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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"You never leave?" Arielle sensed the tears swelling in her eyes, but refused to let them escape. In front of Oscar—so composed, so calm—she didn't want to show emotion. Show the fear that brewed in her belly and the worry that she was, indeed, stuck in Terror forever.
"I thought you knew?" Oscar turned to the passage and motioned at it, implying they should continue onward. "You made it seem like you were aware what she'd gotten you into."
Arielle recalled Penelope's taunts, her cruelty; but she hadn't taken her seriously enough, it seemed.
"I thought she was exaggerating. That there was a way out, because there always is, right? In every story, in every movie—"
Oscar's snort interrupted her. "This isn't a movie, Arielle. This is real. Once in Terror, you stay in Terror."
The memory of Penelope's snicker snuck into Arielle's mind, squeezing into her brain and leaving its imprint there. She'd made it clear all Arielle's tasks would be impossible—finding Jade, confessing her love, completing her business, then fluttering on to where she belonged. Arielle had thought she belonged in the Void, or even the Soul Realm. But Penelope had been so mean about it that Arielle had believed she sought to torture her, to deplete her of her faith in locating Jade and finishing what she'd meant to do a long time ago.
It was all a ploy; but it was anchored in reality. Terror was the end of the road, and there was no changing that.
Arielle sulked as she walked beside Oscar, who'd grown silent. He must have gone through the same spiel, when he first arrived. Hoping to get out, rushing in and out of forests, looking for blips in the system, for holes in the dimension, only to be told it wouldn't happen. One month later, he seemed to have digested the news well enough... but Arielle didn't accept defeat as easily.
"So am I defective, then?" She peered down at her hands, her trembling fingers, and expected her skin to melt off, to show the failure underneath, the flaws she concealed without knowing. What made someone defective, anyway? And would Oscar know?
Oscar sighed. "I'd assume so. She said your brain would be all mushy and messed up when she dragged you through, and it's not, so... that must mean you belong here. Which means yes, you're defective."
Arielle scrunched her nose. "She was so weird in the Void; her Void persona, I mean. Every time I asked questions—and I know I ask a lot, but come on, level with me, I'm new—she brushed me off. Kept saying I needed to be patient, that I'd learn. She didn't disclose the Terror and Soul Realm stuff until later, and she wasn't nice about it. Like it hurt her to speak of those places, or like she didn't want me to know but I'd given her no choice."
Oscar patted her back, a sympathetic smile slithering over his lips. He didn't show his teeth, and his mouth didn't widen much, yet she felt the warmth of his gesture and the sincerity in it. "Being defective doesn't mean you, as a person, are bad or useless or whatever. It just means your soul can't survive in the Soul Realm. It can't recycle. But that's not indicative of you, or any other defectives. It's the way we are, and accepting that is the first step towards accepting this place," he winced, "as a permanent home."
