The Unseen [Labyrinth]

[Zora Hendrix]

It’s so dark, was all she could think. And it was; The darkness stretched out before her in swirls of graded depths, lapping at her feet like waves. It’s dark, she thought again, trying to look down at her paws. But there was nothing there in the inky blackness, a blackness that seemed to swallow her whole. Probably just a dream.


She’d had dreams like this before, plenty of times. She was pretty sure everyone did. Or maybe she’d just seen it in the movies. But this time she wasn’t floating in the void that seemed simultaneously empty and filled to the brim -- this time she could feel her feet firmly planted, feel the grit and dirt in between her toes. She wriggled her toes in the cool sand, enjoying the feel of it on her calloused feet. She felt her body moving, felt the muscles in her neck and spine twinge as she craned her head to look anywhere, everywhere, in an attempt to see (or even sense) something, anything. Her own pulse was a drumline in her ears, as if she could hear the blood as it rushed through her veins with an almost deafening roar; she even felt the pulsing heat in her fingertips.


Wait. Fingertips?


Zora blinked and held her paws out in front of her, or she thought she did. It’s too dark to see, she thought again. Thank you, Brigadier General Obvious. Think, Zora. Think. You don’t have fingertips, not anymore, or toes. At least, not like you used to. They’re still there, I guess, just different. Uglier. Harder to use. At least you still have an opposable thumb. Maybe you’re more human than you think? Nah. You’re half hare, half caribou and all Haribou. Remember? Think. Think about something besides “it’s dark.” Maybe it’s not as dark as you think. Or maybe it is. I don’t know. I’m your subconscious or something, so I can’t really /see/ anything. But I guess I know things you don’t. Or things you do know, but you’re scared to admit you know. How meta is that?


She touched her fingers to her cheek, shocked to find it smooth, silken to the touch. There was no thick, brown fur, no wiry whiskers to tickle her hand. She rubbed her equally smooth, furless hands all over her face, searching for any signs of the usual thick fur that plagued her. Instead she felt plump lips, a rounded, normal nose -- to the side she felt ears, ears shaped like a person’s ears, with weird lobes and all! It wasn’t possible. Was she human again?


Zora felt for the curved, sharp antlers that had grown from her skull, or for the long, thin ears of the hare. Her trembling hands felt only a pouf of hair, not fur, but actual hair. Her hair. The texture was so familiar and yet so foreign; Memory had become tangible, but not visible. Just a dream. It had to be a dream. There was nothing else to explain it. The depths, the roaring of her blood, the feel of a face and skin and hair of a person who had stopped existing so long ago … A dream. An impossible, desperate dream.


She blinked and suddenly the world was blinding white, the pitch veil shattering, falling away in a billion fragments and raining down around her like obsidian glass. She screamed, afraid they would slice through her flesh. But no harm came to her, and she realized she was standing in the sun, feet planted on a patch of dirt and moss in the cobblestoned streets of the Nakoma, the brick-laid homes towering above her. Her home. She stared down at her hands, her ten smooth fingers, her flat, rounded nails. She examined the lines on her palm, tracing them as she had done as a child.


She heard a voice, then, sharp and demanding, asking her who she was. She recognized the voice, and as she blinked away the blinding sun, she could make out his form, green scales glinting in the bright light.


“Pax?” She said. “Pax!” She exclaimed, letting out a loud laugh, a mixture of surprise and joy. “It’s me! I don’t know how, but, look!” She said and held out both her hands to him, wriggling all ten of her normal fingers at him. She even stuck out one foot for good measure, giving her toes a good wiggle. “This is some befok shit, right?”


She saw his eyes narrow a degree, his lips press into a snarl. His long, snake-like fangs flashed at her as he let out a deep, chilling hiss, his forked tongue flicking out and tasting the air, trying to scent her. She took a step back, knowing what that meant. Pax thought she was an enemy. A woman slowly materialized from behind Paxton’s serpentine frame, staying his hand as he reached for his knife. Zephyr!


