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The Opposite End of Shallow

The Opposite End of Shallow

The truth has always been that here in the darkness, color is a weakness. Too many creatures have evolved into sentience, a most predatory and terrible sentience to boot, their being unaffected by color, able to lie in waiting.

To lie in waiting, in the pitch black of the Abyss.

You could say that I am afflicted with color. Those of us who are had a bioluminescent glow, or pulse, or shriek that even us, in the pitch of black our entire life, can see it clearly.

Those of us who are afflicted with this weakness have heard tale of something far deeper in the dark than many of us are willing to venture. There is a shallow end to this world, you see. But she has never been seen here in the shallows.

She has only ever been heard.

They say for the one who happened to be spotted at the wrong time by the wrong sets of eyes, a woman, with a voice that drips with a sweet and sultry venom, whispers sweet nothings in your ears.

Some have said she actually whispers two languages at once, one that speaks to the mind and one underneath, to the instincts, and it is the instincts she betrays.

Regadless, those who have heard her voice slide into their ears has wound up wandering towards the deep, where the dark is so thick you can hardly breathe, never to return.

One afflicted friend of mine has said he managed to escape.

He said that the most lovely voice he ever heard disarmed him. That he was immediately willing to go anywhere she wanted. He said she lures you into the darkest, most secluded little corner she can find, and trap you in her web.

She feasts on you as though the excruciating pain is a flavor of the meal. As though to hurt something, for her, was an aesthetically pleasing experience.

She would wrap you tight in a web you could not see, but could feel, securing your arms and legs, and leaving you just enough room to breathe and scream.

Then, she starts with the toes. She gnaws on them, slowly, works her way down to the stubs.

Then, the fingers. Then, the feet. Then, the hands.

You see where this is going, right?

She does this, feasts, chews, and crunches on your limbs until she has drained all the aesthetic pleasure from the moment that she can.

Then, and only then, what feel like an infinite flurry of knives stab into your neck, and begin from there to procedurely tear you apart.

Then she licks up all the blood and swallows all the bones.

All of this is all quite alarming to me, as you can imagine, being afflicted and all. In fact, I’m utterly terrified. Because, thing is? I have a huge problem.

You see, I can hear a beautifully sweet voice whispering softly in my ear.

And to my horror, I’ve realized I cannot resist her.