Pokemon Capture: Sigilyph
Required Characters: 30k
Actual Characters: 30100 (Yes, exactly)
A/N: It's 2 am right now, so there's not much of one. Um. This whole story is a bit weird, it's meant to be to reflect the subject matter. And uh. Yes, I know she's 12. Same thing. Okay, gonna go finish reffing and then SLEEP. GAHA.
I believe I can see the future
Cause I repeat the same routine
I think I used to have a purpose
But then again
That might have been a dream
I think I used to have a voice
Now I never make a sound
I just do what I've been told
I really don't want them to come around
-Every Day Is Exactly The Same by Nine Inch Nails
Anai wept silently in her bedroom. The sun was rising outside, making the room glow orange and pink. Mist had rolled in during the night and bathed the valley outside her window in a cold, grey fog. She lay completely still on her satin sheets. The room was beautiful. She had the finest furniture, the walls were bordered by real gold and pearls, and she had a closet filled with clothes made of silk. But none of this could make up for what they were going to take from her.
The night before, she had dreamed again. She had been standing in the village that laid in the valley, far from the palace that was her home. Everything was covered in fog. She could feel her heart beating wildly even though there was nothing around her that should frighten her so. She’d heard the eerie howling of a pack of wild Growlithe in the distance, and goose bumps formed over her entire body. A baby began to cry. She tried to scream, to warn someone, but she could make no noise. In this time, in this place, she was fake; a phantom from another world. A cloud covered the moon, and the valley was covered in darkness, except for something that glowed as it perched in the window of the house in front of her. The glowing thing disappeared inside the house, and Anai’s hair had stood straight up on the back of her neck. The baby stopped crying. The moon came out from behind the cloud. For the briefest second, Anai could see something black, blacker than the night itself, running away from the house with a small body in its jaws. She had woken up and began to vomit.
Her door opened. Before even seeing who came in, she said, “The lead scholar’s child is dead. Isn’t he?” Her face was shiny with tears. Her eyes had become huge brown pools, her pupils so dilated they nearly covered her iris.
The priest stepped inside, and closed the door softly. His purple robes glimmered in the morning sun. His face was hard. “He is. Do you know why?”
Anai turned her back on him, and looked out the window, though she could only see the sky and the endless mist. This way, he could not see her face, only her white shift and her coal black hair. “He was taken in the night, by a messenger of Anubis.”
Without looking at him, she knew the priest was nodding. “You are almost a woman. Twelve cycles of Ra. It is time to meet your partner, to see if you will be chosen as the Oracle.”
Her fists clenched and unclenched. Her entire body was tensed, like a wildcat about to pounce. Then she slumped forward. “Yes, Amennakhti.” She sat down, cross legged on the edge of her bed, and closed her eyes. She went away.
Amennakhti went into her closet and took out the golden dress which had been made for her when she was a small child. An ankh with a hawk’s eye over it had been sewn across the chest, the symbols of Ra and Osiris. He slipped the dress over her head. It fell neatly across her shift. Anai didn’t stir. She was revolting in silence. The priest muttered something under his breath. Within seconds, there was a knock at the door. He opened it for the two Lucario he had called. The blue and black jackals linked arms and closed their eyes. The space between their arms glowed purple. Slowly, the girl rose above the bed, carried by the purple light. She was placed gently in-between their arms. They carried her away, like a paper ship in a stormy sea.
Anai woke as a servant was painting her face.
“Be still, akhet,” the woman told her gently. Anai could feel an ankh being drawn up the bride of her nose, the top circle made on her forehead. She closed her eyes but remained conscious. The painting was over soon, and she was picked up in the servant’s arms, and taken out of the room. In her mind, she followed the pathway, out of the Preparation Room, and down the hallway. There was a pause when the woman knocked on the door in front of them. Though her eyelids were closed, Anai could see the gold doors perfectly, the image of Ra defeating the chaos demons expertly etched into it. Subconsciously, she touched the mark on her chest, for protection. As though Ra would protect me from one of his own servants, she thought angrily. The door opened. The woman holding her looked up regally and walked forward, each step carefully in place.
