01-18-2024, 12:06 PM
(This post was last modified: 01-18-2024, 09:35 PM by Thalia.
Edit Reason: added link
)
![[Image: thaliahair.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/thaliahair.png)
Her expression was both open and earnest; it was an enormous question in one tiny and surprisingly vulnerable package. Truth was she was desperate to share something of the overwhelm currently inside, knowing it was a tale no-one else would believe – that once they left it was over. She remembered her desperation on the beach, Aylin’s unanswered calls, how bright the stars had been in the sky. Amidst the euphoria of accomplishment and the bittersweet of such a quiet and final resolution, she realised there was also trepidation of what she would go back to.
When Tristan shook the question off, though, she did not pick at the layers he kept himself shrouded in. If it disappointed her, the feeling settled into acceptance and perhaps some understanding. There was no reason he should know what to make of it all either. His life was one of margins, or so it seemed to Thalia, and she knew what self-protection looked like. So she accepted the guidance at her shoulder, and flowed in the direction of the archway without quarrel. “It’s okay. I definitely feel enough for both of us.” She laughed a little, and let herself be swayed into a lighter mood.
She didn’t look back at the pool. She didn’t dwell on the overflow of feeling inside. Though she did glance up at him once to smile impishly. That, for what he said about muscle.
Everything was still dim when they returned to the study, like a world trapped in eternal stasis. The lights on the desk had died out completely though, whatever power had momentarily brought it back to life now drained back to empty. The skeletal cat sat upon its surface, a patch of sleek darkness deeper than even the shadows, all but for the blink of its wide eyes. It seemed agitated, but for now Thalia was just relieved it had not disappeared entirely into the maze of this place. If one door could lead multiple places, how many rooms did it really contain? How many secrets? A little curiosity pulled, but she remembered to focus.
“You abandoned me,” she said in accusation to Neme, ruined somewhat by the soft thread of her hand against its fur. Forgiveness was easy, though she could still feel the sting from its launchpad off her shoulder. It made her smile that it nuzzled back, lip curled up. Its teeth skimmed harmlessly across her skin. As she wondered about the lazy twinkle of the red gem between its eyes, her gaze naturally rose to the closed door looming across the study, directly behind it. Stars scattered across the wood, one bigger than the others. That draw was still there, cold around her legs like it might carry her away. Easy to forget and pad towards it, slip into whatever shadows waited. Answers or oblivion. Maybe they were the same thing.
“Home, I think,” she said instead, continuing to tickle under the creature’s chin. She looked up at Tristan, the anchor of that resolution to return, but he was frowning at the object clutched in the forked barbs of Neme’s tail. For all she knew, the two were engaged in conversation, but since she could not know she only watched.
![[Image: tristan-gold.png]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/tristan-gold.png)
As they entered the dimly lit study, Neme's voice frantically cut through the stillness. "Mother gone. Not safe. Must leave!"
The urgency in the creature's voice was palpable. Tristan's brow furrowed, a clear sign he understood the gravity of Neme's message.
“It says we are in danger and need to leave, soon.” He relayed.
The cat, its sleek fur bristling, began to pace anxiously, its tail swatting in growing irritation at their inaction.
"The arch, Tristan! Blood is the key. The light turns it."
Tristan's expression shifted from concern to determination, golden eyes flicking at the archway and back to Neme. Then, without a word of explanation, he snatched the blade from Neme's tail. The cat's already large eyes widened.
"No, no!" Neme hissed, lunging forward as Tristan made a small cut on his palm. Blood welled up, dark against his skin.
But Neme's reaction was immediate. It leapt at Tristan, nipping and leaping to interrupt his hand being placed upon the archway. "No! Wrong blood! Thalia’s! Only Thalia’s!" it screeched, its message a mix of panic and desperation.
Tristan hesitated, his bloodied hand hovering in mid-air, a look of confusion crossing his face. The study seemed to shudder around them, a low rumble echoing through the walls, underscoring their urgency. The lights in the room flickered the moment his blood touched the arch, a vibrant light burst forth, enveloping the doorway. The ground trembled more violently now, as if urging them to hurry. Whatever happened, happened.
"Quick!” Tristan urged, grabbing her hand with his clean one.
“Danger?” she repeated. The word was tinged with dismissive levity and confusion, yet her own brow furrowed for the way Tristan was not merely quiet but suddenly austere. Neme began to twitch away from her touch and paced instead, its tail lashing in agitated punctuation at what was apparently spoken in truth. Thalia’s hand drifted back to her side, but it was Tristan’s expression she watched, the only clue she had to interpreting whatever had changed so suddenly.
He looked fierce. Single-minded and stubborn in determination. And the last time he’d looked so intense, he’d–
She was too slow to stop him, but she did move to reach for his bloody hand in alarm of the self-inflicted injury. But the Nemesyne was faster. Thalia flinched in surprise at the viciousness of its reaction, though it was like raindrops spitting unheeded against a mountaintop.
Blood dripped. In the brief moment Tristan hesitated, she saw it seep into one of the abandoned drawings on the floor, and it filled her with a feeling she could not describe.
Her eyes were wide pools when they rose up again. Tristan grabbed at her hand with urgency, but didn’t force her forward. The white brightness of the archway seared her through to the skull, and the room around them shuddered and groaned like a living beast. It tickled like a memory, but too distant to capture. Pain pierced her shoulder as the cat found a perch, only to dissolve into weightless mist. Suddenly all she could see was the unravelling figure from earlier, and with it rose a trembling panic. Her grip tightened on his.
“I trust you,” she said, and followed.
Back on the beach the minutes trickled past. Early morning tourists were sparse, and the sun had barely begun its climb, the sky still bloody with stretches of dawn and the gentle yawning of stars. The lake itself was as still as the face of a mirror. But upon it came a sudden hush. Most wouldn’t notice that moment of unnatural stillness, as though nature itself held its breath like a deer caught in an open field. However all would notice the dark pool of clouds knotting and writhing from nowhere, far out over the water. Sharp spots of rain fell as the waters began an uneasy churn.
Those on the shoreline murmured and looked to one another, uncertain of the danger. But as the light drained and the air tasted almost electric, most took the opportunity to flee back up the trail and away from the soon to be violently thrashing waves.
![[Image: Baikal-storm.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/Baikal-storm.jpg)
[[Post written with Tristan. Thalia and Tristan continue here]]
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)
