~A fic structured like a route, but with the writing normal for a fic.~
~WARNINGS for descriptions of violence, injury, demonic beings, and character death.~
What would happen, if instead of the High Priestess, Magician, Hanged Man, Hermit, Star, o...
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You aren't sure how long you'd been in this... void.
With your eyes closed, all you can see is red. A hazy, foggy red, melding into the pitch black of your vision. It's hard to tell just how much time has passed, but if there is one thing you know for sure, it's that this is not the bed Portia had shown you to.
When you open your eyes, you're greeted with a ring of lights above you. An apparition, maybe. Your time with Asra hadn't been completely devoid of them. But the more your eyes come to focus, you start to realize that what's above your head is not a ghostly figure; rather, a candlelit chandelier.
It casts a dim orange glow across the ceiling, and seemingly the rest of the room, but you can't move your head to see. In fact, you can't move anything at all. You can only lie there for what seems like moments, but could be hours, a sense of foreboding and dread weighing in your chest.
The room is made out of tightly mortared brick, but it feels... alive in a way. Like it's pulsating with some kind of rhythm. It hums from its very depths, a deep droning in your ears. It's far more deafening than the silence you're so unused to.
A smooth voice fills your ears, distorted yet somehow clear.
"Did you think you were smart, MC?" The entity's voice sends a chill down your spine, but it's respite from the dull humming of the room around you. You can't move to face the person. Something about their voice is cold, but with a hint of... fondness. You've heard this voice before, but where, you can't quite distinguish.
You try to speak, opening your mouth, but no noise escapes your throat. Even if you could move your muscles, it's apparent you wouldn't be able to even then. The sensation of thick leather restraints on your wrists and ankles makes it hard not to give in to anxiety.
You can hear tools clinking together off to your side. Then the sound of gloves being pulled over skin. You flinch at it, closing your eyes tight for a moment.
"You're far too inquisitive," The voice comes again. "Haven't you ever heard that saying? 'Curiosity killed the cat?'"
Once again, you can't answer. At least, not coherently. When you try to speak, your voice just comes out a muffled gurgle as if you were underwater.
A laugh comes from the entity, cold and harsh. It continues for a tiny bit before it slows into a chuckle.
"Pathetic," They breathe. Once again, the sound of tools comes from your side. You see the scalpel first, hovering over your restrained body. You try and move- but you can't. You can't do anything. Tears of frustration start to gather in your eyes.
"Now, now. Let's not get too sad." With that, they leaned over you... and you were met with a pair of piercing red eyes. "Just lie down and accept your fate."
You jolt awake in your bed, panting, beads of sweat gathered on your forehead and chest. You find yourself entangled in the silken sheets of your bed. They are now far too damp for your liking, especially being twisted around your legs in knots. It's a struggle to get them untied before you can finally move freely again.