Anai felt the presence of the king before she saw him. He twirled and danced through her head, calling her to join him. Her eyes flickered open just as the woman laid her out on the altar. Her back had no sooner hit the warm gold, then the woman bowed, so low it appeared they were going to kiss. Priests lined the walls of the room, which was completely made of gold. Anai could see Amennakhti in the back corner, hiding in the shadows. He cared for her too much. She smiled bitterly. The head priest walked forward, each foot landing in time, almost as though the room was full of music. Even as she thought this, Anai began to hear what sounded like the beating of a huge heart. The priest stood behind the bowing woman. The woman’s breath grew faster. The priest placed one hand on the woman’s hip, the other reached into his pocket and pulled out- In a flash of silver, the dagger sliced across the woman’s throat. A river of blood soaked into Anai’s clothes and her skin. She tried not to retch in disgust. The woman fell on top of her and began to splutter, her mouth unable to form words, and her eyes rolling back into her head in panic. The head priest pushed the servant onto the floor, then backed into his place. All of the priests began to chant.
Anai twitched as the king tried to call to her, to enter her mind, but she wouldn’t allow him. The priests chanted faster, the heartbeat grew louder, until she thought her eardrums were going to burst. She cried out against her will, and she heard a loud rip from above her. She looked up, terrified. A large hole had appeared in the air above her. Her mouth hung open in a silent scream. The king was here.
“Sigilyph!” the head priest shouted, and the others repeated, “We have brought to you this child as a gift. We give her to you as a bride, so that you will protect us, to tell us of the evils of the dark and the underworld. Accept our offer, oh Great One!”
Anai’s pupils had shrunk to pinpricks as she stared into the void behind the Sigilyph. She could see… everything. She could see dark and light, good and evil, the past, present, and future. She screamed, again and again, and the Sigilyph grew closer and closer. Its appendages and wings were constantly moving, constantly changing shape, and its colors were flashing as well. It pushed its way through her feeble defenses and entered her mind. She thrashed on the altar, as the Sigilyph began to connect with her mind. She was suddenly aware of millions of memories and sensations, and she could feel her own limited memories transferred to the Pokemon.
Suddenly she felt as though something were pushing down onto her. Her ceremonial robes were ripped away from her and she shivered; the white shift was not much protection from the cool air of the throne room. She felt as though someone were running their hands along her body and she began to thrash harder. Her brain was processing too many emotions at once… pain, fear, amazement… pleasure? She screamed, moaned, and fainted.
She regained awareness somewhere dark. She was standing on the edge of a roof, looking down over onto some kind of festival. She could hear music, smell food, and hear laughter and excited talking. Anai knew it was the Festival of the Oracle. The king appeared beside her, though there was no void behind him this time, just the ever changing shapes and colors. She had the distinct impression he wanted her to pay attention.
She was angry. She hurt. But she squinted into the darkness. Then she saw it. A young man was sitting on a throne, a line of people before him holding gifts. Anai’s eyes widened. This wasn’t the Festival of the Oracle, it was a prince’s birthday that wouldn’t take place for another six months. Suddenly an arrow exploded out of the prince’s chest. Blood poured forth and he slumped to one side. People began to scream. Everyone ran in different directions. A man fell and was trampled. More arrows began to rain down, and one man bumped into a torch, which fell and ignited a tent. The fire blazed. The screams grew louder and Anai could smell charred flesh.
She turned to the Sigilyph. “Please,” she begged, “make this stop. Why did you pick me?” Her eyes teared up. The Sigilyph blinked.
The world turned black.
She woke her back and neck hurting, sticky with dried blood. Her eyes had nearly crusted shut with it. She whimpered softly for help. The head priest came to her with a wet cloth and washed away the dirt and blood. “What did you see?” he asked.
She tried to speak, but could not. He turned to the other priests. “Water, you fools!”
One hurriedly grabbed a cup and filled it from a vase of water behind him. He brought it forward. The head priest held it to her lips and she drank greedily.
When she finished and wiped her lips with her hands, she gasped, “On the prince’s birthday, he’ll be shot with arrows. Everyone will panic. Fire.” She started coughing.
“Good enough,” the head priest said, “Take her to her chambers to sleep.”
Anai was carried to her room in a servant’s arms, barely conscious. She was laid carefully on her bed, and another servant immediately entered the room with a cup of hot tea and a loaf of bread. They waited until Anai had eaten a little, though she could barely taste it, and then left. She fell into a blessedly dreamless sleep.
Welcome, Bride. The words were without voice, without sound. They entered her head with no warning or fanfare. It was pure meaning, no aesthetics.
