Out of the Lamp

Chapter 32: Deceased

//AN:

Bonjour my lovelies! Ya girl is back 🎉

Here's a much overdue update - not the best as it's currently 2am in the morn and my eyes have hollowed out into skeletal sockets. But alas, inspiration strikes when it likes and the damned thing has been awol for months so I take what I can 🤷🏿‍♀️

I hope you enjoy this, but most of all, I hope the plot actually makes sense 😂 (fingers crossed on that one)

Please vote/comment, honestly I live for your comments. It's one of the most rewarding things - being able to see your genuine reactions to aspects of my work.

Love you long time <3 enjoy!
//

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"A

          l

                  i

                          a

                                      ?"

A word. No, a name. So familiar. Why?

Oh.

It's...My name.

"Wake up."

I try opening my eyes, but they stay closed. I can't see anything, can't feel anything. Where am I?

Who am I?

"Alia?"

The voice gets further and further away...a memory begins to stir. And something presses sharply on my mind. What am I trying to remember? Or what is it that I'm seeing? And for the love of god - who is screaming at me-

My eyes snap open and I'm back in the shit storm.

"Woah."

Sand beneath my feet, a sharp desert wind whipping at my skin and a view of hell in front of me. Men charging, weapons raised. A deafening hollering omitting from their throats in unison, deep and unsettling, it called to a primal part of my being - a battle cry. They surged over the dune crest like army ants in formation, scattering down towards us and breaking in a wave.

Black against gold, they marred the horizon with their evil.

They would be upon us in a matter of minutes, dwindling quickly to seconds.

This was too surreal, it felt like an out of body experience - as if I was watching an all too 4D cinematic screening of Prince of Persia or something.

I had been shifting between realms. I'm certain of it. The vessel of this body was not meant to be permanent - but that didn't explain what the hell was going on.

"Amyrti." Soft. Familiar.

His voice calls to me, cementing me back to this time.