Well I guess deep down that it was only going to be a matter of time before I brought my favorite charrie back from being figuratively stashed away in the attic... I think I was the only person who really missed her, but that's ok, because she does happen to be MINE. Anyways. This is a monologue RP, because there was no one around who I thought would be appropriate to have present when she woke up... no Dar ::sniffle:: Bleh. Go read.

Tiph Nightshade: ::A fine layer of dust had settled over the Manor, it's having been abjectly lifeless for close to two weeks. With Damain under the watchful eye of Nichollette, the Nightshade residence had been left to sit and wait, but for what, or whom, no one could say.::

Tiph Nightshade: ::And so things had grown strangely quiet, and still, the days passing with none around to stumble onto the disturbing scene. Large blood splatters and smudges scattered about had long since dried, now a thick, and yet strangely shining coating over a good portion of one pillar outside the front doors, and then the wandering trail about the great room and up the spiraling staircase. Dust blanketed even the tiny broken teeth that she had violently spit out of her mouth, and across the floor, despite a broken jaw.::

Tiph Nightshade: ::Tiphareth lay firmly wrapped in an unearthly structure, the thick black alien material had more than adequately served it's purpose; that being to protect the wounded hybrid as she began a slow, self healing process, after she'd wasted nearly every last bit if strength dragging herself up the stairs and to her's and Darrian's bedroom, where she collapsed on the floor, with an unnoticed and horrified Damian watching, lurking in the doorway behind her in silent stealth, and fear::

Tiph Nightshade: ::The cocoon like shape around the soldier was glowing an unnerving black, and pulsing now, near to the end of it's task, for she was soon to awaken. Over the past days her broken bones had set, her lacerations sealed themselves, a few alien organs in her "stomach" area, that had ruptured, had mended themselves as well. Even the few teeth that had gone missing had been replaced. Being part alien definitely had it's advantages, especially now. As far as outwardly, she was flawless once more, apart from the bruises still evident in a few places, which gave her previously milky white skin a greenish tinge::

Tiph Nightshade: ::The resilience her Jenova cells endowed her with was not always appreciated on her part. More times than a few she had cursed her origins, be it while wishing in vain to be able to get drunk, or for darker, worse things. Her motives for throwing herself at the floor were not meant to be understood by any, other then herself, and even then, it was only in part. Suffice it to say, she was not herself when deprived of Darrian, and when one was as prone to slip into insanity as her race was, apparently there was only so much she could endure before succumbing to methods of lessening one pain by inflicting another, even if that meant that it was directed at herself. Whatever else she may or may not have intended, she hadn't meant to kill herself. Even if she had, none knew better than she, how extremely difficult a task that was to accomplish.::

Tiph Nightshade: ::While her broken body had mended itself, her mind had reeled and spun, reveling in the all too familiar fever dreams, which were haunted by none other than her beloved. Visions of Darrian had played endlessly across the dreamscape of her subconscious, his ghostly, shadowy figure coming time and time again as vivid reenactments of their past had been acted out in her head; the very first encounter in the local tavern, the first wary and guarded words, the crack about his being a blood sucker that had earned her a kiss, in the vampiric sense of the word, as he'd pinned her to the floor, gently sunk his fangs into her neck, and helped himself to her Mako rich, shimmering sapphire blood.::

Tiph Nightshade: ::She'd donned a faint smile even as she'd slept and dreamed, remembering how she'd finally allowed herself to feel affection for him, and how affection had matured into love, and then intensified to the point of her caring so passionately for him, that she couldn't fathom her being without him ever again. The memories played in random order, their first kiss, his being "dead", her falling into despair, and then her unrivaled joy when he'd returned to her. Tender moments of them being wrapped up in each other, oblivious to all else in the filthy little tavern, which didn't seem to matter much at all anymore, their attentions so fully absorbed in the other, respectively. The first time he made love to her, how innocent, vulnerable, anxious she had been, and how he had sweetly, gently reassured her, and soothed it all away. The wedding, the engagement, his adorable anxiety, shaking hands, and unforgettable words as he slipped the ruby ring onto her finger, and asked her to spend eternity with him. In that perfect moment, unbeknownst to him perhaps, he had made her happy far above and beyond her most desperate and impossible dreams. Her heart had soared at the prospect of never being parted from him ever again; it was all she wanted, craved, hoped and prayed and longed for. The sweet surrender to fate, wondering offhand how she could have been so lucky to find someone who completed her, and complimented her complexities and tendencies. Where she was weak, he lent her strength, where she had flaws, he helped her to overcome them. Thoughts of him placing Damian into her awaiting hands, countless instances as he held her and soothed her as she cried, the encounter with Tay in the street outside the tavern, Damian's first word, ... it went on and on, and she was blissfully reliving all of it, when the moment meant for her to return to reality had come. She sat rigidly upright all of a sudden, clawing through the sable casing and gasping frantically for breath, the scraping, harsh sensation of cold air burning her lungs, which had been taking in nothing but pure clean Mako, inside of her cocoon for those twelve days. The shining liquid dripped off of her as she sat, chest heaving, willing her fuzzy mind to come back into focus as she blinked and hid her sensitive eyes from the unpleasant sun. The material was no longer rock solid, melting slowly into what resembled a black oil, and then seeping into the floor and disappearing. The excess Mako washed across the ground, fizzling and evaporating, a curious steam rising up in the process. She snapped her eyes back into focus and peered blindly about for all of two moments before things took shape once more, and she shoved back a Mako drenched mass of chestnut tresses, then trailing her fingertips gingerly over her bruised cheek.::

Tiph Nightshade: ::The state she found herself to be in was odd, emotionally. All of the dreams had vacated her and in their wake, had installed the sensation of someone having scraped a knife down the inside of her heart, leaving it clean, and too raw to touch. She shivered and got to her feet quickly, a bit shakily before forcing herself still and stoic, calling out softly, longingly for Darrian, and choking back a sob as the deafening silence was her only response. She fought not to whimper, creeping to his closet and shedding her armored suit as she went. She tugged one of his trench coats from it’s hanger and held it to her face, breathing deeply in his scent. She wanted, perhaps needed to play the part of the suit thief again, wrapping the comfortingly familiar Armani cloth about her small, momentarily wingless frame, and the trench as well. She wandered, barefoot with loose folds of lush black slacks gathered about her tiny ankles, out of the room and down the hallway, looking down at the trail of her own blood with non expression. She blinked once, muttered a quick spell, and the blood was gone. She simply didn’t want to have to look at it anymore.::