She looked down at herself and shuddered. She had no body. She was a shadow of a shadow, the flash of sunlight on water. Her essence rippled against the dark. Here she was not Anai. Here she was nothing. The nothing-girl looked around, trying to find the source of the voice, but all she could see was the empty black of eternity.
I am here, Bride, but not where you can see. There is nothing to see here. You must find me with your heart.
She shivered slightly. The nothing-girl could not accept that this place was empty. She reached out a tendril of thought, a question. Something reached back, something greater, and curled around it like a huge hand.
Do not be frightened. This is my kingdom. There is nothing here but you and I. This is where we will do our work, Bride.
She sent out a question again, though this was more curious than worried.
There is not much work for you yet, Bride. Your mind is still weak. You must grow stronger.
There was a pinprick of light in the darkness. The nothing-girl tried to move towards it, but couldn’t move. She was frustrated.
You cannot move. Pull it towards you. Will it towards you.
She concentrated. The dot of light began to move towards her ever so slightly. It was like trying to lift a boulder. She tried harder, but soon wore herself out. She relaxed and floated aimlessly. She felt an odd sensation. Something warm against the empty cold, like the heat of sunshine on a windy day. Laughter. The light moved towards her effortlessly. As it came closer, she could see that it wasn’t a distant star, as she’d believed, but a small orb, the size of her palm. The king held it in front of her. She could see something moving inside, and peered deeper into it. Inside the orb were a young boy and girl, smiling shyly, hidden behind a grove of papyrus. They leaned forward and kissed. A golden line appeared, connecting them both.
The string of destiny, Bride.
When the nothing-girl looked away from the orb, she could see a golden string linking her to it, and another linking her to a far off place in the dark. The dark place felt warm, and she willed it closer. It took no energy to move it forward. Had she still had a stomach it would’ve filled with warmth. This time when she felt the sensation of hands, she didn’t scream or thrash. She relaxed into the warmth, and sighed softly.
For a while, time and space went away.
Talk to me, Bride.
Another questioning tendril shot out. The nothing-girl was confused.
Send me the words in your head. Push them towards me. Become stronger, Bride.
She did as she was told. King, she said, King?
The laughter feeling came again.
She opened her eyes. Everything was so very bright. Too bright.
Her throat was dry and painful. Her lips were so chapped that when she tried to speak, they cracked and bled. She cried out. A servant ran inside with a cup of water.
“Akhet, akhet!” the woman cried, “You have slept for three days! What have you seen?”
Anai shook her head and drained the cup in less than a minute. “More,” she rasped.
The servant left and came back with an entire pitcher. Anai drank all of it. “I saw nothing of importance,” she gasped, “I am being trained. Tell the priests. Now let me sleep.”
She pushed the woman away, and the servant fled. Just as she faded into sleep, she realized, I didn’t touch her with my hands. Then all thought left her.
My Bride, why do you leave for so long?
The dark was still uncomfortable, but the nothing-girl almost enjoyed it. There were not so many lights and sounds to hurt her eyes and ears. It was peaceful. She pushed her confusion at the King, a demand for an explanation.
You were gone for many month, Bride.
More confusion. Minutes, she protested.
It wasn’t minutes here. He curled around her. So much time is gone. We must work now.
The peace of the dark disappeared in a flash of heat and sun. Anai squinted in discomfort. She was no longer nothing. The Sigilyph floated next to her, one of its strange, skeletal wings draped around her neck. There, Bride, in the desert. Look.
Anai stared out across the burning sea of white hot sand. A familiar looking man stumbled on a rock and fell to the ground. His skin had been burned by the sun and his ribs stuck out. She crept towards him carefully, like a dog that was used to being beaten. Her eyes widened. “This is the pharaoh,” she said, her voice soft.
Yes. The son of Ra has been forced from his kingdom.
“You can see this?”
Once again, she could see the golden thread linking them. She held the odd Pokemon to her breast. She could feel its contentment.
I must show you frightening things, Bride. Try to not be upset.
Okay. She spoke with her mind. The Sigilyph’s contentment grew.
Soon you will never have to open your lips again, it told her as it tore open a void, a hideous wound in the pale blue sky. This time she stared into the void, fascinated rather than frightened. All of the information pouring from the void soaked into her mind. She was pulled into it.
