[What becomes of a world when you take away its author? When you remove the very thing which holds together its laws and very existence? A world without Poison, without the Hierophant and with no one to replace her, quickly begins to fade.
There are efforts, of course, to quickly find another human to draw into the Phaerie Realms and set up in the position of the Hierophant. Poison can only watch as Fleet and the other Archivists are sent out into the already crumbling Realm of Man, but they could never be fast enough. She watches Aelthar, Asinastra, Pariasa and all the other Realm's leaders come together as the walls around them become steadily more translucent and they grow sickly and weak. She watches Peppercorn crying on Bram's shoulder, while he assures her that there's no way, no chance that Poison would have simply left them like this.
That they'll find her. They'll find her.
But they don't find her, and without her, everything begins to end.
A world without Poison does not end on a bang, or even a whimper, but a slow, desperate fading like a painting left too long in the sun. It bleaches out to a white canvas, a nothingness with no end, and when Poison snaps back into Hadriel's scenery it's with little more than a softly indrawn breath of shock.
She doesn't move from where she is for a long while, dropped to her knees in the middle of a cold, empty street, her face pale and her wide eyes shining with unshed tears.]
poison. | ota
There are efforts, of course, to quickly find another human to draw into the Phaerie Realms and set up in the position of the Hierophant. Poison can only watch as Fleet and the other Archivists are sent out into the already crumbling Realm of Man, but they could never be fast enough. She watches Aelthar, Asinastra, Pariasa and all the other Realm's leaders come together as the walls around them become steadily more translucent and they grow sickly and weak. She watches Peppercorn crying on Bram's shoulder, while he assures her that there's no way, no chance that Poison would have simply left them like this.
That they'll find her. They'll find her.
But they don't find her, and without her, everything begins to end.
A world without Poison does not end on a bang, or even a whimper, but a slow, desperate fading like a painting left too long in the sun. It bleaches out to a white canvas, a nothingness with no end, and when Poison snaps back into Hadriel's scenery it's with little more than a softly indrawn breath of shock.
She doesn't move from where she is for a long while, dropped to her knees in the middle of a cold, empty street, her face pale and her wide eyes shining with unshed tears.]