Drown In Black

A fracture. A broken mirror. The thin threads the only light around, reflected in the shards. A mosaic of lines and curves. With no beginning and no end, a maze of numerous deformed forms. But with every new shard, every crack in the swirling insanity, the threads multiplied - yet led nowhere. The sharp glass has cut through the pathways formed of light, changed the rules, made a labyrinth where there should've been an easily followed road. And the thread to mark the way was broken. Not gone, but mangled. The way forward turned into the way back, up and down were suddenly foreign concepts. From the moment she entered this place, she was already lost. There was an inkling at the back of her mind. The single thought still anchoring her. But it was that anchor which she dreaded the most. It was the confluence of the past and the future. The present, if this moment was supposed to be the present, was an illusion. She saw no time, no ability to decide. She was behind a barrier, isolating her from the world. Even those shards she couldn't touch. Couldn't try to gather them, give them some sort of order, no matter the blood on her hands from myriad cuts. And it was the helplessness that made her turn to the anchor. To what she thought her saviour. But that was just false hope. She saw it, felt it. The darkness seeping in, devouring the threads. The darkness coming from the past, weaving its own net, made to catch her. A spider was on her heels and she couldn't run. She stood in place as the past caught up to her and the future teased her in front, so close, yet so far. But was it the future? Her disorientation had reached the time as well. Now there was no distinction between directions. Left? Right? To the future? To the past? She didn't know. But what she saw in front of her was no different to the behind. There was darkness. Darkness of doubt, of lost pathways, of death and rebirth. And every single of those was worse than the previous. The threads, the golden threads were gone. Gone was the last of the familiar guidance. Gone was what she knew, what she thought. She was there, yet she was not. There was a wraith. Shadowy and vague, but she still knew that was her. Not her now, no. But her nonetheless. In the past, once time had eroded her memories, ground her tale to dust? Or in the future? It looked so different, so not her. Like an image made to mock, her antithesis made real. The body gone, its incorporeal form made her bare. She couldn't hide, couldn't play a role. She was so certain this was what was left. Her mind, her true self. Was she this twisted form, devouring the threads all around? Or was it the new, replacing mirror? Showing her what she was doomed to be? Would she still be herself? Or a shadow, a literal shadow, of self? Or was it a metaphor? Was she breaking down? The mirror that was here, the threads, her thoughts, the absence of time. All just figments of imagination. Yet so real. So viscerally real she felt them, she lived them, trapped inside this never-ending vortex of uncertainty, this breakdown. It was her, who was breaking. Her thoughts twisted and cut, her memories hidden, scared, scattered and devoured. The future turned on herself, her greatest enemy, the cycle of time bearing upon her with its entire weight, coming back to that which was stolen from her. Bringing what she had lost, mocking her, taunting her with what she would never get back. And to add insult to injury, she would never even know what it was she was taunted with. Just the thought, the sureness this was something she would miss. She could whirl around, grasp at invisible straws, try to reach for the broken mirror, yet that wall was still there. She was helpless, any agency an illusion. There was no way out of this place. No body, that which she loathed, was not a deliverance. It was a torture cage. Greater and more devious than the one she was cursed with before. It was just her mind, and it was breaking down. And she had no way to catch those pieces, as they fell down into the darkness. And where was the light which illuminated this place? Where had those threads gone? The unbearable weight had come too close, had taken too much with it. Distorted, no light could hold those shards. The threads were gone and the mirror with them. Now just darkness reigned the place. Yet she still saw. She still saw those figments of unreality. That which was neither future, nor past, yet true all the same. That which carried the dread that had seeped into every corner of her being. The cold, inevitable cold she couldn't outrun, couldn't hide from. Just suffer and wait for the inevitable end. The end that would never come. For the time had stalled. That infallible flow was not here. And with it gone, the doom was eternal.

A change came. Tiny, almost imperceptible, but a change nonetheless. And she, exhausted and at the bottom of the darkest thought, saw it. That tiny dot grew larger, the more she looked at it. Her stare drew it closer. Ever closer. But once she could discern its shape, the cold hand of dread gripped her metaphorical heart. It was an eye. An oh so familiar eye. And as it stared, and she stared back, the abyss grew deeper. She didn't know how long she stared. How long she held the gaze. But finally, it came. Her gaze faltered. Maybe she blinked. Maybe the strain was too much. It didn't matter. There was no place to think about that. For now she looked not into one, but into a pair of eyes. And from them, the darkness began to crack.

She awoke with a scream. Blinking rapidly, Sanja tried to get her bearings, but instead, the first thing she saw was a pair of eyes. She screamed again.