The new reality was dark, but not because of nothingness. She looked down at her body; she was wearing a gold dress, much like the one she’d been wearing when she was partnered with the Sigilyph. She was older as well. She could see the curves beneath the dress, and knew they did not belong to her. She was laying on a dirty bed. It was quiet. Suddenly there was a scuffle outside of the room, and she listened closely, but couldn’t understand what was being said. A door opened and light flooded the room for a moment, before fading again.
She felt someone lay on top of her, and she wanted to push them off or scream, but it was as though she were frozen. She could see the outline of the man as he lifted her dress and began to move his hands across her. She cried out to the Sigilyph with her mind, but he did not respond. Something pierced her side and this time, she screamed out loud. The man laughed and no one came to rescue her. He pressed his lips to the wound in her side, letting her blood run over them. He stabbed her again, and she screamed and she screamed, but no one came, and she could do nothing. Eventually she faded away.
She welcomed the now familiar darkness. The nothing-girl called out with her mind to the Sigilyph. She screamed to him the pain and the fear. She wanted him to know what she had had to know.
I am sorry. It was something you are meant to see, Bride. You must know the life of the commoners in this kingdom.
Me? She asked, a primitive way of saying ‘Who was I?’
You were a woman who was being sold for the purpose of being killed.
She probed the Sigilyph with questioning thoughts, but he ignored them, instead attempting to soothe her. She almost thought she could feel a hand resting on the small of her back, and another running through her hair.
The humans do not understand why the gods are cruel to them. They cannot fathom that cruelty brings cruelty upon itself.
She was quiet for a while. Finally, the Sigilyph began to push her away. She felt like she was swimming from a long way under the surface. She pondered for a moment, whether she really wanted to go back into the world of light, or whether she was happier beneath the waves of time and space. Then she hit air. She woke.
The pain was intense. She couldn’t make any noise. Luckily, a servant was waiting next to her bed, this time an entire pitcher is ready. “What is happening to you?” she squealed, “You’ve been asleep for seven days! Are you ill?”
Anai shook her head. “The pharaoh is in danger from traitors,” she said, “I must speak to Amennakhti.”
Anai drank long and hard, not stopping until Amennakhti ran through the door. His face was hard.
“What’s this you say about traitors?” he asked her.
She shook her head. “One of my visions… The pharaoh was walking through the desert, starving and burned. He died there from lack of food and water. The Sig-“ She stopped. “The King told me it was because of traitors.”
Amennakhti rubbed his beard. “Interesting,” he said. “We will double security.” He looked very unhappy, and troubled, but Anai paid little attention.
“I need to go back to sleep now,” she said, and started to place her head back on the pillow.
“Wait!” Amennakhti stopped her. “I need to know what else you saw!”
She stared at him for a moment. “Just the death of a common woman.”
His frown deepened. “Why would the King show you that?”
She shrugged. “He told me that cruelty brings cruelty upon itself. Now leave me be. I wish for nothing but to learn more from him.”
Before Amennakhti could stop her, she was fast asleep.
The nothing-girl could feel her King coil around her, protecting her, warming her.
Be careful, Bride. Speak no more to the evil men in robes.
Bad? She was confused. Amennakhti was always a friend and mentor to her. When he sacrificed her, he had only been doing his duty. Besides, the Sigilyph had become a friend and protector. In any case, Amennakhti was far, far from this safe place. It didn’t matter. She sighed.
I see great evil coming from those of the purple robes. Beware them, Bride.
She was quiet for either a second or an eternity. In the dark space, time was meaningless. Finally she asked, Work?
She felt affirmation from the Sigilyph. There is going to be more hurt, Bride. Are you ready?
Yes, she thought feebly.
The comfort and safety of the dark disappeared.
She found herself floating in the throne room. She could see herself below, hair wild and unkempt, muttering and thrashing in her sleep. She was being carried to the altar on a platform by four priests in purple robes. The head priest lead them. They set her onto the golden altar. Her hair fell aside, and she couldn’t help noticing her throat was bared, the gentle pulse of her breath unguarded.
The priests gathered in a circle. Anai recognized Amennakhti. His expression was grave. The head priest spoke first, his eyes narrow with disgust.
“Amennakhti has informed me that the girl has discovered our plot to destroy the pharaoh.”
The other three priests gasped.
“What will we do?” asked the pudgiest one.
“Continue with our plan,” the head priest said. “If the royal priests declare the pharaoh is not Ra’s true son, who will disagree with us?”
“But the girl-“ a thin, unhealthy looking priest began to suggest.
“There won’t be a girl!” the head priest declared, a nasty look on his face.
