“Out of all the creatures, it had to be you,” she murmured. When she had taken the plunge, fallen into another world, another plane beyond her own, she had met him: Druzi. He was the pale thing, the thing straight from stupid fiction books, things not truly imagined to their full potential . . . The things with that horrific potential that go along ignored, purposely, for commercial gain.
She had fallen into his hell, and all he could do was stare at her. She was lying on the ground, mocking him with her advanced freedom, with her evolved life. Oh, how he hated her for it.
And the way she talked, as if she knew him from a dream. He wanted to scratch her eyes out, peel the skin away from her face, all for her ignorance. Damn. One would almost assume that he had oozed out of some dead white man’s imagination from the way that she went on. It was odd though, he realized, for she had never said a word at all–really. All she had done was appear.
Just like a confused ghost. Druzi was at a loss for words, not that he talked much to begin with. Sometimes he wish he did, if only for a real reason for his own brethren to shut him up, beat him down, torture him, belittle him. The part of him that was human wanted to ask her: what is it like to be alive?
The rest of him wanted her to become one with the dust.
By the look on her face, he knew that he would fight her to the bitter end. And he knew, without a doubt, that she would take her own life before she ever let him win. He was a bastard, a lowly one at that, a fact that he knew too well. There was a weight to her words, one that she didn’t understand herself.
All the same, she would come to understand the true meaning of horror. Not the commercial kind; the true, gritty, unfiltered kind of horror.
He took solace in that.
While he did that, she steeled her nerves for what would come. She was, after all, a lion-hearted woman; there were no damns to give, it was all or nothing, now or never . . . That creature would not win, she promised.