Bloodshed [ Technoblade x Reader ]

29

Everything was white. And clean. And far too shiny. You didn't like it. The brightness of the room felt like it was burning your eyes. You had to blink repeatedly for a few moments, faster than usual to get used to the brightness before the pain resided. Once you could keep your eyes open without a headache, you attempted to take in your surroundings but were met with absolutely nothing instead.

The room around you, was in fact, not a room but what seemed to be an endless white void. You looked down at yourself and took note of the fact that you were wearing your scrappy dress from your teen years, the one identical to the one you wore on the day your mother passed away. Did that mean you were dead too? You sure hoped not: it would be rather embarrassing to end up dying from a blow to the head. Though, if you weren't dead, where the hell were you?

You began to take a few steps forward, your hand instinctively making its way to where the hilt of your sword usually was, before you realised it wasn't there and you swore under your breath.

"I thought I raised you better than to swear at inanimate objects," a voice spoke from behind you, causing you to freeze immediately.

Your steps faltered, your breathing paused, and you even swore your heart skipped a beat or two. You took in a deep breath, slowly turning around, expecting to be made a fool.

You were not made a fool.

In front of you stood none other than your mother, no older than that of the day she passed away. She even wore the same outfit; her regal, white, high-slit dress with the wide belle sleeves that you used to play with as a child. Your mouth stood agape as you stared at her, your eyebrows furrowing and eyes widening.

"Now, what did I always tell you about swearing?" your mother asked, her regular smile plastered on her face, her hands resting on her hips like she used to do.

You paused for a moment, too far in shock to realise she had asked you a question and was waiting for a response until a few, awkward seconds later.

"To swear at people...because they give a better reaction," you muttered, still somewhat rudely staring at your mother.

Your mother let out a chuckle at your words, her smile as soft and warm as you remember, her eyes as bright and welcoming as the day they shut forever.

"So, you do remember my words, you're just purposefully ignoring them," she responded in a mocking tone, an eyebrow raised at you as she crossed her arms.

You shook your head as you lifted a hand to rest on your forehead which had begun to ache from the amount of thinking you'd done in just the last few moments. "I'm sorry, I'm just really confused. You're supposed to be-"

"Dead. Yes I still am," she interrupted, almost as if knowing you'd struggle to say it.

"Right, yes. But I'm seeing you. Does that mean-"

"You're not dead, (Y/n). Far from it. This is simply a figment of your imagination. This is all in your head. I am simply a memory you have created to comfort yourself in your unconscious state," your mother assured, as if it were the most usual thing in the world. You looked at your mother with a concerned and confused look. "I'm not sure what you're giving me that look for, I explained it as simply as I possibly could. If you don't understand it, then that's simply your fault. Or, maybe I should blame your father for giving you his genes,"

"Yeah, no I get it. I think? It's just...strange to see you. It's been a while," you attempted to explain, your head beginning to spin. "I think I need to sit down"

Your mother furrowed her brows as she looked at you. "Yes, you look rather pale. Here, take a seat,"

She pointed to her left and you followed her gesture and, low and behold, a chair had appeared out of no where. More specifically the loveseat your mother used to read you stories on when you were child. The same one you had fallen asleep on more times then you could ever count.