White streaks of light permeate my vision, staying true to their courses as they shift and travel throughout the last bit of sight I’ve been given. Within those streaks of light, individual colors distinguish themselves, until my gaze is akin to a prism. There is nothing in this chaotic haze of colors and shapes, until there is something.
Many-colored squares, triangles, and circles made up of those same streaks begin to shift and overlap, their colors blending atop one another until I can make out the slipshod visages of those I recognize within their form. They’re a pale imitation of the faces they sought to recreate, but enough for me to put names to them.
The life I’ve lived is laid bare before me and I feel naught but apathy.
A soft whisper enters my ears, its voice smooth as silk, and I a willing vessel for the words it speaks. Every last one of its honeyed words go in one ear and out of the other, my mind refusing whatever was said. I happily hear them all, but I won’t listen. I must not listen.
The consciousness that was shed off from me is soaking back in, suffusing my form drop by drop. Each ripple across my surface drives painful pinpricks throughout my entire body, and a wave of emotion strong enough to crush me into dust. Even as only half of this vessel has been filled, I begin to feel certain that I will not be able to endure more. It continues, its progress growing faster and steadier as it continues, until I have eventually been forced back together.
I lay on my back in this desolate black void, letting the emptiness of the place cling to me. The words that I failed to listen to before continue to run through me, small bits piercing through the mist in my mind from time to time.
Why did you fail?
Fail? Did I fail at something..?
Visions crackle across the sky of this barren scene like lightning, the flashes settling into consistency. I see her: Adeline. Right.. We had been separated, after a short journey together. It shifts to the place of my death, a day’s travel from Tirsollain. Josephine Cirix is standing over me before rending my heart and taking the life from my body.
It’s excruciating in the moment, hot metal tearing through the most delicate flesh in my body, searing what it doesn’t pierce. Scarlet floods my interior, and fades, leaving the light in the sky to shift once more.
Josephine slings her niece over her shoulder, and she begins her solemn march t’ward the capital of House Grivash’s territory, Ashglen. Passing through caves, forests, city streets, and buildings. The grim procession ends, and Adeline is laid gingerly in a dungeon cell.
I see the sun rise and fall dozens of times, speeding up before slowing to a halt. The final day, I can feel it with every fiber of my being that exists in this place. Adeline is dragged from her imprisonment. A crowd has gathered around a raised stage, three figures of import are standing atop that platform, including Josephine.
Adeline’s red hair hangs over her face as she’s held low against the executioner’s block. The glint of an unwieldy axe shines through the dark, and I watch on as the life of the one I love is snuffed out like the flame of a candle.
The dark returns. There is only noise here. Cracking, sparking, buzzing noise that drives its way throughout my limbs and fills my veins like blood. She will die because you didn’t save her. She will die because I didn’t save her.
A thousand voices whisper delicate cruelties into my ears. You weren’t strong enough to protect her. Coward. Fool. Waste of a life. I am unmade, torn to shreds and sewn back together by the thrashing ribbons that make up my insides. There is a twisted allure in the suffering I feel. The black gulch swallowing me into its depths, the comfort of resigning yourself to the end.
She will die. Adeline will die. Why does she have to die? Why can’t I save her?
Because you died -- you just weren’t strong enough. Even if you could rise up from the grave, you’d manage to get yourself killed again.
I force myself to sit, the ground itself clinging to me to keep me from moving. I break off the threads and tendrils, snapping them until I’m off of my back and out of breath. Adeline will die. Adeline will die. You can’t let her die. I can’t let her die. But how do I save her? How can I save her?
I feel soft arms wrap around me from behind, the black beneath me turning to the white of bedsheets. “You’re pretty smart, right? I’m sure you can figure it out.” Adeline’s voice rings in my ears like a church bell. She holds me so intently that I fear I might shatter, that everything I am may give in from this feeling.
“And to be fair, you did graze her. Get a little better with that trick of yours and you could probably punch a hole right through her.” She laughs, and squeezes me against her momentarily. “There wasn’t much we could do to begin with, you know? She’s the one they send after awakened. Probably even stronger than my dad, honestly.”
“So.. It was just.. Bad luck?”
Adeline kisses me on the back of the head, “Everything is kinda bad luck. But, I think they just had our number. We would’ve been found at some point anyways, this was unavoidable.”
“So.. You’re going to die?”
“You’ll come save me, right? I’m your damsel in distress, like in some kind of storybook.” A giggle escapes her, and she eventually settles down. “First thing’s first, though. You have to not die.”
“B-but.. How? She.. T-that was a lot.”
She says nothing, continuing our embrace for a time before her grip loosens on me, “All you need is the strength to keep going, Sybil. And I think you’ve got plenty, alright? Just take that first step.” The feeling of her disappears, and I feel as if I’ve been cast into the sea. But I have no time to sit here.
Adeline could die, but I can save her.
You can save her.
I force my heavy limbs to obey my commands, as if I were puppeteering myself. With great effort, and I tear myself from the ground and stand up once and for all.
Save her. Save her. Save her.
I step forward, and the darkness rips itself apart into ribbons, and then into threads, eventually revealing the space beyond me.
I stand in a small, dusty room. In front of me is a rocking chair, and beyond that is a desk littered with papers and old inkwells. Stacks of tomes flank either side of the desk, each one looking as if it may just topple over from a light push.
The threads of dark from before reassemble, rising up from the desk into a solid form. Then, I see a familiar face in front of me: Stella, the fairy.
“Oh, good! It worked, that was a little bit close…”
Squirl· Apr 22, 2024
