Post by Cassandra Salvatore on Aug 30, 2007 8:37:54 GMT -5
(For those curious she is in a hotel in sub-artic Russia)
Enyo was lost into the dizzying vestiges of images, memories that had assaulted her mind, taking over her senses and much of her awareness. And yet, she was somewhat concious - she was aware of the almost overwhelming cold that had crept into her bones, and than the level minded actions of her spirtual advisor, the heat that stole back into her body underneath the mound of clothe that acted to warm her up. She knew someone was there, someone watched her, cared for her through this threat of hypothermia - and somewhere in her mind niggled that it was Sashanka Rasputin. The self delivered poison had struck on the Thursday, the potion that had been long awaited since October of the year before, nearly seven full months since her break-out from St Mungo's. She understood that it was slowed dued to the troubles concerning Dante and Lauren, the potion master had done the best she could in the acquisition and the brewing assisted by her friend- and for the matter, none of them knows what the effect of this volatile potion would be, how it would act.
But the goal is simple. Bring back Voldemort. And it hadn't worked. Not in the way they expected. It may be the Wizarding worlds 'Successful Failure'. Here she was lost in the vertigo of scenes, so many playing out at once, the memories that the smallest elements that this potion holds was releasing into her bloodstream, into her mind, thoughts, scents, tastes, all of it released for Enyo, and as much at once as possible. Her body ached, while her mind was in full torture, trying to comprehend, see the messages in the hallucinary visions that was raping the concious sense out of her mind in that moment. It would take her days to lift from this assault, the shadow of the soul of another person being forced upon her, into her mind, her soul torn and rebounded. She would lay there in his semiconcious state, unaware of who or where she is, her mind working to its furthest limit to cope, adjust and accept. They failed in bringing him back... yet she was not dead yet. That would no silver lining for London when she returned to settle the score
Enyo was lost into the dizzying vestiges of images, memories that had assaulted her mind, taking over her senses and much of her awareness. And yet, she was somewhat concious - she was aware of the almost overwhelming cold that had crept into her bones, and than the level minded actions of her spirtual advisor, the heat that stole back into her body underneath the mound of clothe that acted to warm her up. She knew someone was there, someone watched her, cared for her through this threat of hypothermia - and somewhere in her mind niggled that it was Sashanka Rasputin. The self delivered poison had struck on the Thursday, the potion that had been long awaited since October of the year before, nearly seven full months since her break-out from St Mungo's. She understood that it was slowed dued to the troubles concerning Dante and Lauren, the potion master had done the best she could in the acquisition and the brewing assisted by her friend- and for the matter, none of them knows what the effect of this volatile potion would be, how it would act.
But the goal is simple. Bring back Voldemort. And it hadn't worked. Not in the way they expected. It may be the Wizarding worlds 'Successful Failure'. Here she was lost in the vertigo of scenes, so many playing out at once, the memories that the smallest elements that this potion holds was releasing into her bloodstream, into her mind, thoughts, scents, tastes, all of it released for Enyo, and as much at once as possible. Her body ached, while her mind was in full torture, trying to comprehend, see the messages in the hallucinary visions that was raping the concious sense out of her mind in that moment. It would take her days to lift from this assault, the shadow of the soul of another person being forced upon her, into her mind, her soul torn and rebounded. She would lay there in his semiconcious state, unaware of who or where she is, her mind working to its furthest limit to cope, adjust and accept. They failed in bringing him back... yet she was not dead yet. That would no silver lining for London when she returned to settle the score
