Renamon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
diamondstorm) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2010-06-02 03:11 am
diamondstorm) wrote in damned_institute2010-06-02 03:11 am
Entry tags:
Nightshift 49: Room of Water
[from here]
And again. Even the Digimon most known for her stoicism was having difficulty maintaining that expression. From boulders to pits to ice. How many rooms would she cross before exiting this place? How many extremes would she go through before finding a hallway? As it was, it seemed--
No matter. She needed to move first, again through a room of unfamiliarity.
If only. Yet again, Renamon was pressed by memories; loss wrapped in ice. Too close was this, she considered as she moved forward, feeling the walls to find the way; too close was this to pointing out her flaws in the spaces left between. The chill consumed her, the sensation well known and remembered, and Renamon continued. This place was entirely unwanted. Memory would rise further as an icicle dove down. She shifted to move from its path and her footing slipped, leg pressing into the shards sticking out. The material of her pants tore, skin following, and Renamon grimaced; the frigid air making the wound sting.
A slow progression would lead her to an open area, a sheet of ice cracking as it shifted. She didn't trust it. An open path had been shown to be a threat and the creaking ice was no different. She stepped cautiously, the ice curving under her feet. Her thigh throbbed. She moved hastily, pausing when the ice crackled too loudly. In time, she had moved across the expanse, only to face another hall of ice mirrors. She stared at the first one, at the face she had been given, and then moved to continue. In time, half-frozen, the door appeared, and Renamon moved through it without much thought.
[to here]
And again. Even the Digimon most known for her stoicism was having difficulty maintaining that expression. From boulders to pits to ice. How many rooms would she cross before exiting this place? How many extremes would she go through before finding a hallway? As it was, it seemed--
No matter. She needed to move first, again through a room of unfamiliarity.
If only. Yet again, Renamon was pressed by memories; loss wrapped in ice. Too close was this, she considered as she moved forward, feeling the walls to find the way; too close was this to pointing out her flaws in the spaces left between. The chill consumed her, the sensation well known and remembered, and Renamon continued. This place was entirely unwanted. Memory would rise further as an icicle dove down. She shifted to move from its path and her footing slipped, leg pressing into the shards sticking out. The material of her pants tore, skin following, and Renamon grimaced; the frigid air making the wound sting.
A slow progression would lead her to an open area, a sheet of ice cracking as it shifted. She didn't trust it. An open path had been shown to be a threat and the creaking ice was no different. She stepped cautiously, the ice curving under her feet. Her thigh throbbed. She moved hastily, pausing when the ice crackled too loudly. In time, she had moved across the expanse, only to face another hall of ice mirrors. She stared at the first one, at the face she had been given, and then moved to continue. In time, half-frozen, the door appeared, and Renamon moved through it without much thought.
[to here]