Terror. A dimension mirroring the living one--but morphed to reflect the imagination of its Overseer. And the current Overseer... has refused to relinquish her power for centuries, tormenting her souls--"terrors"--into becoming... zombies.
Arielle f...
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Go to Terror. Fix your fate.
Penny had said the words as if Arielle's opinion, as if her desires were an actual decision she was allowed to make. As if Arielle had a choice in where she'd spend the rest of her afterlife—if one could consider this any kind of life at all.
The revolting evolved being floating like some nightmarish harpy, her shadow cloaking Arielle in despair, had made it quite clear Arielle had no choice. That if she opposed her, denied the request to venture into Terror to declare her love to Jade—Jade, in Terror? Arielle still didn't believe it—she'd haul her through, and it would be agonizing. Penny's words exactly—Arielle wasn't making that up.
Or... was she? Had she hallucinated it all? Penny, Penelope, Terror, minions—had her imagination concocted all this nonsense?
"Did I bang my head, or something?" Arielle felt the back of her scalp, wondering if she was bleeding. But as she brought her hand before her, all she found weaved between her fingers were a few strands of her hair—once a vivid shade of scarlet, now sepia-toned and bland.
The darkness surrounding her, enveloping her in its cold claws, didn't help stop the shivers cascading down her spine. And it didn't matter how long she looked at Penny, how much she stared—the vision would haunt her forever.
It was no made-up scenario produced by a concussion. Penny was real, her request was real, and Arielle's demise would be real if she didn't hurry up and respond.
Penny's reaction to Arielle's fear only worsened the tension in the frigid upstairs bedroom. Even with the rip—the portal to Terror—still active, glowing, reaching out to invite Arielle in, the obscurity and the angst didn't dissipate.
"You know you didn't, so stop wasting time." Penny's elongated, serrated nails were retracted, and yet her voice scraped at Arielle's insides as if she were digging into her, tearing into her organs, taking hold of her soul.
"Okay, so say I follow you into this Terror place." Arielle winced, struggling to maintain Penny's blood-red gaze. "I find Jade, I tell her the truth... then I'm good? I can move on to the Soul Realm?"
Even as she said the words, Arielle scrunched her nose, reeling backwards in anticipation of Penny's reply. She'd cackle, she'd screech, she'd bring out those claws again, for sure; and Arielle wanted no part in her sick games.
I don't want to go to Terror. I'll suffer through the Void, I'll live without Jade.
Though Penny didn't unleash a witch-like cackle as expected, she did allow her nails to stretch out again. And to Arielle's detriment, they launched forward and lodged into her gray-toned skin, shredding a few millimeters into muscle.
Arielle hissed, but unable to move, she could only slouch forward and grit her teeth through the agony. The claws weren't deep enough to cut through bone or to sever any important nerves or veins, but their sharp ends pierced and pinched, and Arielle held in a scream of misery. Blood—tinted a dark gray in the ever drab atmosphere of the Void—poured out and dribbled down her arms, dripping onto the floor.
