Lillian
Lillian couldn't think. Or, more accurately, thinking hurt. Whenever she tried to bring thoughts forward in her mind, an agonizing spike of black drove them all away. She'd tried working past the pain a few times. And, that worked, in a way. Lillian had pushed past the empty pain and tried to gather information. But whatever information Lillian had obtained, it wasn't valuable enough for her to keep track of it. Or maybe it was; trying to recall was frightening and painful. A spike scattered the line of thought away, leaving Lillian to float until another idea brought another spike and split her again. Thinking hurts. Information is everything. Someone had said, but Lillian couldn't remember who, and trying to would bring pain. Trying to recall anything in this place never went well. Is this a place? Lillian thought before another spike of agony drove the thought away and the memory of it as well. Thinking hurt. Some ideas hurt less, but if they came together to form anything coherent. Another spike of pain drove the line of thought away. Thinking hurts. Remembering Hurts. Trying to see was horrifying. Color invited too many ideas. Thought lead to... Spikes of agony splintered Lillian's mind. Thinking hurt.
Lillian knew of some safe thoughts. Her name was safe. Lillian Visroyal, that was her name. But trying to figure out why that was her name and why she could remember it would always hurt. The pain wasn't worth it. Letting herself exist was the only thing that mattered. Wondering about anything else, well, it hurt. Existing wasn't painful, but that was the only thing that wasn't painful. How did she know this? It inited pain to ask, and if she kept asking, another spike drove into her mind. Thinking hurts. Lillian didn't know what her body was doing. It existed, somewhere, somehow, but it wasn't connected to her. Lillian didn't know how she knew this, but she knew not to dwell on the idea, as that would bring more agony. >He would work through the pain.< Who was he? More pain shattered the line of thinking. Thinking hurts. Lillian existed, or did she? It wasn't worth the discomfort to consider that.
Lillian floated, listless, and scattered in something. Whatever the something was, Lillian couldn't piece together enough shattered thoughts to remember. Lillian couldn't remember because remembering would bring another dark spike of agony, but KNOWING was different. Lillian knew a few things. Tiny little bits of knowledge that she knew proceeded beyond the spikes of agonizing black. She knew not to think; she knew that she was Lillian Visroyal, she knew the difference between knowing and remembering, but she didn't know how to make that distinction with new things. Lillian knew a few other things: she wasn't connected to her body, and trying to change that, brought something bad. She didn't know what the bad was but knew that trying to find out was worse than the spikes of agony. >Why was it worse?< A cold rod of dark shattered the thought and left Lillian reeling in pain again, the line of thinking lost again. Again? Lillian thought. But thinking brought the pain, and the pain drove away the thoughts. Thinking hurts.
Eventually, Lillian felt a change. She understood that time had passed. Understanding brought pain, like usual, but this pain didn't drive away the thoughts. More pain came with every idea that tied together. The idea brought memories of an experience she wasn't supposed to know, bringing more of those empty spikes to rend her psyche. But something gripped her, stopping the agonizing spike of emptiness from scattering her. That something held her, gathering her in one spot, all the little bits of her that Lillian had long forgotten. She recalled her name. This was more than knowing. She remembered others using that name to refer to her. Remembering brought pain, but the something holding her latched onto the spike and used it to find more of her. Each piece of her had something it knew, but each knew it was Lillian Vistoyal. Why was that important? Why was knowing her name important? Why had every part of her made sure to know that? Was it dangerous to forget that? Was it a coincidence that all the parts knew they were Lillian? Or was it that any portion that forgot that it was Lillian was lost in a manner?
The questions brought agony, but the torture now failed to scatter her. Torture? Yes, that was what this was, torture—agonizing torture, in a neverending nightmare. The complex idea brought the spikes, but Lillian was more and could tell they weren't spikes but the ends of something larger. She was somewhere massive, or was Lillian Visroyal minuscule? Pain, pain, pain, stabbing, unbearable pain, each time she thought, she felt more of that pain trying to drive her apart, trying to scatter her back to infinitesimally small pieces of herself. But, the something held her together. The something wasn't necessarily kind. It was aggressive, grabbing parts of Lillian and shoving them against the most significant part of herself. Or was that the wrong way of thinking? Was this the core of Lillian, or had this portion just been the first one that the something found? Those empty things stabbed and stabbed, trying to stop Lillian from thinking, trying to drive her apart. But, they failed, and more of Lillian Visroyal was gathered into a single piece. The something didn't care that gathering Lillian caused her mind-shattering anguish, without the relief of shattering. It didn't seem even to acknowledge the pain it was causing Lillian. At first, Lillian thought this was a sign that the something was unaware of the pain and had no idea what it was doing to her. But as more of her came together, her perception of the are around herself grew, and she came to a realization that frightened her.
