SCENE 7 – Carry On
With a new vigour, Clare pulls herself up to stand. Something feels different. That little uncanny feeling that had scratched at the back of her head feels more tangible, more open now. It tugs on a past monstrous presence.
It is traces of the Yoma's yoki lingers in the deathly air, dwindling away in the moment. She can feel it. She doesn't know how she came to feel it. There's an otherworldly voice whispering something in her, but she can't seem to hear what exactly.
Something comes upon the tip of her tongue – wanting to speak out in defiance and proclamation to the world. Her lips move and utter out, but can't seem to form the words that want to come.
Clare tries to grasp hard onto this feeling, clenching her hands as if they can help it.
You.. you come to murder everything that life cherishes so dearly. You pillage, kill and destroy, for fun. You came to me before and.. and stole everything from me. I hated you. I hate you, and I will hate you, you, and everything you have done.
Now I come to you. I come in the name of everything and everybody you wronged - I will find you I will kill you, child of the bitch.
A low nod comes to Clare, as if to reaffirm those driving words in her head. Then she wipes the wetness from her stinging eyes and sniffles in the dripping from her nose – a rush brimming to her head. She swipes away the Yoma's blood, glistening, from her face.
In the lightless night, she steps over to the greatsword that glimmers even so amongst the blackness, and picks it back up in hardened hands.
She follows instinctively the one feeling naggling her on, having it nag further on as she takes her steps – over through the archway into the pitch black, where the Yoma had gone..
Her footsteps clack, echo along the hollow, unseen walls. Her stifled breathing and pounding heart go on as most of the only noises. A distant cracking though, like the snapping of twigs or rather.. fire. Clare looks around wherever she could – finding an orange glow somewhere far off down the imposing hall, light bouncing off the stone revealing contours of empty doorways.
Is there someone still alive?
Some relief pours into her heart, letting away the anxiety a bit, before the realization came that the Yoma had went down these halls – it might be the one making the light, beckoning Clare over.
The inner air makes its breeze around Clare, brushing her skin with coolness, blowing her cropped hair around.
Clare stops herself for the moment, hesitant to go on. She is afraid – of dying, becoming another mere body, yet there's something else far beyond that. The hapless woman stands at the threshold of the inner darkness inside her – and the monster beneath - always looming ever since, which she longed to avoid acknowledge let alone confront. But the orange is beckoning.
So she takes a deep breath into her little lungs, and carries on.
Step by step, the orange glow flickering comes closer. Then there's some flickering over of a shadow, jutted out in a contour of an organic shape, before it disappears away in her blink. A little slithering sound on edge of hearing. Something of deep breathing, barely held back before abruptly letting off to the silence.