trust me. // wraith x crypto

Prologue: Wraith

Impossible silence (/imˈpäsəb(ə)l ˈsīləns/): a type of euphoria in which one can be liberated from the anxieties of their own mind.

[Season One.]

Rays of luminescent sunlight peeked through the slim rectangular glass of Renee's bathroom window, the soft hum of the air conditioning seeping into her ears as much as the breeze traveled through her lungs. The cold air sunk its teeth into her open wounds, the pale lavender undertones in her skin prominent and sickly from over exhaustion. She stood at the sink, flares of sunlight reflecting off the mirror hanging before her. Though stained with blood that wasn't hers, she couldn't help but to fixate on a stinging bitterness eating at both her mind and body as her ocean blue eyes traced the outlines of her injuries. Renee impelled her hands to move slowly as they approached the medical syringes on the white tile floors, cautious to keep herself from any more pain than she was already suffering. Her calloused fingers, covered in cuts and bandages, graced their touch upon the smooth handle of the needle before leading its tip to her other arm. She bit her lip to keep from making any sort of audible sign of pain, watching the metal and flesh collide.

Instant relief followed the invasion of pain. She slipped the syringe into the small trash bucket next to her, averting her gaze from its crimson stains. Despite her efforts, her mind was suddenly struck with the image of needles and labs. Closing her eyes with great intensity, Renee brought her hands to the temples of her head, hovering over them as though she could touch the pain of her memories and alleviate it.

A cold, white room. There was someone else. Diagnostics. Restraints. Medical records with observations unheard of. So, so cold.

The images dissipated in a flicker of blinding light, leaving her nothing with the sight of her wounded hands in front of her face. For a moment, everything was still. The sound of her own breathing filled her ears, it's rhythm accompanied by the hum of the vent above her. Allowing her mind to resurface to the realities of her body, the sight of her bathroom progressively unearthed an irrational resentment in her thoughts.

She hated this room. She hated that the seams between the walls and tile floors had no beginnings and ends. She hated the glossy sink in front of her and all the times she'd washed the nonexistent dirt off her face down its drain when she had no other means of calming down. She hated the window on the left wall and its empty promises to let in sunlight, when she was still left in the dark.

Renee's eyes trailed to the mirror once more, her arms falling softly to her sides as bitterness seeped into her soul. This. However painfully empty or lackluster the rest of the bathroom remained, she could not be kept silent from her greatest grievances when on one side of the mirror. She could barely fixate her attention on one particular aspect of her reflection; it was as if there was an overwhelming foreign presence in the mirror rather than the security of one's own being. Enraptured by her own unfamiliarity, she examined the shape of her eyes, their slender structure and prominent bags from all the nights of sleep she'd given to the voices. Her gaze fell to the clay rose blush of her lips and the morbid thinness in her skin, signifying the life of something that was impenetrably lifeless.

Why didn't you hold your ground today? the low, dulcet tones of her own voice rang strong in her head, halting any reception of Renee's surroundings.

Renee swallowed hard, the ends of her eyes sharpening slightly in an expression paralyzed in resentment and restraint.

Your arm.

You're wounded.

Look at it.

Her eyes slowly met the sight of the bullet graze she had suffered earlier that day in Kings Canyon, rage and determination filling her blood as the memories of the wound's acquisition returned to the forefront of her thoughts.

I warned you.

He had a sentinel, you got lucky it wasn't the head.

Move quicker next time.

Listen to me.

Listen to me.

Listen.

To.

Me.

The voices began to accumulate, Renee's head filling with the echoes of a million renditions of her own soul. Gravity felt as though it grew ten times in force, despite the air being suffocating and still in time. Resentment was only one of the most disruptive aspects of hearing the voices in her head- fourth to fear, third to inescapability, and second to self-loathing.

You're not strong enough to hold yourself.

Let go of your body.

Let us control it.

You'll die otherwise.

Renee shook her head to herself, gritting her teeth in the utmost desperation to hold onto what little of herself she had left.

This is your fault.

The relentless whispers of the voices continued to flow freely, reminding her once more that peace was a notion stolen from her life. The perplexing paradox of it all frustrated her. Empty apartment rooms and battlefields now wreathed with only the memories of people she had taken life away from could give her the implausible hush she desired, but the presence in her mind was impossibly persistent in reminding her she could never be alone yet never truly be understood.

Irrepressibly, a tear fell from the stone-cold gaze of her eyes into her lips, the remnants of her countenance still suspended in the consumption of the voices. It's so...cold.