weighed her down. Everything around her was shaded with dark gloom. The peak of the volcano cluster sparked with angry vengeance, bespeaking unimaginable destruction once it finished coasting down into the jungle. Any wildlife that did not manage to escape was already dead from asphyxiation. Isidora knew that she would be next. Shortly.
Her coughing was drowned out by the popping sounds of the cackling lava as it bubbled and frothed over the mountain range. Isidora slumped further to the ground in a pitiful attempt to catch her breath. It would not work. But she found comfort deep inside that soon her agony would be over, once the Cherufe came for her.
They might find her already dead, but it would be over.
The curtains of her hair collected grime as she dragged herself to the closest tree that she could find. She pulled herself into a seated position with the view of the mountain path in her wake. Weakness took over after that, and the fog of destruction blinded her. She would rather be devoured whole by the Cherufe, the soft parts of her person consumed and burnt at once, than endure the never ending rain of fire.
But she was their tribute. Her life was theirs to have.
As it was, there wasn’t much of her left for them to enjoy.
For countless minutes, Isidora breathed in the residue of the mountain. Her lungs were aflame as they battled the ravished area in search of any oxygen. Her mouth was dry from the heaves, tongue caked in debris, and Isidora choked for the umpteenth time.
It will be over soon , she promised herself. The pain and fright wouldn’t even bother her in the afterlife. She would be no more, and happily so.
In the midst of her prayer, Isidora imagined she saw a figure approaching her from the distance. A being of fire. It was a man, with severe black wings and bare chest. His stature was imposing as he walked easily through the fiery air.
Cherufe. He was coming right to her.
The fire god eventually towered above her. Spreading the magnificence of his midnight wings, he shielded her from the destruction.
“ Cherufe, ” Isidora whispered in her native tongue. “ My life for the pack, Cherufe. My offering for their suffering, Cherufe. ”
If her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, she could have sworn that the fire god cursed, “For fuck’s sake.” And in English.
The last thing she was aware of before unconsciousness stole her was being lifted against his body. And his skin, it burned a lot like the magma that promised to sear her person.
She whimpered in pain before everything vanished.
HELL DIDN’T HAVE PILLOWS.
Isidora’s eyes flashed open. One quick scan of the room told her that she was out of at least one nightmare. The easy rise and fall of her chest indicated that fresh air was filling her lungs. She took a moment to luxuriate in it, but too deep of a breath put her into a fit of coughs. Her bruised insides were not ready for that.
“Are you alive?” A deep voice rumbled from the corner.
Isidora wiped at her eyes, removing what felt like nothing more than sleep crunches. The action showed her that she was still very much alive and intact, and from the feel of it no longer covered in dirt. The question was, how?
Looking to who would most assuredly have answers, the bandit turned her head to the corner. A broad man stood beside a tripod with an expensive-looking camera. The mostly empty room was slightly shadowed, though the feeble light coming from the wide open window showed what could be daytime. Inside she could see nothing but a wooden dining table with two chairs, the bed that she was in, and a bathroom off to the side. A hallway looked as if it might lead to another opening, perhaps a kitchen. There were no decorations on the plastered walls and no real evidence of permanent life at all.
“I’m talking to you.”
The big man was golden haired and blue eyed. A fit body and long legs, draped in black clothing. His arms were crossed and his attractive face was
Her coughing was drowned out by the popping sounds of the cackling lava as it bubbled and frothed over the mountain range. Isidora slumped further to the ground in a pitiful attempt to catch her breath. It would not work. But she found comfort deep inside that soon her agony would be over, once the Cherufe came for her.
They might find her already dead, but it would be over.
The curtains of her hair collected grime as she dragged herself to the closest tree that she could find. She pulled herself into a seated position with the view of the mountain path in her wake. Weakness took over after that, and the fog of destruction blinded her. She would rather be devoured whole by the Cherufe, the soft parts of her person consumed and burnt at once, than endure the never ending rain of fire.
But she was their tribute. Her life was theirs to have.
As it was, there wasn’t much of her left for them to enjoy.
For countless minutes, Isidora breathed in the residue of the mountain. Her lungs were aflame as they battled the ravished area in search of any oxygen. Her mouth was dry from the heaves, tongue caked in debris, and Isidora choked for the umpteenth time.
It will be over soon , she promised herself. The pain and fright wouldn’t even bother her in the afterlife. She would be no more, and happily so.
In the midst of her prayer, Isidora imagined she saw a figure approaching her from the distance. A being of fire. It was a man, with severe black wings and bare chest. His stature was imposing as he walked easily through the fiery air.
Cherufe. He was coming right to her.
The fire god eventually towered above her. Spreading the magnificence of his midnight wings, he shielded her from the destruction.
“ Cherufe, ” Isidora whispered in her native tongue. “ My life for the pack, Cherufe. My offering for their suffering, Cherufe. ”
If her mind wasn’t playing tricks on her, she could have sworn that the fire god cursed, “For fuck’s sake.” And in English.
The last thing she was aware of before unconsciousness stole her was being lifted against his body. And his skin, it burned a lot like the magma that promised to sear her person.
She whimpered in pain before everything vanished.
HELL DIDN’T HAVE PILLOWS.
Isidora’s eyes flashed open. One quick scan of the room told her that she was out of at least one nightmare. The easy rise and fall of her chest indicated that fresh air was filling her lungs. She took a moment to luxuriate in it, but too deep of a breath put her into a fit of coughs. Her bruised insides were not ready for that.
“Are you alive?” A deep voice rumbled from the corner.
Isidora wiped at her eyes, removing what felt like nothing more than sleep crunches. The action showed her that she was still very much alive and intact, and from the feel of it no longer covered in dirt. The question was, how?
Looking to who would most assuredly have answers, the bandit turned her head to the corner. A broad man stood beside a tripod with an expensive-looking camera. The mostly empty room was slightly shadowed, though the feeble light coming from the wide open window showed what could be daytime. Inside she could see nothing but a wooden dining table with two chairs, the bed that she was in, and a bathroom off to the side. A hallway looked as if it might lead to another opening, perhaps a kitchen. There were no decorations on the plastered walls and no real evidence of permanent life at all.
“I’m talking to you.”
The big man was golden haired and blue eyed. A fit body and long legs, draped in black clothing. His arms were crossed and his attractive face was
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