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Chapter 66, The Killing Moon (Ep. 6: Escape from Camazotz)
SPRING, 1986
Gwen stood in a deserted field, surrounded by parched grass and skeletal trees. The moonlight cracked through branches and provided enough brightness for the ground to be noticed. It was unnatural how the night's colors were painting the scene an indigo shade with a few hints of maroon.
She could hear a faint melody from afar that resembled the same one that belonged to one person only. The song felt like syringes injecting themselves into her skin and splitting her eardrums open. It was then when she considered that this was her purgatory and she had been condemned for an eternity in misery.
The warning had come from Henry, "There's no use fighting. You belong here with me." He threatened to drag her into the void and so arrogantly showed her his plans for the world knowing she wouldn't be able to prevent it. Having fought in the Creel House's attic had been in vain all this time, because in the end, no one was coming to save her.
Not this time.
But accepting defeat was something Gwen refused.
She no longer wanted to follow death, but to run from it. There were many things she wanted to do and they didn't involve needing to escape from this place again, but it appeared that for now, this was the fate she was handed.
As she walked through the forest, Gwen recalled her last moments on the other side. She vividly remembered pushing through the pain and trying so hard to stay alive. The life Steve painted her brought her bliss, knowing that it had always been a possibility between them. She wanted to spend the rest of her life by his side and to share many memories with the rest of her family, so it was that reason that gave her enough courage to roam through the grounds with ease.
Hours could have passed by the time her feet felt like they were bleeding dry. Everywhere she looked, she believed that she was being watched. A silhouette would hide whenever she glanced its way and for a moment, she swore having seen blonde locks from afar.
Then, out of thin air, the scene shifted.
The night disappeared and the sun rose over the horizon. There was no longer a line of trees, but the familiar house of a monster. Gathered above, the clouds were perfectly shaped and a vibrant white, almost too picturesque. The grass was a bright green and flawlessly mowed, and the playground was strangely clean as if it had never been touched.
The Creel House was not how she remembered it. This one was new, like having been fabricated for reasons beyond the explainable. It was painted in a rustic blue and the moldings were as white as snow. Even the trees were too quintessential. Everything was made to feel like she was trapped in a world where perfection was faked.
