DamiRae Oneshots

Oh, Brother. (Part Eleven!)

Had to publish again because apparently I can't have more than 25 tags! >:(

Oh, well.
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The room was dark. Not the type of dark that engulfs a room when you simply turn off a light, no.

Shadows stretched and wavered from the corners of the mossy stone walls. Was it stone? Raven couldn't tell. It was too dark for her to rightfully guess. She looked around herself, and found that her legs were deep into the water. Wait, was it water? It was a liquid, no doubt. But it wasn't clear. Murky in its depths and... thick like mud.

She then heard screaming. It shot to her ears as clear as the crack of dawn. She tried to whirl around, but tripped over herself as she did so and fell.

She hit the water with a splash and sank into the depths. It was cold.

Too cold.

Colder than the breeze of winter.

She tried to move — tried to swim up. She needed to find out who was screaming. Was it Damian? Was it her? Who?

But she was stuck in place. No flail of her arms and legs worked in granting her movement. It was as though she was stuck in one point of time — but only she was the one moving.

Her chest burned, crying out for oxygen. Her throat was giving out. She closed her eyes shut, praying for this to be over.

And she let go.

When she opened her eyes she found herself face to face with Damian. She looked around in bewilderment. What the hell was going on? A blink ago she was drowning, now she was standing in front of —

She snapped her head at Damian who was chained to shadows that wavered behind him. His face was bright, as if a light was shone on him that only she could see.

And her breath hitched.

Damian's face was drenched. His black hair was wet against his olive face. His left eye was bruised shut and bleeding.

Blood trickled slowly down from his nose and mouth.

He was sputtering out water from his mouth as his chest rose and lowered with each gasp of breath. He coughed up more liquid — darker than ink — and chuckled.

"You're going to have to do better than that if you want me to talk, asshole." His voice echoey. As if it was there... but not at the same exact time.

Raven reeled back. Who was he talking to? Was it her? She tried to touch his face, let him know that she was here. Here with him. She lifted her hand to cup his face, but to her sadness it went through. It was as though she were a ghost.

She blinked.

And found herself watching the scene before her transpire like an audience member to some sickening play: Damian chained tightly to the shadows, while he stared in front of him. She tried to match his line of sight, but didn't see anyone within the room.

Wait. A movement. It was subtle, but it was there. She squinted into the darkness.

A silhouette.

She couldn't tell who; it grew and shrank like an image reflected from one of those funny mirrors at carnivals. The silhouette wasn't a person of flesh and bone... more of a jumble of wisps that were woven together to make a shape.

It stepped further, and its speech was masqueraded by screeches and scratches like a broken record player. Could she only see and hear Damian clearly?