[There are things about her time in Horos that Hayame does not properly remember. It had been explained to her in the manor of that woman Yima, in between the purge of fever and the dark embrace of unconsciousness she slipped in and out of during her recovery, that there had been some damage to her shard in the process of pulling her soul from one world to another... But that did nothing to assuage the disconcerting feeling that came with knowing that something should be there, that perhaps someone should be there... and it just wasn't. She remembers a raid, the blood, the rage, the despair, she remembers some of the faces of the men she had fought, but as the day wore on her memories blurred and failed her.
The demon who had plucked her left eye from her skull and left only a raw, weeping socket behind, however... Him, she remembers, as the last face she had seen with the perfect vision that made her so deadly an archer.
There is a moment, just before the roots close them in, when he comes into her now limited field of view and the recognition flashes blatantly over her face. The sight, the smell, the sound of him, every bit of it fills her senses... and a chaotic jumble of images come rushing back. Blood, blood raining from the sky. The bite of a pale scale in her hand. The feeling of her two hearts strained to their limit as she ran and ran and ran towards a goal she failed to reach. The sensation of pain without physical injury, of a shard dimming in her hand...]
You-
[The dryad is talking, and she hears it, but she also does not.
The demon is talking, and she hears it, but she also does not.
Her blood is boiling in her ears. If her nails weren't cut to the quick, they'd be digging blood crescents into her palm. The one pupil left to her dilates and contracts as her mind switches rapidly between the man in front of her and the man in her memories. She smells smoke and dust in the air. Her enemy is there, whichever reality she falls into. He's smiling, like he'd smiled then, smug and cruel and self-assured that she was nothing to him. Like he had when he'd jumped out of reach and looked down at her, her perfectly intact eyeball danging by the ripped optic nerve from his wet fingers.
Hayame's teeth grit, the muscles along her jaw clench, her throat bobs as if attempting and realizing that speech in that moment is impossible-
Before she suddenly lunges across the confined space of their root-made cage, giving him all of two seconds to react before a half ton of muscle and rage slams into the space he now occupies.]
♫ tonight, i'm living in a fantasy, my own little nasty world
The demon who had plucked her left eye from her skull and left only a raw, weeping socket behind, however... Him, she remembers, as the last face she had seen with the perfect vision that made her so deadly an archer.
There is a moment, just before the roots close them in, when he comes into her now limited field of view and the recognition flashes blatantly over her face. The sight, the smell, the sound of him, every bit of it fills her senses... and a chaotic jumble of images come rushing back. Blood, blood raining from the sky. The bite of a pale scale in her hand. The feeling of her two hearts strained to their limit as she ran and ran and ran towards a goal she failed to reach. The sensation of pain without physical injury, of a shard dimming in her hand...]
You-
[The dryad is talking, and she hears it, but she also does not.
The demon is talking, and she hears it, but she also does not.
Her blood is boiling in her ears. If her nails weren't cut to the quick, they'd be digging blood crescents into her palm. The one pupil left to her dilates and contracts as her mind switches rapidly between the man in front of her and the man in her memories. She smells smoke and dust in the air. Her enemy is there, whichever reality she falls into. He's smiling, like he'd smiled then, smug and cruel and self-assured that she was nothing to him. Like he had when he'd jumped out of reach and looked down at her, her perfectly intact eyeball danging by the ripped optic nerve from his wet fingers.
Hayame's teeth grit, the muscles along her jaw clench, her throat bobs as if attempting and realizing that speech in that moment is impossible-
Before she suddenly lunges across the confined space of their root-made cage, giving him all of two seconds to react before a half ton of muscle and rage slams into the space he now occupies.]