Decay - The Matter Maelstrom

Nine || The Morning Before The Date

Saturday morning 

The room is quiet, the only sound the faint ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It feels almost surreal, like the calm before a storm. I sit cross-legged on the floor, my hands resting on my knees, trying to steady my breathing. Across from me, Charles sits in his wheelchair, his gaze focused and calm, though I can almost sense the weight of his concentration.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice gentle as always.

I nod, feeling a flutter of nerves in my stomach. I know what is coming. We have practiced before, but this time it feels different.

"Remember," he continues, "you have more power over your mind than anyone else. You just need to harness it."

I close my eyes, focusing inward. The world outside — the walls of the mansion, the quiet hum of the world — fades away. All that exists is the landscape of my mind, a vast, open beach that stretches endlessly in every direction. The sand beneath my feet is warm, the waves lapping gently at the shore, a constant, rhythmic presence.

Suddenly, I feel it — a soft, insistent breeze moves my hair carrying the ocean's salty smell . It's Charles, gently probing, testing my defenses.

"Don't resist yet," his voice echoes in my mind, smooth and reassuring. "Just feel the presence. Understand it."

I let the pressure linger, feeling the way it seeps into my mind, searching for a way in. It's subtle, like a breeze shifting the sand, but I can sense it gain strength, seeking control.

"Now, Lauren," Charles urges, his mental voice a bit firmer now. "Start by grounding yourself. Find something to hold on to—something that defines you."

I reach deep within, searching for something solid, something unmovable. My mind flashed to the only memory of my mother I can find, her telling me that it's okay, that I'm not a monster. The memory is warm, vivid, a bright beacon in the dark. I cling to it, letting it anchor me, letting it fill every corner of my mind.

The pressure increases, and I feel the waves of control trying to wash over me, to pull me under. 

But I am ready. 

I imagine the beach changing, the warm sand hardening into rock, the waves crashing against an impenetrable cliff that raises where the shore once was.

"Good," Charles says, his voice a distant echo. "Now, build your defenses. Whatever feels strongest to you — use it."

I imagine walls rising around me, towering high, made of stone and steel. Every brick is a piece of me — my memories, my emotions, my sense of who I am. The pressure pushes harder, trying to find a crack, but I tighten my focus, reinforcing the walls, making them stronger with every thought.

The presence in my mind tries to weave through the defenses, tendrils of thought searching for a weakness. But instead of panicking, I remember Charles' advice: redirect, confuse, and protect. 

I conjure a distraction: an image of a vast maze, endless corridors twisting and turning, each one a decoy leading away from my true self.

I can feel Charles testing my barriers, probing gently at first, then with more force. But the maze holds, and the walls stay firm. The beach is gone, replaced by this fortress I have built — strong, unyielding, and entirely mine.

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pressure vanishes. I open my eyes, my breath shaky but steady. Charles is smiling, a small, proud smile that makes my heart swell with relief.

"Well done," he says softly, his eyes warm. "You held your ground. That's exactly what you need to do. Now, you just need to practice until it becomes second nature."