Solira: The Ocean: Sometimes you just can't be saved.

the sea is emotion incarnate. it loves, hates, and weeps.
it defies all attempts to capture it with words, and denies all shackles.
no matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can't.

Saphira feels oddly free, and upon her return from Desreal she had sought out the ocean’s comfort. Wading into the chest deep water, and allowing it to encase her body. Weave and wrap around the hard sinew of muscle and bone, and brush against the gaping hole in her shoulder. Her eyes close, blissfully at first, and then dreamily. Deep breaths of the ocean air, in and out. Time fades away, while Saphira stands intside the living storm she has created. The world fell away.

She wakes to the smell of burning flesh, and screams of agony. Her sapphire eyes snap open, the storm falls away. Leaving her exposed. Her gaze casts fruitlessly over the shore, trying to see them. Anyone. But the dark black smoke has covered the beach, the field. Solira is bathed in darkness, shadows, and fire.

Saphira begins to summon forth the power of the water around her. Preparing for the swell that would carry her to the shore. But the water that rushes forward beneath her, burns. She can smell as the hair on her legs is burnt away, as her skin is boiled off in long and agonizigin strips. She is hurled towards the shore, atop a wave of crimson, at the exact moment a scream of pain escapes her bloodied lips. Pieces of boiled and bunrt flesh falling away from otherwise bare and bleeding legs.

Each step is agony, all her previous scars have burst open, bleeding freely across her painted skin. She is a greusome sight. All blood, exposed flesh, and pain.

The smoke strangles her, wrapping its black hands inside her throat. Pressing, squeezing. But even it is not enough to erase the smell, the memory of how it felt to watch, feel, and breathe in the scent of her decaying, boiled flesh.

Saphira’s eyes are flecked with blood, spots of crimson amongst a sea of blue. She wobbles on her weakening limbs, attempting to search for Dusan, Alanna, Alshain, Ariel, Marshall…anyone. But all she sees is darkness, all she smells is burning skin. The water on her skin boils, burning the flesh away in errant places, until she looks more like an Apaloosa than an Overo. She coughs, a deep raking sound. It scratches her throat and blood wells in the corners of her lips, and leaks from her nose. She weases, slipping and catching herself as she stumbles across the rocky beach.

She can see shing silver outlines, as if ghosts of her friends are there to haunt her. She reaches out, a soft smile on her lips.

“I see you… I’m coming.” And then she collapsed, in a pool of her own blood, her breathing ragged, slow. Unsteady.

GOLD: S A P H I R A

the siren

Slave of the AIR and LIGHTNING shards

water III + lightning III + air I
rennervate + siren song + isare