Is something the matter? You did not shout before.

As insane as it seemed to her, those words grounded her. It was such a novel form of reaction to an obvious distress - if from a dream, she hoped it was a dream - that a sense of reality came back to her almost instantly.

"Nothing's the matter. ... You never heard of nightmares?" she asked, while trying to make sense of what she remembered.  She knew not to put much weight onto the mess that dreams made out of reality. But right now, what could she trust? The Tarika in front of her? What she saw and heard in this bleak, empty place? Her mind, which had decided to serve her this nightmare? She had a reason not to trust any of those. What was left? Turn into the unfeeling, unthinking existence promised by the Changed - or worse, by the shadowy figure in the future of the dream? She was dragged out of her pondering by the, still disembodied, voice.

I have heard of the word in relation to us. Is its meaning different?

"It is a bad dream. But if it seems like you are living through one even in the real world, why not call it that way? And you, both personally, and the Qyrora as the whole, definitely seem like that."

Isn't being scared pointless? ... I would say not long ago. I understand fear is natural saving response. A way to sense danger. Not optimal, but reasonable.

"You have already thought about a name. Seems like you have thought about other things as well. So... is the second eye somehow connected to that?" Sanja asked, venturing forth with a guess which came to her some time ago. And since she knew that without that answer, she was liable to face another nightmare and rack her brain in the time between, there was no choice but to voice her query. Luckily for her, it seemed Orineth was more open than before. What brought the change on, she did not know. Still, she would reap the benefits.

It is of high probability. My shape changes based on its purpose. But the analysis of my current form, and its association with our conversation has not been completed yet. ... It gives a better depth of view.

She sighed: "So you'll be changing even more? Or was it one time only?"

Again, I change to fit different circumstances. A further change is probable. An outside stimulus has not been present for a long time. I kept my shape for a long time. This... seems interesting.

"Just say you're excited about it," grumbled Sanja, "You still speak weird."

Excitement does not seem like the appropriate response. This is something expected, not exciting.

"Expected doesn't mean it cannot be exciting. And it sounds like it's at least somewhat new to you, if you kept the same shape for a long while. Changing your form sounds interesting, I at least would be excited."

From what I have learned, you would rather stay yourself. This admission of yours goes contrary to that.

Sanja sighed again: "It doesn't have to be."

Orineth was back again. And, more importantly, there was a slight impression of a face around its eyes. It skirted too close to the uncanny in her eyes, too close to the familiar to be anything else, but too far for her to not be unnerved. If the changes were to continue at this speed, she would probably see much more of its shape before she even had a chance to walk. If not out of here, then at least around the room. At least that was her guess. She had no idea how good the black ichor was at supporting a healing process. But the past few hours were too short of a time. Yet seemed long to her, when she spent them with her mind wandering. Realizing she was almost indifferent to the dark substance at this point. Wondering, what would Orineth's new form look like. And creating theories upon theories of what would happen to her, what was her purpose in the Qyrorian design.

From what you have expressed, you fell into one of the two dichotomous categories humans appear to have. But by analysis, it seems like a false claim. By examination of taken bodies, you should fall into the category of...

It was not able to finish the sentence.

"Shut up! Shut up! Shut the fuck up! Not a word further. ... Now, I will say it only once," she hissed with gritted teeth, "No matter how I look, how anybody looks, I am who I claim to be, not what you see. I am a woman, no matter how I was born. And be assured I hate it."

It seems the topic is upsetting to you. I am apparently not aware of a greater nuance.

Orineth's voice, that calm, almost emotionless voice, was so infuriating. She wanted to stand up and strangle it. Inflict violence upon it, even if some part of her knew her arms would just pass through it. Its ignorance was frustrating before, but now it was a source of anger. But she needed to squash it down. Force herself to calmness. And then talk. Explain. Again... Or was it actually the first time? Would she be telling this to an alien entity for the first time? That absurdity, which she was suddenly made aware of, brought her rage to halt. Now she could talk. She took a breath, forcing the air through her heaving. It sounded weird, halting, but it would be the following sound which was important. Her words.

"Being a man or a woman is an idea of yourself. Separate from how you're born, even if it mostly overlaps. ... Though, most people you asked would see no difference. ... It is hard to put into words. As much as I think myself insane right now, it would be easier for you to read my mind. Which I suspect you can do."

I can. But it was obvious you were vehemently against any intrusion. Even unconscious, you were able to push me out. Is this so important for you?

"It is," she nodded, "I am who I am... and you were, as strange it sounds to even me, the first to see me as such."

Understood.

