Thread: Masks [Lagertha x Ryees]

Yerinia's chest bounced as she moved, stretching her left arm all the way out. The waves crashed against the golden sand, small shells rolling from the deep to the surface. They mixed, the shells, in the sand, making it glisten with a million colors. The rocks stretched out above her, shielding her from the sun's view as she moved, slipping on the surface of the canvas. You move too slow! The voice mocked her. Your work is MINE. She gasped for air, moving, twisting her body as the images popped into her head. They were jumbled, they made no sense, but they came all the same. Like fire and brimestone, it boiled her skin and flesh from the inside out. The Artist, the voice, was as though it was right by her ear, whispering and shouting at the same time only to her. It felt like, a hand was moving her arm, orchestrating the piece. I want to stop.. Yerinia mustered through her ragged breaths. This isn't my art.. She slipped, chest and chin into the paint, her bottom -round and firm- upwards as she stretched. There is no stopping until the piece is done! The voice commanded. Her body ached. Sore. Yet, she moved, feeling as though she was being pulled and forced around the canvas. Crash. Swoosh. Caw. Caw. Caw. Yersinia felt as though the weight had been lifted. The piece was not done, half the Canvas was still bare, as well as the edges. Yet..she could move herself. She sat up on her knees. An opening in front of her of the black birds flying over head. She breathed. Paint, blue, yellow, purple, white, was wet on her bottom lip and chin. Her breasts, fairly large and plump, were also coated in a mass of blue paint. White an red seemed to coat her stomach, to her thighs that twisted into darker colors. Her whole left arm was renched in wet paint..and it dripped from her chin onto the canvas as she watched the birds. Where did you go? Silence. Alone. The voice had seemingly come and gone like it always did. She expected she should be grateful, she should relax and wash herself off. Yet, she felt alone. The voice had grown so strong in the past few weeks that..it felt strange not to hear it whispering in her ears. It felt weird to not feel it's presence even though it was in her blood, twisting under her skin. Come back.. She wiped her forehead. Sweat beaded on her skin as the paint smeared on her face and she fell off the canvas to the sand with a sloosh! Her hands dug into it, before she fell on her back and closed her eyes. Still..her lips parted to call for the voice. Please? An hour must have passed before she heard the humming. A low rumble that resembled something more akin the likes of a beast. Yet, she felt it, here next to her on the sand. Her eyes opened, looking to her right to see the mass black figure that was contorted strangely in nature. It's purple piercing eyes staring into her blue ones. You should hide... Yersinia was not scared of it anymore. The thing she saw before her as it twisted it's large head this way and that. Shadows dissipated around it, as though it were made of smoke. Ahhh.. the voice was low, rumbling, and shaking the very core of her being when it spoke. Only you can see me Yerinia... The figure looked at her, it's eyes mad. And you can't control me. Hahahaaa! It laughed, but there wa sno mouth on the figure. Just a white piece of mask that stood over it's purple pupiless eyes. She watched it twist on the ground, before moving to get up. Let's continue! It shouted. Be quiet...someone will hear you. She insisted as the figure leapt at her pinning her down. It's purple eyes stared down at her. Melting like paint, the purple dripped into her mouth. You are a dumb girl... It laughed. I said. Let's CONTINUE! Yerinia nodded reluctantly, large bags under her eyes. Maybe then I'll let you sleep. It grumbled. Just.. Yerinia watched as it rolled off her, grabbing her wrists and pulling her off the ground. For a brief moment, she wondered what this might appear like from the outside. The being looked down at the small woman. No doubt at full height it might be close to ten feet. ...promise you won't leave again? It was like it was infecting her, corrupting her. It feed off her in some way, she knew that, yet she did not know what. Was her art that fueled it? Or was it her loneliness? Whatever it was, at some point Yerinia have craved it's attention. It's constant talk, it's constant appearance in her life. When she didn't see it..she did not feel normal anymore. The mass nodded in agreement. For once, it was agreeing with her. Though more times than not it controlled her, and was her. Right now. It seemed like the calm before the storm, as if it had some sort of attachment to her more so than blood. Slowly, it stretched out a long arm, which was large near the big body, before thinning out to a point, and the hands were something like sharp mittens. It pointed to the piece, it's eyes blazing. She knew what it wanted. Yes..I know. It's not done. I can't rest until it's done. The girl, pale and covered in paint, stood on her feet. She leaned forward, hands on her knees and looked over the piece. She could see it the influence the being had. The painting was sharp, angular, as though knife's were placed in the piece. Straight sharp lines up and one zig zagged across the work in a multitude of colors. As she looked at it, the figure stood towering over her bend over feature. Her head turned to the right looking up at it s it looked down at her. What is it? It stretched out it's other arm, pointing to her ass where some of her skirt had fallen down from being pulled. Her left chee was showing, pale, a seashell design with tendrils that made a crescent moon shape around it in a multitude of blues and purples. Had a normal person looked at the art, it would looked nothing more than a fancy tattoo. Had a Masked one seen it..they could see that the piece was forever moving, uneasy. Hide it idiot girl. The being mocked her. Oh...sorry. Yerinia reached back, grabbing the heavy fabric and pulling it up. She moved to tie her black belt into a new knot. Don't ever let them see it. It warned as though she were a child about to touch an open flame. If they know..you'll be the next one dead! The face moved, right in front of her, the body bending unnaturally as it looked at her. Will you tell me someday what you mean? Or what you are? Yerinia stood straight up, moving back to the canvas and falling on her knees on it. The being just watched her, before grabbing her right hand and shoving in into the paint of the canvas. Instead of answering her, it forced her to work the paint again.