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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The house wall was cold, almost soothing Penelope's sore muscles, as if injecting her with a tranquilizer. But she needed the heat, the flames to consume her, to keep her awareness and to prevent from losing her mind, losing control of her emotions. The Being's chilly demeanor had its effect, and none were spared, not even her.
She wiggled away from him, breathing in relief as the cold no longer scaled along her spine, infusing into her bones. "So you're confirming these monsters are my fault, then? And that my accidental creation of them will somehow lead to all our secrets leaking out into the world?" She scoffed, daring to turn her back on him as she walked to the other side of her front door. A few scorch marks lined the base of the house here, and she wished they were covered up by her warm and cozy fire. "That feels a bit made-up and far-fetched, no?"
Of course it wasn't made-up. She'd known from day one that anything she did would have a ripple effect and might cause the world to have access to the truth after death. But she'd believed she'd done everything in her power to avoid such a catastrophe. She'd killed those who were prone to spilling the beans. She'd sealed her realm to the best of her abilities, and she'd stolen souls to protect them from the dangers of the Void, or of the Soul Realm.
Because who was to say the recycled souls weren't dangerous, too? Did they retain any memories of their past lives? Did they wake up in the middle of their slumber to see the Being watching them as they slept? His system couldn't be flawless; surely it had cracks, it had failed many times. And Penelope wouldn't let him point fingers at her when in truth she may not be the only one at fault.
Her neck tingled as an icy chill swept upward, and a shot of heat crept down from her scalp. The two joined at the top of her spine and collided; a fight between warmth and cold, to decide which would take over her body. Would the Being's overwhelming presence get the best of her? Or could she summon enough energy to defeat him, or at least push him back so she could regroup, gather her thoughts?
Sparks, small and shy, flickered from her fingertips. Her broken nails wanted out, they wanted fire, they wanted flesh.
She hid her hands behind her back as she spun to face the Being, waiting for his reaction. Had he sensed the slight shift in the air? The fire—Penelope would bring it back. It was only a matter of minutes.
"It's not made-up, it's real. Denying it only makes you look weak, Penelope." His voice raised, and the glacial gusts swirling around him intensified. Oh, he was angry, reaching his limits; but so was Penelope. "And you're saying you didn't know what you'd done? That you had no idea how those insane beings came to be?" His eyebrows, made of snow and ice, raised. He folded his arms, regarding her like a teacher questioning a student who'd gotten caught cheating.
"I..." She shrugged, struggling to keep her claws tucked in. They ached, yearning to retract, to rip into the Being's face—even if they couldn't harm him. The gesture alone would soothe Penelope's pain, dull it, and she'd be able to think straight again. "I did. But not the details. I had no clue how I'd done it, but yes, I provoked it. And I had no means to stop it. The moment I seized power... it was too late. And in any case," she gritted her teeth, sensing the chill and heat battling in her spine again, "I can't step down. Not yet, not now. I'm not finished—"
