ex silentio | ivan goncharov x reader

ɢʀᴏᴡᴛʜ

Growth

ɪ'ᴅ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ ᴛᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ʙᴇ; ᴀᴛ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴏᴍᴇɴ ᴡʜᴏ ɪ ꜱᴏᴜɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ, ɪᴛ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴍᴇ, ᴀ ᴍᴇʀᴇ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ, ᴡʜᴏ ᴅᴀʀᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀᴡᴏʀʟᴅʟʏ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴘʀᴀɪꜱᴇᴅ. ɪᴛ ɪꜱɴ'ᴛ ɪɴ ᴀ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ'ꜱ ɴᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴘᴇʀꜰᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴡᴀꜱ ꜰᴀʀ ᴛᴏᴏ ɪᴍᴍᴀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɴᴏᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀᴛ.

. . .

"The times have changed, my dear. Can you adapt, or perish due to immobility of your thoughts? Do you possess the means to step up? I believe you do, and you too want to prove yourself to me. But you can't, not yet. Not alone, not in this state - so wild and so carnal. I shall guide your arm, your quaking, pale limb, to your goal. You see the things hiding in the mist? You see, don't you? Oh, you can't, you say? You clearly don't understand. You must be blind. So go deeper, put your hands before you. Reach out. You might as well close your eyes, you poor being. Who needs them in this dreaded mist? Rely on your other senses, trust the fingers to find anything else but moist. You reach out, my guidance is there, and you believe. I am behind and above and beneath you - you must only imagine that I am ahead. I am the consciousness holding your mind as much as I am your reality. I am everywhere, because you need me that way. Because you had no life, because I gave you one. And the purpose? I'll give you the mold; you craft it yourself. After all, I am not your servant. I am your master."

The rat has welcomed you to rebirth.

He shed light onto your depraved eye holes. He made it clear to you that you didn't have a life - and for sure, he made you remember who gave you one. And to know that in his terrifying violet slits, you were actually nothing special - it settled you, strangely. You were aware of that own twisted kindness of his, so you wanted to believe that he watched everything else with the same condescending smile as he viewed your scampish self. With a snap of his fingers, he could end your worthless living, or order you to do that yourself. He had the right to, after all. It was only natural for you to see him as a being superior to your kind; someone distant, hidden so far away in the depths of another realm, that you'd never see him until his swift hand arrives to sow death and reap sin, yet you were grateful beyond measure for being able to witness his transcendent notion turn into deadly motion.

"Master," you'd call out to his back sometimes. "What is it, (Y/N)?" His calm voice would be heard, bearing no annoyance.

"Thank you," you tell him. He doesn't ever respond.

And so you are left in silence, cherishing the world around you that was equally alive as you were. Life was all around you, violent and vicious. But make no mistake - the hole the rats were hiding in was full of filth, and to let yourself walk down that tunnel, all alone, covered in pristine, is dangerous. So you indeed listened to your master, you closed your eyes to the filth and let it swallow you whole. But you hadn't grown any fur yet and the red eyes of those rats were all glowing in the dark, watching each and every one of your uncertain moves. You wouldn't know their gaze had laid upon you, though - your eyes were tightly shut, so tightly, that tears would soon emerge from the strain.

From straining? You walked about the underground facility, buzzing the hallways as if you were a headless fly. Allow yourself to stay convinced that you were tearing up from the sore little muscles of your eyelids. You pressured them too much, hadn't you?