This wasn't where she was supposed to be.
A few blinks cleared the unfocused gaze of the white-clad figure, squinting into the heavy darkness as if not quite comprehending the scene stretched out before her. Cliffs rose towards the starless sky on the opposite side of an ink-black estuary, separating herself from a slanting precipice that jutted out from the jagged rock face and extended over the opening of the inlet. The features were hard to distinguish with the lackluster lighting, made no easier by the thick, obscuring fog that seemed to writhe across the expanse of the barren earth. Interesting.
Her gaze traveled downwards from the towering structure to her more immediate surroundings; gnarled branches and crumbling rocks that projected from the depths of the stagnant water, sparse leaves that littered the limbs of a few twisted trees that had woven their roots into the craggy bank that she stood upon. Bare feet pressed into the rugged rocks that lined the motionless loch, curiously inspiring no sensation from the nonplussed denizen. She flexed her toes experimentally, frowning. Definitely interesting.
She took an uncertain step forwards, followed by a more confident other, the rough texture somehow lost to her. Something was wrong.
The quivering of her hands was next to catch her attention, though she could not distinguish whether fear or anticipation inspired such a reaction. They refused to still themselves, as if aware of something she was not, driving her to clench the cloth of her dress between her fingers to at least quell the tremors. What a ridiculous thing to be wearing in such a place. Clearly she needed to rethink her wardrobe.
Not one to be dissuaded by something as simple as a wardrobe malfunction, she forged ahead to the edge of the shoreline, crouching at the edge of the loch. The blackened depths were the perfect mirror; and, perhaps regretfully, hid nothing from her trouble gaze.
The face that stared back at her was not quite her own. Angular cheeks and full lips, yes. The wavy tresses the brushed against her collarbones, fluttering in a non-existent breeze, were also familiar - save for the glowing, cyan flecks that had weaved into her dark locks. Even more notably, the once-rich hazelnut of her skin had paled to a cold mahogany, making her appear almost sickly in the blueish light that seemed to emit from the cracks within the rocks.
Though, none of those were the most unsettling of features.
Fingers traced the side of her face, brushing along a defined cheekbone in a mixture of disbelief and horror. Her emeyes./em They were a luminescent green, eerie and striking in contrast to the bleak ambience that characterised her surroundings. Misshapen lines of similar colourings had begun to extend from their almond-shape, like pieces of a shattered mirror steadily reaching for the edges of her face. No. No, this wasn't her! This wasn't what she - what she had always been -
Even as her mind vehemently denied the evidence laid out before her, the truth was unquestionable as her hand continued to explore her visage, running over the uneven surface of such markings that marred her appearance. She caught her lips quivering in her reflection and quickly glanced away, trying to steel her resolve. Memories were beginning to resurface, now; slowly, effortlessly, beginning to answer the questions that she hadn't even begun to ask. Perhaps this wasn't so real, after all.
Balling her hands into fists, she forced herself to rise from her position and reluctantly scanned her surroundings. This was another trick, certainly. He was somewhere close by, observing with open amusement. Waiting for her to finish playing his game before this "reality" fell apart. It wasn't the first time he'd pulled such a stunt: the circumstances of which had been equally as cruel, if not downright humiliating.
There was no spectre waiting on the fringes of the clearing, however. No movement. No noise, especially. That was most disturbing; the deafening silence.
Back in the lantern, there had always been noise. Wailing. Crying. Begging. Millions of tortured screams to fill the quiet, underscored by desperate pleads and helpless sobs, all melding together into an endless song of sorrow. Each soul lamenting their shared, endless nightmare. A fate that was to be suffered for eternity. Or, at least, that was how the story of the Chain Warden was usually told. His charges would be considered foolish to even consider the possibility of escape. Of eventual freedom.
And yet, there was something all too real about this.
Hesitantly she ventured further inland, until the sharp rocks underfoot gave way to the squish of dirt beneath her toes. Once again she knelt - slowly, slowly - sinking to the ashen earth, knees pressing into the cold soil. Disbelieving fingers spread themselves across the forest floor, digging into the ground as if experiencing its feel for the first time. It had been so long since she'd encountered solid land. She'd almost forgotten...
As preoccupied as she was with her childlike wonder, she half-expected chains to choose that opportunity to punch through her chest. For the world to suddenly crumble away into a harsh green glow, echoing with the deranged laughter of a madman who mocked her naivety. Yet her touch went unchallenged, freely inspecting her surroundings - a fern, a leaf, a fallen log - with ever-increasing boldness. She ran a hand over a blackened trunk, marveling at the texture beneath her fingers – however muted the sensation may be. Was this undeath, a stray voice questioned. Did everything just feel… less?
She chewed on the inside of her cheek uncertainly, tapping her fingers against the tree as she considered her situation. Everything certainly felt real. Surely even the Warden wasn't capable of this level of deceit... though she would be foolish to underestimate the lengths he was capable of. Miscalculating the extents he would go to - that was what landed her ass in his clutches in the first place. A mistake she hoped she would have learned from, given the devastating consequences that followed.
The glint of metal caught her eye, stalling all suspicions of deception as her gaze dropped to her hands: her left one, specifically, and the ring that still adorned her finger. Silver, simple, yet beautiful in its minimalism. She traced the wedding band almost reverently, chest clenching tightly at the unbidden memories that pushed at her conscious. Their first spar. First kiss. Receiving their weapons - as well as their promise to one another. Her hope to leave their life behind and begin anew, before it was too late...
Lucian... the faintest trace of a smile tilted her lips, though it was not without its own undertone of sadness. Almost instinctively her hand fell to the empty holster that sat on her left hip, already missing the comforting weight of her twin gun. At least it was being put to good use. At least it had fallen into the right hands.
I'm so sorry, Lucy, she sighed to herself, shaking her head in frustration. I screwed up.
Only the understatement of the century.
She leaned back on her heels and raised her head to the moonless sky, inspecting it between the leaves that wavered in an imaginary breeze. The Black Mist crawled overhead like an ever-watchful jailer, twining between the precipices that were shrouded in such thick darkness that they almost appeared to be floating. This was no joke, then. This wasn't a trick of her imagination. She presses her head against the trunk of a tree, gripping the bark was a heaving sigh. The unbelievable had happened.
Senna was free.