“Zeph. It’s me. Zora! I know this sounds crazy. I know I look different. But they -- they changed me back! I don’t know how ... I mean, do we ever know how the hell the White Coats do this to us? But the scientists must be up to their old tricks --”


Zephyr raised a slim, clawed hand and Zora fell silent, her mouth still parted slightly. Zephyr’s light green eyes were a fixed, blazing glare, and suddenly she had a bow in her hands with an arrow nocked and pointed at Zora’s throat. “I don’t know who you are. But you’re definitely not Zora.”


“Not Zor … What? Zephyr. C’mon. You lot are takin’ the piss. This is some prank to get back at me for putting that itch weed in Pax’s hat, right? That was like a week ago!" she said with a half-hearted laugh, somewhat frantic in her efforts. "And look, his hair’s almost grown back in! Still a little patchy but, I mean, Hallie’d still kiss him, I bet. And besides, we’re best mates. You know me. Just ‘cause I don’t have the big ears … Well, okay I still have big ears. Thanks, Dad, am I right?”

Shut up, dumbass! You're blabbering like an idiot. They don’t recognize you. You have to run.


No. I won’t run, not from them. They’re my family.


No, they’re not. Your family is dead. You are the only one left. Your mother sacrificed herself, so too your father, your aunt, your sister. You fed off her spirit, her soul, stole her strength so that you could live.


I know. I know all that.


These people are not your family. They are not of your flesh and of your blood.


No. They’re my heart and soul. I would die without them.


The two of them stepped forward, Pax with his knife drawn, Zephyr with her bowstring taut and arrow ready to let fly. Zora saw the look in her eyes that she had only ever seen directed at the enemy, the threat of death and rage blazing in them, emanating in waves of what felt like actual fire. It burned her soft, furless skin and she reeled back in pain as her skin blistered from the invisible heat. “I … Please, guys. It’s me. It’s Zora. You’re my family. You have to believe me.” She felt hot tears streaking down her cheeks, too distracted to revel in the strange feeling she had so long yearned for.


“Zora is gone. You’re an imposter, a spy.” Pax hissed, spitting on the ground at her bare, human feet. Zephyr said nothing, her only expression that of her lip curled up in a grinning snarl. And then she let fly her arrow, and Zora felt it before it hit her square in the shoulder. She flew backwards, the arrow seeming to burn a hole straight through her as the heat spread. Pax and Zephyr were shouting at her to leave, and as she stumbled to her bare feet she felt Pax’s knife slice down her back, cutting through her clothes, flaying her soft, dark skin from her back. She knew she was screaming but she couldn’t hear it above their cacophony of roars and shouts, so loud they seemed to echo and rattle in her skull, so loud she could feel the vibrations of their horrendous screams in her teeth, in her bones.


She knew she was bleeding, knew she had to find safety. But she couldn’t outrun them. She couldn’t escape the two people she trusted most in the world. She felt another arrow, another cut of the knife. She tried to run but her soft, bare feet slipped on the blood-slick cobblestones. Another voice rang out. Persephone! Seph! Zora tried to form the words but couldn’t speak around the blood in her mouth. But Persephone only wailed, a horrible, shrieking moan that hit her like a wall of volcanic wind, the skin on her face blistering and cracking from the heat. Zora could hear nothing but their cries, feel nothing but the scorching fire, see nothing but the darkness descending on her again. She tried to call out, to scream, to cry, anything -- but she couldn't make a sound around the blood filling her mouth. Her skin was slick and slippery with blood, and she ran her fingers over her smooth, furless, blood-slick cheeks as the chaos and darkness swallowed her whole.

It’s so dark, was all she could think. She blinked, or she thought she did, and suddenly she was staring out at the sea, the waves crashing on the cliffs far below. She held her hands out in front of her, wriggling all ten of her soft, silken fingers. She felt the slick warmth of tears as they rolled down her cheeks. She could hear their screams behind her, feel the heat of their hate even now at her back. She stared out at bay, and it seemed to beckon her with its cool breeze. She yearned to feel the waves lapping at her feet, feel the salty water against her skin, the seaweed tickling at her toes, the memories of a person who was long since gone. The wind whispered in her ears as she let the cool water sink into her bones, soothing and soft as it drew her under. “It’s so dark,” was all she could think to say as the salty water filled her lungs and she let the darkness and the quiet envelop her. “Then turn on the damn light!”





ooc| befok = zulu slang for "crazy, mad"


will add table later!

