Phantom Recall

25 || will-o'-wisp

They're all gone. Bryson, and everyone else. But Noir is the only one I care about.

I must have left him back at that lobby. In what brief period of time I stepped outside to investigate, everything was shifted — he warned me, after all, and he reiterated the fact to Iver, as well. This place may mirror our realm but in its own way it has made itself a labyrinth. And by the torments of my own mind I suppose I got myself lost in the midst of it.

Without Noir. Without Iver. I would take even Leon above having nobody.

I rest my palms flat against the ground, then slowly, painfully, scrape the ground with my fingernails until my hands are curled into tight, quivering fists. I have to go back. I have to go back for Noir, because at least I know I only walked in a straight line, and as long as he hadn't wandered off on his own, I could find him again. For real this time. So long as my head clears even just a little bit to allow me some breathing room.

But I...can't. Every bone in my body aches with an indescribable grief. When we first found ourselves in the train, I remember the air feeling noticeably lighter; it's grown heavy again. It would be hard getting myself back on my feet now.

Then again...would it be so bad if I stayed...?

I ignored it at first. That sick feeling twisting in my gut — it wasn't only nausea. Somewhere in the gross mix, there lies a latent anger. And it never did dissipate, even after I distanced myself from all of my classmates and my family. No, the truth is, I don't think I ever forgave them. Not my parents for their negligence, not my "friends" for their cruel accusations and judgments, and most of all not my brother, for being the sole reason word got out about what his little brother had done in a naive moment of spiraling panic.

Their words may have been cruel but they weren't entirely wrong, either. I really did strangle a living creature, believing I was trying to save it from choking. Seven years and I still cower away from the mere thought of touching an animal. I can still feel the sensation of its fragile bones in my hands, just like they said. I've always believed something was wrong with me. They were right. They were all right...

"Will?"

Another voice. Please, not another voice. I grit my teeth and keep my head lowered, pressed against the pavement. They would speak regardless of what I say or do, so I deem it best to at least avoid looking at them. They'll disappear, too.

"Will, it's me! It's me, Wisp!"

Oh, so they're taunting me now. Using the name of my dead cat.

"Will, it's okay. They're gone. I made sure of it."

It is a strange voice, I must admit. The sound is much softer, without sharp edges or even a trace of hostility residing in the undertones. What's more, it's much closer.

I feel something rest against the back of my head. Gentle. Almost hovering, but present enough that I can't mistake it. I brace myself before lifting a heavy hand to touch whatever had touched me. At first, I flinch, coming in contact with what feels like warm water, and it takes a moment for me to register it as the pleasant and familiar sensation of spirit magic. I move my hand a little closer to make contact with the thing creating it.

A soft texture like fur brushes my fingertips.

Fur.

My gut twists into knots and I throw myself backward, all at once springing from out of my feeble position. I'm still on the ground. Palms pressed to the hard pavement as I desperately attempt to scramble back to my feet, all the while staring down the creature who now stands in front of me — and it is a creature. Not a person. Though it stands roughly the height of a toddler and wears a little patchwork cloak, the black cat head engulfed in a flame of purple and yellow spirit magic is a dead giveaway I hadn't countered an actual ghost child. I can see its hind legs, too, poking out from beneath the coat which just nearly touches the ground. A tail waves subtly behind its back and leaves trails of golden sparkles.