With that, Orineth crossed the space between them, its tendrils anchoring it around Sanja's bed. Now, she could see its eyes from up close, the two petroleum blue orbs, like murky wells a trap for her own gaze. Just sink deeper and deeper, disappear into the void behind them, seeping into reality and into her mind. She didn't know when she stopped to perceive her surroundings. When her world shrank to the gaze. Just Orineth and nothing else. And then she was gone.

When she woke up, the situation had changed. There was tension in the air. And she and the Tarika were not alone. She hurriedly opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. There were two brutes in the room, thick arms and legs bulging with muscles, oozing the ichor both from the flesh and from the squashed faces - if they ever were there. It did not seem these beings had much need for expression, or even thinking. With them was a tall shadow, covered in something that looked like a cloak, made out of the flowing tar, freely melding with the same substance on the ground. Inside this shell was a hint of a body, but that was all she was able to see. It mayhap looked humanoid, but that's where any similarities ended and she was not able to discern much more about it.

She realized it was talking, the slight hum in the air a bit familiar. But she was not able to understand it. What she did understand though, was Orineth's answer.

Barging here is counterproductive. She is my ward, not a candidate for your experiments. Turn around and leave.

Maybe worse than expressing its anger, the Tarika's voice was the same picture of calm as before. But it seemed its words were not enough.

Leave. Now.

This time, the tall Qyroran's response was obvious. It didn't want to listen. Just to enforce its will. She didn't need any sort of translation for its next words. Its body language, the outstretched facsimile of an arm, made it abundantly clear: "Seize her."

Belay that order, for the first time, Orineth raised its voice. But the two brutes did not listen.  The two masses of muscle grabbed her and hoisted her up, intent on carrying her away like a sack. No thrashing helped her, their grip was like a vice.

She didn't want to. There was only one end waiting on her. She saw the Changed. She knew they could do even worse. She did not want for that to happen to her. She refused to lose herself. Even here, she stayed alive. She had kept her mind. She made Orineth respect her. Throwing the towel was not an option. So what she had no way of shaking them off. So what her idea was desperate. Insane. Absolutely fucking insane. There was only a minimal chance. But she had proven time and time again that would not deter her. Her will was stronger. She was a mage, even if everyone else forgot. And even if there was no water around, there was still liquid here. All she had to do was to reach out. Make it into her ally. Bend it to her will.

And so she did. There was just a single thought. A singular intent. She pressed it outwards, into the walls, the ground. Into the brutes' innards. She began to carve out her domain.

Nothing happened at first. But she prevailed. She knew she saw enough. She knew the connection was already there. Even if unwillingly. ... That was it. She crushed the thought. She wanted this. She needed this extension of herself. And she would take it. Grab it and use it. Even against its progenitors. Finally. The ichor began to ooze out of the walls of the long hall they had entered. And it was on her command. Just one more push, one more exertion of her will.

The pair had no chance to know what had happened. As the black liquid sprayed from the walls, from the ground, from the ceiling, it rapidly turned into an onslaught. It tore into them, hammering them into ground. And once they hit the floor, once the force pounded through their skin, the rest began to boil. The ichor they were infused with coalesced with the rest, turning upon them. They had no chance to hold her. She slipped from their hands, tumbling into the eye of the storm, maybe helpless in body, but her mind still in control.

The tall Qyroran stared in amazement at the cocoon, the liquid still pouring in, dissolving the two brutes into nothingness. As the torrent subsided, it revealed Sanja, propping herself up on one arm, her eyes midnight black.

She is not leaving here. I am sure you understand. Your actions were not authorized. I have already verified that. Leave.

And as if to mirror that, it heard the girl as well: "Begone."

Its cloak undulating under the strength of her will, it allowed it to dissipate, disappear into the now much higher layer of the tar on the floor. Right afterwards, it flew out of the door.

"Damn. I think I did something incredibly stupid just now..."

I am sorry. I did not anticipate the second Tarika's arrival. Also, I couldn't help you. I am unable to physically interact.

"I know. You tried to stop them anyways. I cannot blame you for this situation. For capturing me? That's on you, and you know it. But this was beyond your control. ... Is there a chance someone like this will arrive again?"

Not in the short term. You should have enough time to recuperate. ... Also, I know you will be agonizing over what you just did.

Before could Orineth continue, she nodded: "I'm already regretting it. The longer I'm here, the closer I get to the Changed. This had probably hastened it."

You are not wrong, but not entirely correct. I have seen what you fear. What if you kept your mind? And... what if I told you, I could get you the body you want? Would that be acceptable?

"I...," she began. Who was she kidding. This offer sounded amazing. Would she really be tempted by it?

...

Of course she would.

"Yes."