It rose before her, like a leviathan breaching its head above the ocean, black steel scraping its way up through red desert sand. After a few moments she could no longer see the top. It screeched to a halt not long after, a new, giant structure only a mile away. The hot, desert wind continued to ravage what skin of hers was exposed.
“That’s impossible,” she murmured, squinting her eyes against the assault of wind; her long, blond hair was as wild as a flame on her head.
As she continued to look, the orange-brown sky seemed to part slightly, the image of the sun—or maybe the moon—appearing. Gazing down at the parched, desolate landscape.
The structure in front of her eyes, too, had changed slightly. It now resembled a very familiar-looking tower, gray in color. A tower she had very recent memories of.
Wind screaming past her face—the ground rushing towards her—the sun, beaming brilliantly—she had no more rope or grappling equipment, though her hands searched anyway as she fell—
Reaper shivered, coming back to the orange-red landscape with a blink; the rushing ground disappeared from view.
All at once, the temperature seemed freezing cold.
“I’m not dead,” she told the wind. “I’m not dead! I’m here! I’m still alive!”
The wind continued to scream its wordless cacophony—the tower continued to loom. Reaper swallowed a scream of her own.
(Source: velvetdemon.net)