Amennakhti looked away, unwilling to face Anai’s sleeping form. “Must we?” he asked, in almost a whisper.
“Amennakhti, do you doubt my wisdom? This is the will of the gods.”
Anai felt sick. Surely Amennakhti would speak up, wouldn’t he?
“Very well,” he said. “But I must leave.”
He walked away from her, and as he passed through the door, Anai heard a whimper from her sleeping form. The head priest approached. The other priests began to chant.
The head priest sprinkled blessed water over her, and Anai watched herself shudder in the cold. Her eyelids began to twitch. Quickly, he drew the signs of Osiris and Ra on her face: the hawk’s eye and the ankh. Still muttering a chant, he pulled out a ceremonial dagger, the same one he had used to sacrifice the servant woman that had carried Anai here only a little more than a week ago. With one quick movement, he sliced down her throat and continued to halfway down her belly, the motion to ward off evil spirits in someone’s body. Her blood-caked dress slid open, along with her belly. Blood poured out, and Anai tried to scream, but felt as though a hand were over her mouth.
She was whisked back to the darkness.
She clung to the formless presence of the Sigilyph. Future? Her thoughts quivered with fear and apprehension.
Yes, unless you are careful and quick. If you can finish the next series of dreams quickly, Bride, you will be able to wake and defeat them. In the solid world, you are strong now.
She shivered alone in the dark. Go? she asked finally.
He sent her a tendril of comfort and the dark disappeared again.
This time, when she found herself cooking in the rays of the harsh desert sun, she was much lower to the ground. So low, her face was almost touching the sand. Her ears twitched uncomfortably. From what she could see of herself, she was covered in shaggy brown hair, and had a set of tiny paws. The idea of being stuck in the body of a Pokemon confused her, yet she was somewhat fascinated. She tried to focus. She was now in a matter of life and death.
Her Eevee body scampered across the dunes, following the scent of something tasty. Her sense of smell was so powerful it almost overwhelmed her. The desert was alive with the scents of hundreds of Pokemon and plants, but the one she was focused on was especially interesting. It was, in fact, delicious. She followed its trail.
It wasn’t long before she found its source; some brightly colored berries near a papyrus farm. The Eevee began to scarf them down, swallowing them without chewing or pausing for air. Soon the berries were gone and the Eevee laid down to rest.
Just as she was about to fall asleep, her stomach twisted in pain. She yowled and climbed to her feet. The pain racked through her again. She fell to the ground and began to writhe in pain. Bile rose in her throat and she began to vomit. Blood caked her muzzle as she continued to throw up, unable to stop even when her stomach was empty. She was so thirsty… but there was nothing. Finally, mercifully, the life passed from the Eevee’s body.
Why show me? Why would the Sigilyph, her protector, her King make her experience all of this pain? She demanded an answer from him with her probing thoughts.
Someone put those berries there to kill the Pokemon that eat them. It was not an accident. Someone created that pain.
But why me?
It is important for you to understand this pain. You must stop it.
Anai could see the thread of destiny glimmer in the darkness.
There is one more for you to see. Are you ready?
She woke as a grown woman, a small child next to her. The little girl by her side had long, curly black hair and large brown eyes. She was anxious for some reason. She knew she would lose her soon. She held the child close to her.
Someone knocked at the door and she wrapped the child in a blanket, trying to protect her. A man on the other side of the house got up and opened the door. His hair was dark brown and hung in his eyes. The thread of destiny linked all three of them, and one end extended straight up. When Anai followed it with her eyes, she saw that there was no ceiling, only empty space. She shuddered.
Several men in purple robes walked through the door, and came towards her. One looked familiar… Then it hit her. The one in the middle was Amennakhti! Anai would’ve gasped if she were able to.
“Meskhenet,” he said, “we have come to collect the child."
Anai clutched her to her breast and spoke in a voice that wasn’t hers. “No, you can’t have her. She’s ours!” Her eyes were wide with panic. The girl could not have been more than two. She couldn’t go with them, not yet. She wasn’t ready.
“Meskhenet…” spoke up one that Anai recognized as the current head priest, “we have already talked about this. This child is property of the throne. She has the Gift.”
Anai’s heart leaped into her throne.
“How do you know you’re not mistaken?” the voice that wasn’t hers asked.
“I promise we are very careful when we check,” he assured her. He took a step forward, arms stretched out. “Please give her to us. We will take care of her.”
