[Where Alucard is beset with roots, Sypha is forced to suffer shadows, watching them pool around her feet like slick puddles of oil with every step she takes. At first she tries to avoid them, dodging here and there to keep her toes in the grass underfoot, while all around her nursery rhymes and Speaker songs are chanted in threes, each a little more menacing than the last.
Eventually, though, she reaches a point that it's impossible to avoid treading on the shadows underfoot, leaving her torn between remaining still, continuing forward through it, or trying to use her magic to avoid it — the latter of which being something she knows better than to utilize, being far too perilous a practice to leave up to the fae's interpretation of its purpose. But she can't remain still. She has to continue forward; she can't stay still.
She steps in the ink, and it sticks to her shoes.
Step by step, she treads forward, dragging the oil-slick shadows with her, as with each step they start to climb a little higher until they're covering her shoes, then up to her ankles, then higher and higher toward her knees.
A pluck of the eye, a bit of the toe, a cruel voice singsongs, and the shadows clinging to her skin leave her limbs prickling with pins and needles, sapping the feeling from them everywhere they touch.
But still she stumbles forward, eyes set on the shape in the distance, unsure of what waits for her there but still somehow certain she needs to reach it.]
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Eventually, though, she reaches a point that it's impossible to avoid treading on the shadows underfoot, leaving her torn between remaining still, continuing forward through it, or trying to use her magic to avoid it — the latter of which being something she knows better than to utilize, being far too perilous a practice to leave up to the fae's interpretation of its purpose. But she can't remain still. She has to continue forward; she can't stay still.
She steps in the ink, and it sticks to her shoes.
Step by step, she treads forward, dragging the oil-slick shadows with her, as with each step they start to climb a little higher until they're covering her shoes, then up to her ankles, then higher and higher toward her knees.
A pluck of the eye, a bit of the toe, a cruel voice singsongs, and the shadows clinging to her skin leave her limbs prickling with pins and needles, sapping the feeling from them everywhere they touch.
But still she stumbles forward, eyes set on the shape in the distance, unsure of what waits for her there but still somehow certain she needs to reach it.]