Reverse 1999 x Reader [HIATUS]

The Aftermath

Indicators:
[Y/H] = Your hair, including texture, color, accessories, etc.
[Y/E] = Your eyes, including color, eyelashes shape, etc.

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December 31st, 196X. London, United Kingdom.
(1ST PERSON.)

I take a stroll along the street, my fingers combing through my [Y/H] hair. I've always liked walking around here, especially in the afternoons. The full moon is a treat to see as well. I walk over a glass pane and take a look at myself in the surprisingly semi-clear reflection. A pair of [Y/E] eyes meet the same exact pair staring back.

I take a deep breath. Well, as deep of a breath I can with the mask on my face. I've decorated it more over the years, and it's a tribute to my own style.

However, my mother was correct about the loneliness. Wearing the mask was like becoming mute. Rarely any kids paid attention to me after a few days of attending school, and the worst decided I'd be a good target for bullying.

I usually drove the bullies off by threatening to spread my "disease", but the hollowness the lack of friends gave me still remained. Me and my family have since moved to the UK.

...

I take out a book from my satchel. Ever since I first donned my mask, my parents have enlightened me about the large world of arcanists.

However, two sides in particular were heavily emphasized;

The St. Pavlov's Foundation, "an ark for arcanists" as my mother put, a strict and orderly organization that operates and trains arcanists for the sake of the peace of mankind, and the Manus Vindictae, a considerably more sinister organization of extreme racists that believe arcanists should rule supreme over the world of average humans.

Both sides are willing to do anything for their causes, and are pretty suspect if you ask me. Manus for obvious reasons, but who knows how far the Foundation would and could go in the pursuit of peace? My mother was perplexed as to why I didn't trust the Foundation, but aside from some nagging, she mostly left me alone.

...

Perhaps it's best not to dwell on it. I take a look in my wallet. A decent amount of sharpodonty and good wad of pounds. Maybe I can go get some biscuits—

"[Y/N] RIVER! Surrender and come with us immediately!"

Gosh darnit. The police already caught up with me. That's one thing I desperately wanted to forget, even for a few seconds.

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December 1st (?), Silver Mist Asylum.
Flashback, (2ND PERSON.)

You nervously rock back and forth on your feet. Out of all the things the authors of escape books could've focused on, why wasn't it the wait?

The wait is killing you. Figuratively, of course. But if the wait can make you go insane, then maybe a severe decline in your mental health is lethal. On second thought— no, no, it can't be.

Maybe you can recall how you got here. That
may ground you, if not calm you down. 1982, a month your brain mercifully bars you from remembering. There was the usual amount of harassment, but nothing you weren't used to by now.

Then something happened that you most definitely weren't ready for. You got home early because school was cut short after a mild flood and thunderstorm warning was issued. You hopped onto the couch and cozied up with a newspaper from a hard-working boy on the street, the usual routine.

"BREAKING NEWS! 36 arcanists killed in a targeted massacre at Minerva's Park! The suspects were shortly apprehended, but not before yelling and arguing with the officers about 'exterminating those witches'—"

You clutch the newspaper. You don't need to read anymore of that racist crap. Instead, [Y/E] eyes find the list of unfortunate victims identified in the incident. Then it hits you.

Your mom and dad are on the list.

Your mom and dad are on the list.

Your mom and dad are on the list—

...

Shortly after that revelation, you needed a new guardian to take care of you because you still weren't technically of age for them to just throw you out. But that wasn't what concerned you most.

Your dream world and the real world had collided in front of your very eyes. Hallucinations had clouded your vision like storm clouds blocking out the sun. Drab, dark gray streetlights became stark white poles that illuminated soft pastel tones onto the streets in front of you. Imaginary butterflies the size of your eyes gracefully flew into the sky and poofed into glitter.

You'd even see strange icons or symbols on the brick walls of various stores. Even stranger than what punks graffitied.

Many other hallucinations followed you, and it took its ultimate toll during your questioning. The police asked about any special events your parents said they'd attend and the like, but you kept staring beyond them. Thoroughly convinced you weren't mentally sound, you were recommended to be placed in a psych ward.

That brings you here, the neglectful Silver Mist Asylum. You swear most of the doctors here are more insane and sociopathic than the patients themselves. Not to mention the whispers besides the ones in your head. Many attested to strange practices their doctors employed, and most of them sounded borderline illegal.

Also, the custodians are terrible at their jobs or purposefully ignoring the cells with arcanists in them because the walls and floors of many rooms you see haven't been cleaned in days—

*GRRRRRH... screech...*

Finally, what you were waiting for arrives. A car pulls into the parking lot. The car of the owner of this infinite labyrinth, Gardenia Silver. A callous woman that clearly doesn't care that much for patients that are inside her establishment. Ironically enough, she is also your savior tonight.

After nabbing a screwdriver from an abandoned tool kit, you managed to shimmy around in the dusty, arid ventilation system. You occasionally stopped to take fresh breaths of air through the grates that were beneath you. Finally, you reached the exit doors, and of course, some guards had to spot you.

But in the crowd, a guard. A guard with the key you needed for the door. So you smiled instead. Pulling down the ornate mask, you began to recite a sentimental story.

"My friends, would you like to hear a tale of a lovely nymph and a lost girl?"

Your ability takes minimal work for humans, they're out like a light at a few whispers. Of course you had to hide the fact that you were training the ability in secret from your mom, but it seems it paid off.

You soothingly hummed for good measure just as you unhooked the keys off the guard's belt and unlocked the front door, and now here you are. The clicking of the owner's heels both terrifies and determines you.

Wait for it... wait for it...

GO!

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word count: 1113