Perhaps it wasn't Murielle's finest moment when accidentally mispronouncing a spell had an unconscious Original landing slap-bang in the middle of her home. Though at first this mistake may have seemed horrible, it leads to a whirlwind of a life tha...
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Nothing.
There was absolutely nothing surrounding Murielle.
Nothing, as she'd known it before, as she'd known it many times over.
Darkness smothered her vision. It consumed her very being to the point where she didn't know if she differed from it. It felt like her.
There was no her. Not anymore.
She had no body to call her own, no eyes with which she stared out, and yet she could see the darkness.
Murielle thought of the darkness just as she had thought of the light surroundings she'd had in life. She noticed each small particle of darkness, but they were all the same. Indistinguishable.
Would screaming do anything? It had not the past fifteen times. Had she even a mouth to do so? She had no idea.
Time passed; she was sure of it but could not place a number to it. With each moment that passed, her head felt like it was crumbling in on itself.
Murielle was tired of her thoughts; they were all she could hear, and she was sick of them. They should just stop, stop thinking, and stop existing.
She should've died. She should've died many decades ago.
Just die. Die. Die. Die. Die. If she willed it enough, she could.
Murielle wasn't as strong as Finn; she couldn't stand the nothingness and paralysis like he could.
Wait, Finn? Was that his voice she heard?
No, no, it wasn't. He wasn't here. Not him, not Elijah, not even Alaric. But she thought-
His voice had said something; she could not recall what, but it had been him whispering. With such clarity that it was a wonder the contents of his words were so murky in her mind.
Had the hallucinations already begun?
They normally took years to form. If it even was years, who could tell? There was neither a calendar nor a clock to tell by. Here she did not sleep; here time only lasted; it did not tick by. Here, all your fears and pains came back to haunt you in specialised images that your mind conjured up specifically.
If only her thoughts would just shut up.
SHUT UP!
Fifteen stretches of eternity had not prepared her for one more. Fifteen? Was it truly fifteen?
What was fifteen?
She couldn't remember.
Whose voice was in her ear? She wished they would just SHUT UP!
This wasn't real; it couldn't be real. This could not be real. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. It was not real. It couldn't be-
And so Murielle spent what felt like an eternity in darkness, in what she called Oblivion, when she was sane in the real world. Her mind did what it usually did in the solitude—what it had done for the past fifteen times this had occurred.
Truly, it could've been an eternity of torture; nobody in the Universe could say how long it actually was. All that you need to know is of the pain that she suffered and that darkness takes a toll on everybody.