[Zephyr Woodwind]

What had gotten into that Haribou? Zephyr panted as she dashed along the Carna Ring’s ridge. The rocky territory was difficult for event the most nimble shifters, or anthros, like herself, and still she could not seem to make up the distance between her and her friend. It didn’t help much that one of Zora’s steps was at least two of her own; it wasn’t often that someone made Zephyr feel especially short, but her antlered best friend did regularly. She held no grudge, however; of course she cared about Zora, or she wouldn’t have followed her into the heart of enemy territory. What was boggling Zephyr’s mind was why the hell was she all the way out here? Her mutations weren’t exactly subtle… if any Carna caught her, Zora would be dead. Already Zephyr had dodged the scouts patrolling the border when she crossed, thanking the keepers for her ability to dart up the side of a building to lose them. “What have you gotten yourself into?” she hissed quietly, as Zora’s scent became stronger. They were high up on the cliffs now, and Zephyr could hardly stomach her nerves. Just being in Carna territory made her skin crawl; one of the reasons she never condoned raiding them. She wanted absolutely nothing to do with the bloodthirsty Ring. Only the news that a dazed-looking Zora had been seen wandering in the Carna Ring’s general direction could get her to venture here. If anything happened to that silly bunny girl, Zephyr would never forgive herself. It was only another minute or so until she finally caught sight of her. “Zora!” She called, seeing the antlered form teetering on the edge of the cliffs. But there was no answer, and suddenly she was over the edge. For a moment, Zephyr was frozen with shock, her mouth hanging open. And then the screamed. “Zora, no!” She cried, and ran full-speed over the edge after her, without even taking a look at what waited over the edge. Luckily enough for the both of them, there were no bone-crushing or razor-sharp rocks below. Instead, they plunged into the deep, dark churning waters of the Carna bay. Zephyr struggled under the waves, her heavy tail weighing her down. She struggled to try and find Zora and had to surface a few times before she finally found the haribou floating still beneath her. Zephyr dove down and wrapped her arms around Zora’s middle and dragged her back up to the surface. “It’s…going to… be okay,” she said through heavy breaths as she swam desperately for shore, dragging Zora with her. After what seemed like ages, they washed up on a shallow strip of beach away from the docks. Zephyr stood on shaky legs and dragged the unresponsive Zora up the sand. She collapsed nearly on top of her, pushing a gush of water out of the other anthro’s mouth. “Wake.. up!” Zephyr begged quietly, weakly shaking Zora with what strength she had left. She shivered on the dark beach, feeling helpless as she lay next to her friend. Her white hair clung to her in wet strings, her chest was heaving from the effort of her rescue, and both of their fur was slicked to their skin so they looked small and frail. This is not how Zephyr had wanted to spend her evening.

[Zora Hendrix]

“Then turn on the damn light and wake up!”


"F...Farai?" came her weak, shaken voice through a sputter of brackish water and a mighty cough. She could’ve sworn she heard her twin's voice. But that wasn’t possible. Farai had died years ago. ”I’m dead, aren’t I?” Zora wheezed, staring up at the glass-warped stars above them. “No. I can see the Walls. Alive, then. Bald as a naked mole rat’s arse, but alive,” she said with a weak, stuttering laugh. Maybe … maybe it had been a dream after all. She looked down at her arms and legs, letting out a hoarse cry when she saw her hands and feet; no paws, no fur. She could still feel the burns on her skin from Zephyr and Pax and Persephone. And now Farai had saved her, brought her back so she could suffer through this again. She couldn't bring herself to look at Farai, afraid of what she would see. Would she see her face reflected back at her, before the dome, before the tests? She hadn't seen that face in years, too many years. Or would she see that twisted, twitching, half mutated face the last time she'd ever seen her sister breathing? No. She didn't dare look.


“Why didn’t you just let me go, Farai?” she rasped, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t go through this again. Kash could barely look at me after I came back an anthro. Now Pax, Persephone … Zephyr. They don’t believe I’m me. They thought I was the enemy, Farai. Just because I’m the old me.” Zora wheezed. “I can’t lose them like I lost you, or Kash, or mom and dad. Not again." She let out a shuddering gasp, realizing she could feel the sand and shells poking into her back. Farai had really saved her. Jumped in the freezing water, dragged her to shore. What was the point, though? She had no one else. And now she was talking to a ghost. "You should’ve just let me go."

