Dark

This revolves around one of Ms. Salina's characters. This particular character is often a mystery to me, but she is so dearly entwined with one of my characters I simply can't imagine one existing without the other.

It’s dark. Painfully, impossibly dark. Worse than the gloom that comes from switching off a light when there’s still the vaguest outline of your hand or closing your eyes but seeing the light against your eyelids. This is darkness that sinks under your skin, roiling and twisting your insides until there’s nothing left. The kind of murky ink she grew up in and swore never to return to. Fire and light are hers to command with a flick of the fingers, darkness is nothing. Except her powers aren’t working, the enemy smarter than they’d realized, and she’s trapped in this damned cave.

A burning white rage blooms in her chest. She wouldn’t be defeated so easily! Mouth twisted in a sneer she takes careful determined steps forward. Arms out, she gropes her way through the suffocating gloom, unable to find walls or ceiling despite the solid rock beneath her boots. The otherworldly atmosphere swallows the soft shuffling sound of her steps leaving a vacuum of silence in its wake. Memories of childhood horrors buried in the deepest recesses of her soul slither up, whispering fear through her veins with every hammering beat of her heart. She doesn’t like this.

It’s startlingly raw, the feeling of irrational unfiltered terror. A hard dangerous childhood shaped her into a strong capable woman, but beneath the veneer of cool, calm, collected is the remnants of a screaming little girl trapped in the dark. Behind the locked doors of her past the child tips her head back and howls. Pulse rising with panic, she tries to calm her harsh breathing. The floor dips and she stumbles, hands waving desperately in front of her as a knee hits the ground. Hissing in pain, she rocks back while gingerly pressing a hand against the stinging appendage. The feel of sticky fluid followed by a sharp throbbing tells her gently probing fingers there’s an injury. Just great! She’s damn well skinned her knee.

A growl of frustration is swallowed by the shadows as she focuses with all her might, willing fire to leap from her fingertips. A spark. A flash. Something! Nothing happens. Frustration mingles with the strong edge of fear she’s fighting to keep back clogging her throat with angry tears. Of all the stupid things. She’s better than this, damn it. Stronger than this. Swallowing thickly she stands on shaky legs, releasing a slow quavering breath. Closing her eyes, she breathes in and out, trying to regain her poise. Something brushes her hand and she flinches, startled, wheeling around quickly, struck by a wave of fear that something is in the cave with her.

“Avery?”

She stops, frozen in relief at the familiar sound of that bright child’s voice. How long has he been there?

“Avery, are you okay?” He asks, concern coloring his words. “I think we got separated at first when they put us in here, but I followed your scent and now I can smell blood.”

Relief flooding her system, she can’t help but smile. Even trapped in the darkness his first thought is of her.

“I’m fine, Zanther, just a skinned knee,” she assures, happy her voice stays steady despite her rickety emotions. “We should keep moving.”

His hand slips into hers, fingers entwining tightly. “So we stay together,” he mumbles, and despite the dark she knows his face is bright pink.

They walk slowly through the inky shadows, the chatty boy by her side strangely silent. She finds herself oddly missing his babbling, wishing he would say something to hold back the oppressive feel of their environment.

“Avery?” Zanther questions softly, a clear sign that he has something on his mind.

“Hmm?”

She scans the darkness, trying to find any sign of life or freedom.

“I know this must be hard for you,” he says hesitantly, “given your past. But…”

Her attention focuses on Zanther as he pauses.

“Avery, you’ll never be alone again.”

Maybe it’s the sincerity in his voice as he swears to stay with her. Perhaps it’s because she can’t see him. Avery will never be certain why, but Zanther no longer seemed like a child. His hand in hers is warm, reassuring, and oh, so solid. In the darkness he transforms into someone deeper, stronger, and older. His presence surrounds her, blocking out the suffocating oppression of the darkness, pushing back her fear, cocooning her in a promise to protect her always. Deep in her bones she knows this isn’t a child’s pinky swear, but something deeper. It’s the kind of vow a man makes to the woman he loves. Avery allows herself to enjoy the warm feeling of safety welling up in her chest. He’s been with her the entire time.

Squeezing his hand in acknowledgement she says, “Let’s go,” and they walk into the murky gloom together.