Hel . . .
Her eyes are deep pools of never-ending obsidian, wherein a projector like phenomenon plays the details of Wars. Ghost, vapor thin hair hiss's the cries of thousands of damned souls, ones which she is charged with.
As she turns, you see one side – bleached bone terrifies any who judge themselves worthy to be in her presence. One long, bony arm reaches to right below her waist, which is hidden from sight by frail moth silk; so fragile that any moment, any vibration may send the fabric into individual tendrils of dust, floating in oblivion. And when this happens, she fears naught; thousands of souls would die with the pleasure of being her garment of concealment.
A thick, brutish skull rests upon a thick neck, half covered with skin, blood, and veins - the other bare bone, with veins throbbing through the maze therein.
Then she looks back at you, and you are instantly caught in her tendrils of fear. She comes closer, and the air itself deadens, and you find it hard to breath. The air becomes cold, even in Hel, and despite your silent pleading, she stand there, toying with the specimen which is you.
At last, she steppes back, and once more you breathe.
She toyed with you this way for hours, getting a simple high off your helplessness. And once you thought it couldn't get any worse, her power which emanating from within her body in itself, you hear the blood curdling yowl.
And that's when you notice the vast system of roots which lead down, where for the first time you him. Nidhogg. He lingers there; forever it seems, with bright golden scales, sharp enough to cut with by sight, eating away at the vast roots of the Yggdrasill tree.
And at that same precise moment, you realize what lingers around you.
Flitting vapors whiz past you, and others which are so far off. Such vivid detail. You wish to become like them, to be a mindless brute and servant of death; to escape this Prison.
The skeletons still have mottled flesh hanging from their non-impressive bones, which at any moment may snap under the mere weight of air.
And then the area in which you are in becomes so much more evident, and you know now you are truly doomed. All around you, arranged pits bobble boiling lava, a red pitch like substance which sticks to you, your bones and mind even after you've exited. And than you notice the cruel Bats of Hel flying above you.
And then its all over, Hel's projector eyes set upon your face, of human flesh, which she so admires – yet hates for the reason that it is not her's.
In one swift movement, she leaps across the chasm which separates her from the only thing she wants . . . you're skin.
And that's the last you remember, before the pain which lingers to this day began . . .
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~ Kalen Bloodstone ~
