummu-Hubur.[/i][/color]
	[i][color=#fce205]It's Ammaranthe. And she's exactly where she belongs.[/color][/i]

	[color=#978184][i]Yes,[/i][/color][i] [/i]she thought, her mind gradually quieting, hand outstretched, pale, bruised, and cold. 
	Her eyes fell shut once more.
	[i][color=#978184] At least now I can’t hurt anyone ever again. [/color][/i]

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