The Crystal
The crystal is cold, and dark.
As the sun rises over the horizon, golden eyes slide open, blink once, twice.
The crystal is cold, and bright. Absently, they wonder how long they’ve been asleep. A few years this time, maybe? They close their eyes again as the sun climbs higher, piercing the walls of the crystal with a brightness they can’t turn their head away from.
The crystal is cold, and bright, and unforgiving. It presses in on them from all sides, offering no solace, no semblance of movement or freedom. They remain suspended in the crystal, immobilized, tilted forward with their arms and legs extended slightly behind them.
The crystal is cold, and bright, and unforgiving, and magic. As they have done each time that they have awoken, they search for the power buried inside of them, ready to let it expel out of them to shatter the crystal. And as they delve, just as it has each time that they have awoken, the crystal pulses around them, and their magic recedes, hidden deeper within them.
They clench and release their muscles, as they do each time they awaken. Testing how much they’ve atrophied. It’s worse this time then the last time they awakened, but not as bad as the first time. Perhaps they slept for a decade or so. They can’t do much about it except the minute flexes that encompass their range of motion. They can practically hear their body whirring, working to repair the deadened cells and replace them, now that they’re awake.
They clench and release their muscles, assessing the damage. Their throat is dry, as it has been for the eternity of their imprisonment. They haven’t had so much as a sip of water in… it must be centuries, now. At the thought, their stomach growls. They don’t bother testing their voice, knowing it’s nonexistent. It’s not as vital as their muscles, or their brain function. It won’t come back for another couple of days, at least. Their healing has bigger priorities.
The crystal is cold, and bright, and unforgiving. The hard edges dig into their arms, their face, their torso. The sun is directly overhead, now, and they open their eyes. Their hair has grown since they last awakened. Their eyes flit around the area, taking in their surroundings. Their vision blurs, shifts dizzyingly as the crystal warps and distorts the world outside.
It seems the oak seedling at the edge of their sight has grown much more during their slumber. It towers over the crystal now, and perhaps may provide shade as the sun moves further. What a blessing that would be.
The crystal is cold, and bright. The remnants of snow cling to the ground, soft white patches littering the lush green grass surrounding them. Newly-sprung flowers peek out among the stark white. Ah. It must be spring, now. How fortunate that they’re awake to witness such beauty.
They had a name, once. They can’t imagine anyone knows it now.
The sun dips below the horizon behind them, and the sky begins to turn a beautiful magenta color. They’ve seen hundreds upon hundreds of sunrises, but not one sunset. They simply watch as the sky morphs into beautiful painted colors, only able to imagine the sight behind them. What a shame that no one has ever happened upon this hill, to bear witness to the beauty they’re forced to behold each night.
The rosy fingers of the sun slowly slip away. The moon rises into the night, a slim crescent that barely illuminates the pale prison and its occupant.
The crystal is dark, and cold.
