[ The water is rising and some part of Alan's mind registers that gentle touch at the back of his neck, but something else is trying to drown it out. A parade of images flashes before the writer's eyes and he visibly recoils from each one as if he's being struck by invisible blows.
Blink.
Alice turns and stares through hollow eyes at something in the distance, knowing that dramatic gestures were never her cup of tea, but if this is going to be her last act, it's going to be dramatic simply by virtue of what it is. Now, her fate is in her own hands, and this is going to be done on her terms.
A cliff lies just in front of her, and beneath it is a lake. Or is it an ocean? She turns to face the cliff, and slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, she walks off the cliff.
"You lose, Scratch."
Blink.
Scratch's face twists into an ugly smirk as a bizarre light of triumph flares in his eyes. A figure lies huddled on the floor, light brown hair framing her face as she lies there, unmoving and far too still.
"I win. I always win in the end. I would have preferred to make you mine, but now neither of us can have you."
Blink.
"I win again, and I'm going to just keep on winning until I've taken everything from you."
Another figure lies on the ground, face hidden by locks of flaming red hair. Scratch's expression is uglier now but more elated as he revels in what will surely cause the poor, unfortunate, lost writer more misery.
"You should never have challenged me. I win every time."
A thud, louder this time, sounds again as Alan's fists hit the floor. He's bent over now, still on his knees, but his fists are grinding into the floorboards and he's staring at them with wild eyes. ]
｟ Alan Wake. ｠
[ Alan startles, because he knows that tone. He knows that nudging feeling, that tug pulling him away from his numb, shellshocked grief. He sees a hand reaching for him, just waiting for him to reach out and take it. ]
｟ Alan. ｠
Help me. [ The words are clear; not loud, not shattering the silence of the Writer's Room, but they're there. ]
｟ Come home. ｠
Please, help me. [ The darkness stirs and lurches, sensing an intrusion into its realm. Polaris is an unwanted presence, an interloper, and interlopers need to be driven out. It wants to keep Alan pressed down: drowning, despairing, about to give up, but Alan has other ideas even though that grief is still clinging to him like a cloak. A vein pops out on his neck as he fights the darkness that's pressing down on him, trying to force himself back up into a kneeling position.
His gaze shifts from the floorboards to the door with the spiral on it. He feels that pull, that tug drawing his attention to the door. Why?
He doesn't hear an answer, but he sees that glimmer of light, that curious geometric pattern, and he knows the door is important. It's the door to his prison, but it's more than that. Something is behind the door and Polaris wants him to focus on it. Or maybe it's just her host that wants him to focus on it, but he's not in a position to pick apart nuances right now.
If he was capable of it, he'd feel something like hope springing up inside him, but the pressure from the darkness is stifling anything that he'd normally feel. He tries to stand, tries to push back against the force that's holding him down, and a muffled sound escapes him as he strains against the darkness that's doing its best to defeat him again.
He isn't strong enough to push against it, but he can crawl forward. Again, he lowers his hands to the ground, not to slam the floor in anger and despair, but to move towards the door. Something he needs is behind the door. Someone he needs, if he dares to hope for it. How will it help? Whoever's there can't breach the door. Alan doesn't know how it will help, but Polaris is guiding him to it for a reason. He has to get to the door.
His progress is slow, and he seems to move less than an inch at a time, but he keeps going. Keeps crawling on hands and knees until he finally gets there, finally presses his fingers against the wooden surface of the door.
no subject
Blink.
Alice turns and stares through hollow eyes at something in the distance, knowing that dramatic gestures were never her cup of tea, but if this is going to be her last act, it's going to be dramatic simply by virtue of what it is. Now, her fate is in her own hands, and this is going to be done on her terms.
A cliff lies just in front of her, and beneath it is a lake. Or is it an ocean? She turns to face the cliff, and slowly, putting one foot in front of the other, she walks off the cliff.
"You lose, Scratch."
Blink.
Scratch's face twists into an ugly smirk as a bizarre light of triumph flares in his eyes. A figure lies huddled on the floor, light brown hair framing her face as she lies there, unmoving and far too still.
"I win. I always win in the end. I would have preferred to make you mine, but now neither of us can have you."
Blink.
"I win again, and I'm going to just keep on winning until I've taken everything from you."
Another figure lies on the ground, face hidden by locks of flaming red hair. Scratch's expression is uglier now but more elated as he revels in what will surely cause the poor, unfortunate, lost writer more misery.
"You should never have challenged me. I win every time."
Blink. Blink... blinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblinkblink
A thud, louder this time, sounds again as Alan's fists hit the floor. He's bent over now, still on his knees, but his fists are grinding into the floorboards and he's staring at them with wild eyes. ]
｟ Alan Wake. ｠
[ Alan startles, because he knows that tone. He knows that nudging feeling, that tug pulling him away from his numb, shellshocked grief. He sees a hand reaching for him, just waiting for him to reach out and take it. ]
｟ Alan. ｠
Help me. [ The words are clear; not loud, not shattering the silence of the Writer's Room, but they're there. ]
｟ Come home. ｠
Please, help me. [ The darkness stirs and lurches, sensing an intrusion into its realm. Polaris is an unwanted presence, an interloper, and interlopers need to be driven out. It wants to keep Alan pressed down: drowning, despairing, about to give up, but Alan has other ideas even though that grief is still clinging to him like a cloak. A vein pops out on his neck as he fights the darkness that's pressing down on him, trying to force himself back up into a kneeling position.
His gaze shifts from the floorboards to the door with the spiral on it. He feels that pull, that tug drawing his attention to the door. Why?
He doesn't hear an answer, but he sees that glimmer of light, that curious geometric pattern, and he knows the door is important. It's the door to his prison, but it's more than that. Something is behind the door and Polaris wants him to focus on it. Or maybe it's just her host that wants him to focus on it, but he's not in a position to pick apart nuances right now.
If he was capable of it, he'd feel something like hope springing up inside him, but the pressure from the darkness is stifling anything that he'd normally feel. He tries to stand, tries to push back against the force that's holding him down, and a muffled sound escapes him as he strains against the darkness that's doing its best to defeat him again.
He isn't strong enough to push against it, but he can crawl forward. Again, he lowers his hands to the ground, not to slam the floor in anger and despair, but to move towards the door. Something he needs is behind the door. Someone he needs, if he dares to hope for it. How will it help? Whoever's there can't breach the door. Alan doesn't know how it will help, but Polaris is guiding him to it for a reason. He has to get to the door.
His progress is slow, and he seems to move less than an inch at a time, but he keeps going. Keeps crawling on hands and knees until he finally gets there, finally presses his fingers against the wooden surface of the door.
Now what? ]