Flyora

I shuffle, along with the others, head bowed low, hands bound together with thick metal shackles. Iron, sharp, they cut into my wrists.
I watch the blood dribble from within me, and slip to the ground.
The dust swallows it whole.
I have never been fond of the powder beneath me.

My feet slow. The dust blinks beneath me.
"You are mine" It says.
"Mine to kill, mine to watch fall"
"You are mine."
I grit my teeth together. Bone against bone makes me wince, filling my head with lightness. I open my mouth for a moment, and pant the pain away.
My tongue, swollen and dry, inches away from the heat in the air.

The dust grins.
"You are weak" It whispers.
"No." The words slip from my mouth.
"I am not."

The shackles pull taunt at my wrists.
I yelp.
They cut clean through me, slicing the top layer of skin clean off my right hand, until it was hanging from a thread.
It makes me dizzy.
The blood, it comes agonizingly slow, drip, drip, dripping, crawling back towards the dust. The dust laughs, a high, piercing sound, and gobbles it all up, leaving nothing but the stain of rust behind.
"Stop it," I hiss.
"Stop it!"
My knees buckles and jerk against my will, the bones dissipating into nothing.
I cannot stop myself from falling: falling into the dust, no matter how hard I try. It has taken me whole, and swallowed me like the blood I bleed.

The powder reaches towards me as I drift closer to it. Tendrils of deathly mist envelop me, filling my lungs with impure air. I cough, once, twice, a million times, trying to rid myself of the sensation.
"Stay with me, Flyora" It's voice gives me shivers.
"Be mine"
My body sways back and forth, against its will.
"Stay with me. Forever"

The dust suffocates me in its touch, lingering and soft.
Tears fall softly, soundlessly.
I collapse into the dust, letting it wrap around me in an embrace of death.