![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
puppetstringOichi sleeps in her coffin. She does not fight against it. She just sleeps, the cool stone under her body never warming and her body chilled. She is content to lay in that comforting darkness. Waiting for her strength to return and for her friend to come back; the hell hands aren't with her, they are gone away. But they come back after a while, creeping forth through the darkness and joining in her shadow. They reattach, slotting in as though dislocated.
It's then that she stands and smashes through the walls of her sarcophagus. With the tiniest gesture of her flesh fingers, the shadow hands follow and do as they have been told. She does not smile, but she laughs, stepping out unsteadily. She sways as though she doesn't know how to stand, and the hands steady her. She leaves the room, coming to the spring.
She sits by it and dips her hands in to drink, the dark shadowy hands holding her hair back so it doesn't slip into the water. And after she has quenched her thirst she wanders the place, hands running along the worn stone, humming a lullaby to herself.
It's then that she stands and smashes through the walls of her sarcophagus. With the tiniest gesture of her flesh fingers, the shadow hands follow and do as they have been told. She does not smile, but she laughs, stepping out unsteadily. She sways as though she doesn't know how to stand, and the hands steady her. She leaves the room, coming to the spring.
She sits by it and dips her hands in to drink, the dark shadowy hands holding her hair back so it doesn't slip into the water. And after she has quenched her thirst she wanders the place, hands running along the worn stone, humming a lullaby to herself.
