In the oceans of the world below there was thought, there Mira contemplated the name in which she could not escape, why on earth would anyone think to name her? The water washed over her in milky waves and as often it does her mind began to wander back to times long left to ash in the worlds of Gods and Legend. Then Mira watched from the sidelines taking the form of a mountain Nymph who they called Echo, she used her time in this form to spin wild tales for the jealous Goddess Hera who in all reality was a Designer herself but these were days beyond the logic of their kind and Hera was a character this Designer played well. Echo had entertained the Goddess and many others of her kind, workers who had no knowledge of her true creed. She had once spun magic into the very air, but once Hera took her voice she began to forget the joy of verbal creation and headed back to the sky. Now the world says Echo fell in love with a beautiful youth, and was lost by his vanity, she pays no mind to the tale as she knows no love save that of creation.
In the dark depths of the ocean Mira laid watching the prehistoric beast of long ago pass by her eyes, once, she thought, my name was Echo and now… Mira? She was no longer relaxed, images flooded her vision and the ocean became a consuming screen of visual delight, irritation grew thick under her skin, centuries died and rose anew with moments passing before her eyes, a moment with no meaning. Mira she thought over and over again until falling victim to a most beautiful creature. In her turmoil she failed to notice the giant expecting mother creep behind her. To miss such a thing was beyond a simple folly. The whale consumed her in one elegant gulp and in its stomach she waded through the mass of fluid, drenched in its digestive muck. “Wonderful” she sighed as the creature bellowed moving toward the surface “just wonderful” as her skin began to ach and her eyes water from the overwhelming odor she thought of the consequences of allowing the stomach to consume her, but in the end turned to vapor rising from the beast gullet.
The state of vapor is an existence to be envied it seemed; there are little to no thoughts as her consciousness spanned over the open air mixing with ocean mist and the exhale of the giant. Perhaps the molecules resonated I should remain this way. The only conflict would be the lack of consistent thought and thus the inability to create consistent matter, but what would be the use in attempting to create in any form she had already become stagnate. As her essence floated to the heavens she felt the unmistakable presence of peril but unable to clearly see in her state she formed a new. A quick form of a bird a creature mastered by her kind in the early days, as soon as eyes formed she knew she had made a mistake, not peril at all, simply Kale watching the world from a cloud low in the sky.
Kale smiled at her, though she had not thought he noticed her, with a monstrous grin, not a common form in the least, a demon perhaps? His body was painted in black fur, clawed limbs, and the unmistakable snarl of a captive wolf; he was what nightmares were made of. Kale dashed in her direction before the poor bird could escape “Ello there little sparrow.” the sound came as a growl but the noise was understood all the same, the wickedness of Kale finding its way into her making certain nothing was lost in translation.
Hello, Kale. He snatched at her body far too quickly taking her into his grip with ease. The struggle was short lived.
“I hear you wandered, dance, and failed at oblivion.” the beast began pulling her matter forming a new body. The pain was overwhelming as he crafted for her another shell. Attempting to scream out for her counterpart she failed he took hold of the sound and laughed. “Don’t fight it dearest sister, I only aim to show the truth.” Kale had once been revered as the creator of religion and the idea of truth on the Earth, but once he tired of his existence and failed to reach oblivion he became known as the creator of nightmares, he was a powerful mind one of the great Designers who could take a formed matter and pull out the true essence within. Silencing herself she left him to work over her, she was not strong enough to find release, he had set himself to his work and no one could separate them.
Echo. She thought as he dropped her to the cloud beneath her, he’s made me Echo…
“Sal spoke to me of your dance in the star, I only wish you had succeeded.” and with those words he was gone, as though he had never existed. Leaving her writhing in pain, vulnerable, exposed and lifeless.
She remained there just about the ocean still within the confines of atmosphere feeling empty and broken, the only crime ever thought within their kind was thought by Kale, the feeling of vulnerability was his alone and he left Mira now Echo crying on his cloud. Her counter found her unmoving what seemed decades later to her his soft arms lifted her from her coffin and took her far from the Earth. My dear counter, why would you not call for me? I cannot express the amount of guilt I feel… leaving you to his hands. His comforting words did little for her and the memory grew thick behind her eyes. His claws dancing within her being pulling bones apart, ripping out her bird heart and tossing it aside, he had taken all as a puzzle and recreated another picture, he left her with raven hair, a supple body, and the eyes of a mountain nymph. He had touched deep within the confines of her character and molested the flesh with his own.
He left her voiceless as Hera had and all the while memories of those days returned to her. There was emptiness when Hera stole her voice, as she took far more than sound. She took the ability to create a story with the magic she once had, for decades after she would remain unable to produce anything worthy of awe it was not until her counter returned the piece of matter Hera had stolen that she became whole once more. Kale had stolen nothing, but the mere memory of those days took her light. Designers were meant to form and create, not be created. Their matter was their own and all seemed wise not to place themselves in one another’s grip, Kale, he had done more than the horrid Hera ever could. She ripped Echo’s tongue from her mouth but Kale, Kale, had ripped away much more.
They call it… rape below, don’t they? When another person….
Don’t give the act a name; it will only give it power. What Kale has done is tragic and wrong, but do not give that animal the satisfaction he craves. This must be the work of Salmascus, for whatever purpose ne is using Kale to get to you he thought with much certainty. All knew that Salmascus could be vicious given the opportunity and when for whatever the reason ne desired something ne would never act alone and Kale was usually her partner once having been her counter.