Terror. A dimension mirroring the living one--but morphed to reflect the imagination of its Overseer. And the current Overseer... has refused to relinquish her power for centuries, tormenting her souls--"terrors"--into becoming... zombies.
Arielle f...
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The Being chortled, Penelope snarled, and she launched onto him with a force she'd been holding in for centuries. A rage—directed at him—she'd contained in her chest for so long, she licked her lips as she clawed into his silvery self. She chopped and sliced and snickered at her work—
Until she was propelled backwards and smacked hard into the front wall of her house.
Shaking her head, and ignoring the pain snaking up from her lower spine to her neck, she blinked, adjusted her vision, and stared down at her nails. They weren't stained with blood as she'd hoped; they were broken. Torn off, ripped, destroyed.
"What in the..." She looked up to witness the Being, standing in the same spot, unfazed by what she'd done. The marks she'd thought she'd left, the scars she'd hoped to sear deep into his pearlescent skin, those icy eyes she'd craved to scratch out—intact. Her attack, if it had happened—she now wondered if it had been an illusion, a fantasy—hadn't done a thing to wound the Being who haunted her nightmares.
"You, of all beings, should know better, Penelope." He glanced down at the spots she'd meant to destroy, and as he lifted his chin, a sly smile snuck over his gray lips. "I'm dead, have been for centuries, like you. And I'm not a Terror resident; I cannot die again and resurface in the Soul Realm... since I already dwell there. I recognize your anger, your frustration, but any effort to harm me is pointless."
Peeling herself off the frost-coated wall, Penelope stomped her feet. He'd ruined her weapons—her beautiful claws. Her only means to defend herself against her minions if—and when—they turned on her.
"I had to try! And how... how dare you?" Her arms trembled as she brought her fingers up to her face and studied the damage. "You... how did you do this? How did you deflect me? You're a monster!" She lowered her arms and gagged, horrified at the gruesome sight of her talons. Chopped off, her precious devices of torture were hindered beyond repair. "These," she wiggled her fingers as she glared at him, "took centuries to form and sharpen! You've destroyed my progress! And your unannounced visit has likely freaked out all my terrors!"
The Being barely moved, his features fixed in a neutral state; no emotion in those unreal eyes, no twitch of his lips. Even his voice was stagnant, near bored. Penelope was no threat to him and he had no intention of fighting her. But if she tried again... she worried what harm he'd do to her next.
"I freaked them out?" He scoffed, but still his expression was simple and uncaring. "Your terrors? You have lost yourself, lost your place. You're so infatuated with your power, but you outgrew your reign centuries ago, Penelope." He was still, his shoulders unmoving, his arms tranquil at his sides as if he'd never been in danger. Penelope's attack had only reinforced his agenda to remove her from her throne. "I had no means to interfere, back then. No means to remove you. You warded this place against me, somehow... but you can no longer keep me out."
Penelope winced as she retracted her claws, pulling their remnants back into her fingertips. "Yeah, I noticed. How in the world did you get in?" She shuddered as she said it; she'd sensed his presence already when she'd seen her numbers turn red. Had her excess soul-plucking somehow triggered him, shattered the spells she'd placed on Terror, lowering them to let him in? She'd feared it, and it had come true. Her nightmare, her most terrifying vision, had become reality—the Being had arrived to take her away.