[Zephyr Woodwind]

Zephyr let out a sigh of relief as Zora sputtered back to life and began to speak. She rolled over onto her back and lay splayed out in the sand, just grateful that the Haribou hadn’t done anything that got them killed. She still wasn’t making any sense however, and Zephyr pulled herself into a sitting position with a grunt. “What are you talking about, Zo?” She asked, reaching over and taking Zora’s paw in her hand. “It’s me, it’s Zephyr,” she said again, when she heard her name mentioned. The rest was sort of nonsense to her, except for the fact that Zora was scared of whatever had driven her here. “You won’t lose anyone, I’m here,” she tried to reassure the distraught anthro through her own confusion. “C’mon, let’s get you sitting up,” she suggested, helping Zora sit. Her eyes still seemed to be glazed over with fear and emotion that didn’t seem to have a source Zephyr could recognize. She felt the concern gnawing at her gut, but felt helpless so do anything. How could she help Zora when she couldn’t find out what was wrong? How would they get safely back to the Nakoma through Carna territory with Zora completely out of her mind? “This is….not ideal.”

[Zora Hendrix]

Her body wasn't her own, not anymore; really, it had long ceased being her own body. The scientists had taken any autonomy she'd once had. Well, it felt like it sometimes. But she would not so easily give them that, for it was giving them power absolute. They controlled almost every aspect of her life -- her family, her capture, her confinement, even her DNA, what they thought made her who she was, they tried to control even that. But she wouldn't let the Keepers have everything.


Well, she'd try, anyway. Or die trying.

Farai's voice had faded into a blur, muttering something about not "losing anyone" and "being here." Tears pricked at her eyes again and she couldn't stop them from spilling over, and she took a shaky breath. They took Farai from her. Now they were giving her back? Could they even do that?

No. No. No. This was a dream.

Wake up. Wake up. Just turn on the damned light and wake up already!


She felt hands on hers, one resting on the small of her back to help her sit up. She struggled, her body still lancing with burns and arrow wounds, aching with protest at every slow movement. She winced, the tears dripping from the tip of her nose onto the loose pebbles on the beach, mingling with the salty brine of the bay as it lapped up between them.

"This is ... not ideal."

"Tell me about it," she rasped, wrapping her fingers around Farai's, squeezing as tight as she could. "I'm talkin' to a ghost." She said with an attempt at a laugh, but it turned into a half-choked sob, hunched over their clasped hands, rocking slowly to and fro. If this really was Farai, if she was really alive, there was no way she was going to let go of her. Not again.

It was a moment before she regained herself, and the urgency of Farai's words reached her. "Where the hell are we, anyway? Why does it smell like dead fish and old socks?" Realization dawned on her as she licked her lips, tasted the salty water, ran the loose shells and pebbles through her fingers. "Aw, shit. Jesus Heather Christ ... Don't tell me we're in the Carna." She stared down at Farai's hand, a near-perfect mirror of her own, but still refusing to even look in her direction. The cold began to set in, then, or maybe it had been all along but she'd been too upset to notice. She shivered, for once regretting that she didn't have her fur to keep her warm. How had she even gotten here? All she could remember was the darkness, then being chased from the light, from the Nakoma, from her home; and then, Farai.

She turned to look at Farai in degrees, but she could feel the heat licking at her skin before she made eye contact; it wasn't Farai. The hand wrapped in her own felt like it was covered in flames, and when she finally met the eyes of what she thought was Farai, they were not the warm brown eyes she expected. They were green, sharp, feral, seething with distrust. "No," Zora rasped, her palm blistering from the heat of Zephyr's touch. She wrenched herself free and scrabbled in the sand and shells, trying to get away. "No!" She shouted, and feeling the invisible waves of heat roiling from Zephyr in terrible, burning waves, she scrambled on hands and knees towards the water, wanting only to escape the flames, the pain, the burning reality that her best friend was trying to kill her.