The woman’s heart was pounding in panic. She swallowed. “I’ve seen what happens to those girls! You can’t take my baby, you can’t take my Anai!” She wrenched the little girl away from the priests.
The head priest reached into his cloak. Anai knew what was coming.
No more, no more, she pleaded silently to the heavens. The Sigilyph didn’t respond.
There was a sudden pain in her chest, and Anai looked down. The dagger was sticking out of her chest, right above the child’s head. Her head. She cried out. She fell. As her blood ran down her chest and arms, the head priest took the child, the young version of herself. He handed her to Amennakhti.
“Here. Take care of her. She’s your problem until the time of the Partnership.” Amennakhti held her. He looked at the dying woman sadly then left.
The threads of destiny had grown to fill the room, waving out in intricate, incomprehensible pattern.
“Anai…” she whispered, then passed into the void.
The nothing-girl howled with grief when she returned to the darkness.
Hurt! she complained. Why? Why, why, why?
I don’t know. He tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away. You must hurry, Bride, or there will be nothing left of you in the concrete world. You have to go.
He tried to push her out of the darkness, but she clung to him, refused to go. He became frustrated.
Foolish child, you will die! I can’t save you, you must go!
No. No want.
Yes, you do, but you’re angry and hurt. This is your only chance, you can’t grieve now, Bride, you must go.
With all of his strength, he pushed her into the world of sun and sand.
Her eyelids flickered open, and at first she could see nothing but shapes moving in a fog. Her throat was on fire. She knew herself to be severely dehydrated. She tried to move, but it was as though something were holding her down.
Then she felt the cool touch of paint on her forehead and knew what was coming. She began to struggle, and to cry out, but not sound would come.
Sigilyph! King! Help! she screamed in silence.
No one came.
She heard the chanting and remembered the sacrifice her mother had made. She realized too how her father must have suffered, losing both his wife and daughter. She gave up on using her physical body. She turned to the weapon of her mind.
She concentrated on a vase on the other side of the room as her vision began to clear. She moved it slightly to the right. The effort was huge; like moving a large piece of furniture. She moved it a little more, and it crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces on the golden tiles. The head priest jerked around, and the other priests stared. They stopped chanting for a moment, before resuming again.
Amennakhti, she tried to call, Amennakhti, but he wouldn’t respond. She didn’t know if he couldn’t hear her or if he didn’t want to. She began to struggle again, and she felt her left wrist break free.
“She’s waking up!” one of the priests in the back screeched, “Finish the ritual!”
Their chanting grew faster, blessed water was splashed in her face, and she fought the urge to try to drink it, her tongue as parched as the desert outside. Snap! Her right wrist broke free. She began to sit up.
“Now!” She thought it was Amennakhti who gave this final order. It was his voice. But she refused to believe it.
There was a sharp pain and she looked down. The dagger was sticking out from her chest. It was lodged in her heart. She choked for a minute, choked on her words, her bile, and the blood that was quickly welling up in her lungs, one of which had been punctured as the blade dug its way to her heart. She gargled for a minute, trying to get out everything she’d been holding in.
Nothing came out.
She laid back down. Her eyes closed. Anai died.
Only the nothing-girl remained.
I will try to make you happy here. We can train the next one. Maybe this time things will be better.
The Sigilyph reached out a tendril of comforting thought to her. She grasped it with her consciousness. She was truly nothing. There was no pain, no urgency, no need. There was only her king. There was only the comforting empty darkness. She sighed as he wrapped himself around her. She felt the sensation of hands running over her. She returned it and was filmed with warmth, warmth and happiness. She could feel the same flowing throughout the Sigilyph. For the first time, she thought she could see his form, or the outline of his form, somewhere in the space. He was near her.
Love, she told him simply.
There was a pause for a minute, and she almost worried that she had frightened the Sigilyph somehow, had scared him with the intensity of the feeling she sent out to him. But then it was returned back, twice as strong, and she relaxed, allowing herself to be enveloped in it. She knew that she was dead. Her life in the concrete world, the real world was over, but it didn’t matter to her. She was almost happy. She was peaceful.
Love, he agreed, the one word encompassing all of it, their warmth and togetherness in a world of nothing but black, endless space. There was pain. There was hurt. But it was not there. This was enough.
Every day is exactly the same
Every day is exactly the same
There is no love here and there is no pain
Every day is exactly the same