[In Amaurot, the surrounding locals are more sparse than they might be in other places; it's only understandable, mayhap, when all of her memories of Amaurot are a spare and lonely place to begin with. But with Ezar's influence, and the devastation of the Final Days layered over what otherwise might have been an idyllic and forgotten city beneath the waves, the few citizens around are sparse for an entirely different reason: because half of them are corpses.
Some of them run. Some shiver and shudder as dark clouds manifest into horrible beasts before their eyes. And Summer is no longer wandering, but running — searching desperately for someone, anyone, any familiar face amidst the chaos.
For an instant, she thinks she sees one. Someone she ought to know, though she couldn't put a name to how or why. But it's someone who would keep her safe, she thinks; someone who would introduce some semblance of order to this madness —
Only then he reaches for her, and the horror sets in.
It's not that he has no face, and it's not that she doesn't know him. So much the worse, really — it's that she knows she does know him, or should, but there's not enough of him to be...anything. Like finding a refuge only to have it snatched away again, a safe haven secretly hiding danger instead of respite; a sense of bitter loss and wrongness washes over the dream, and without even half a conscious thought, she starts backing away.]
W...What's wrong with you...!
[Wrong, wrong, wrong. This isn't someone she knows. It should be, but how could she, when there's only a fraction of them there?]
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Some of them run. Some shiver and shudder as dark clouds manifest into horrible beasts before their eyes. And Summer is no longer wandering, but running — searching desperately for someone, anyone, any familiar face amidst the chaos.
For an instant, she thinks she sees one. Someone she ought to know, though she couldn't put a name to how or why. But it's someone who would keep her safe, she thinks; someone who would introduce some semblance of order to this madness —
Only then he reaches for her, and the horror sets in.
It's not that he has no face, and it's not that she doesn't know him. So much the worse, really — it's that she knows she does know him, or should, but there's not enough of him to be...anything. Like finding a refuge only to have it snatched away again, a safe haven secretly hiding danger instead of respite; a sense of bitter loss and wrongness washes over the dream, and without even half a conscious thought, she starts backing away.]
W...What's wrong with you...!
[Wrong, wrong, wrong. This isn't someone she knows. It should be, but how could she, when there's only a fraction of them there?]