Dirge - Beth Byrne

[Dusky]

Beth stands still for a moment in a breathless state of revelation, then sinks to the ground, hands running through the earth with a newfound appreciation. The white ribbon on her wrist takes on a brownish-tint from the dirt.


With a happy sigh - one of the softest expressions Beth has made that she can call to mind from recent memory - Beth leans against the grave and closes her eyes, taking in the new sensations. The particles stir against her fingers. She spreads out, feeling for more - for the wisps of identity left by the departed. Surely in a place like this she will find something.

 

[Grey]

Every atom of the soil and stone hums softly with the spin of the universe, your awareness spreading inches from your body to pull it all in.


And yet... something feels amiss in a way you don't have the language to articulate. Different to what you knew in that vision of shades and ash.


It's fading, now, only scant details remaining and the feel of being there. 


As for the more ephemeral applications of your newfound Sight - nothing. Perhaps that shouldn't be surprising, or perhaps the limits are smaller now than you thought. Maybe you should try it on something you're carrying.

 

[Dusky]

Inches. Inches! In the other place, in... Recalling it is like recalling a dream, but she does manage to pull the name from the muck of memory. Stygia.


In Stygia she felt that everything was under her thumb, but here the world is recalcitrant.


Still, at least she can feel it. There's another itch that needs scratching but she's at a loss as to how to reach it. Sighing, she takes inventory, patting the pockets of her leather jacket in search of something, anything that she can experiment with.

 

[Grey]

Nothing obvious leaps out at you as the sight-beyond-sight appears to fade. But you concentrate, bringing the world into terrifying, blinding focus.


You can see the architecture of this place clearly, the way the atoms and molecules and so temporary, so fragile components fit together to form the earth and corpses and coffins. Two other things become apparent in this way - chains as fine as thread leading from that white ribbon which fade in the air, borne somewhere else, and a screaming police officer a short distance away. 


He is, presumably, adjusting to his recent murder at the hands of the Phoebe-thing.