The Nightscape

Inside The Soul

The rest of the room blacked out around her, all her senses shutting off. She could feel her body trying to push her into unconsciousness, trying to keep her safe. Trying to stop her from experiencing something she didn't know if she would survive. But she fought back against it, because there was a very small chance she could hurt him response. None of it would actually harm him for good, but the chance to make a god bleed wasn't one she was about to pass up. And so, feeling that pressure on her soul as he tried to force his way in, she marshalled all the power she could muster and threw it against him. It wasn't much. And in doing so, she opened the gate to her soul so he could get in. 

For the briefest of moments, her own power and the little bit of his he'd given her warred with the full might of all the auras available. It felt like she was making a bit of progress, making him flinch back, and the surprise of that made her lose her focus. In a heartbeat, the battle was lost and Zidros had forced his way into her soul. And then, she felt her mind detach itself from what was actually happening, and she was floating in darkness. 

It was as though she was floating in a thick, warm liquid that flooded her lungs but didn't drown her. The pain was gone, but she knew it was still there. That her soul was still being torn to shreds by someone who didn't care if she lived or died from it. Distantly, she could feel a calling, like whispers in her ear that she couldn't quite make out. Should she go to it, or stay here? Stay where it was warm and soft and safe, or deny this fake comfort? I am many things, Lyra thought to herself, but a coward isn't among them. I can't just sit back and let this happen. With the introduction of the pain, of the sudden shift in Zidros's argument that promised ruin and agony for them all, it had snapped her out of the daze she had been floating in for so long. 

She wouldn't let herself be put back to sleep again. In that dark, warm space within her own mind, she rebelled. Lyra thrashed and fought, moving as quickly as she could to the sound of whispers, even though it felt like she was getting nowhere. She didn't give up, letting herself scream even though it was all swallowed by the liquid she was immersed in. 

She fought and swam and screamed and yelled and then suddenly, she wasn't floating anymore. Lyra found herself knelt on a cold, hard, bumpy floor, made of a weak yellow coloured tile, in the kitchen of a house she could only barely remember. She had only been five when her father packed them up and moved them from London to Tokyo, after all. This was the kitchen, painted in off shades of yellow, with golden curtains on a window that showed only a white void. She got up, listening out for any noise, but there was nothing. 

But she didn't have time for this. She suspected she already knew what was happening- Zidros was trying to keep her calm and quiet why he did his work, and she wasn't about to make it so easy for him. Ignoring the urge to stay and explore, ignoring the urge to go upstairs and comfort the young, crying version of herself, she went to the front door, threw it open, and walked out. Into the new, pokey apartment her family had first moved to in Japan. Into her junior school, then the middle school, then the high school. Interspersed were the few other apartments they had been in, even a hostel after her father had lost his job and they had struggled for those eight awful months. And then she was in her old workplaces, her college, and then the library in the Scapes before all this happened. She was sprinting now, appearing in one location from her life and racing through it till one of the doors finally let her out. 

Lyra watched as every location she knew throughout her life played out, her heart aching fiercely as she had to pass by memories of her father without even looking at him. She knew it would only bring her more pain in the long run if she did stop and interact with him. As she kept speeding up, getting further and further along, the memories became less and less detailed, and there was an air of panic that she knew wasn't coming from her. Good. Make the little bastard panic, because he was rifling through her mind right now, she knew it, and she wasn't going to lie down and make it easy for him.