The something was of a similar composition to the empty spikes of pain. And, in gathering her, the something was taking uncountably more blows from those spike than the current her was. The something wrapped around her, protecting her from as many of those empty vessels of torture as its form allowed. The pain she experienced was only that of those that slipped past the protection of the something. The something took so many more of those blows that shattered and scattered Lillian that she wondered how it could stand to gather her. How and why did this entity suffer through this for Lillian? What was so different about the something that allowed it to push past that torturous experience with its goals intact? As more of Lilian gathered, she remembered more. The battle, the war, that final speech he ever gave, a call to arms with a caveat. He fought beside them, he fought for them, and when they all fell, he fought to avenge them. He would have met the same fate as Lillian, one of agony and thoughtlessness floating somewhere that was beyond nowhere. But, he would never give in, would he. Lillian couldn't recall his name, but she knew what he would say about a pain blowing away his thoughts. "If the pain is significant enough to empty my mind, then my mind was filled with paltry ideas that couldn't solve the situation." He would recover from the emptiness and step forward back to himself. Lillian stopped referring to that which protected and gathered her as the something. Instead, she started believing it to be him, whatever his name was. The individual known as Lillian assumed that this was him, even without the evidence of such a thing.
When she thought of the thing around her as him, she remembered the concept of shame. A new rush of flexible empty things stabbed into Lillian, trying to eliminate the emotion. No, they wanted to rid Lillian of the ability to feel that emotion. So she settled into that new and old concept of shame. How could she let him solve the issue entirely on his own? He was doing everything, from gathering the pieces of Lilian from wherever they were to taking the blows from the empty cold pain. And what was Lillian doing? Existing, existing, and lamenting about her newfound thoughts. How shameless could this Lillian be? How could she let herself sit idly by as he worked to save her from whatever this was? She couldn't; that was the answer. She didn't know how, but she had to help. Lillian wracked her surprisingly deficient mind to think of a way to help him, help her. Surprisingly, this was all she had to do. With every thought she tried to construct, another spike would attempt to scatter her, but each spike was attached to a longer structure that leads off into the distance to another piece of Lillian shattered some untold time before. So Lillian thought, remembered, and formed ideas, all mundane things to the her in memory, but things that the current her had grown terrified of doing. She recalled her favorite food—a stew made with the largest cut of meat on a Fire Breathing Finch. She delved into memories of family, her parents, and how they died. She thought of happy smiles and sad nights crying, all the little memories that made this entity, Lillian Visroyal.
This continued for a time Lillian failed to understand. It felt like an eternity, but when her concept of time had fully gathered together, she experienced it all in an instant. Like the place she was in was separated from reality, and by gathering herself together, reality came crashing back in with laws that hadn't applied before. Time flowed, but it didn't; it moved so slowly that Lillian failed to count the instants in a meaningful manner. One instant lasted forever but forever would no longer come. The pain went from noticeably delayed spikes of emptiness to an untold number of instantly stabbing tentacles. The pain reaching a magnitude that threatened to drive the newly reconstructed Lillian insane, to break her mind once more, scattering her back into that abyss. But, the instant passed, and Lillian heard something, for the first time since the battle. She heard someone calling to her. Words that sung for her to follow, and she did. The voice came from the him that protected her, but it guided her, telling her where she needed to go. The voice was his voice, but different. Lillian couldn't really tell what was different. It felt like when she tried to recall him speaking, this voice was all she found in her memory, but something told her that it was wrong. But, she didn't care, she believed the individual calling to her to be him, and Lillian would follow him to the end.
As she approached her destination, whatever it was, she finally understood the words he spoke. "They made you a monster, whose instincts are abhorrent and gory, leaving your mind in a million pieces." He said. She couldn't tell what part of what he said meant. Was she a monster? And if she was, why would he still help her? But, those questions were thrown aside by the second part, he knew. He knew her mind was scattered and had chosen to gather her together again. "BUT I SAY FUCK THEIR STORY, DAMN THEM." He yelled. Lillian didn't quite know who he was, damning, but she remembered the battle and remembered her promise. So she screamed with him, DAMN THEM she said, whoever they are. "LOYALTY EARNS REWARD, AND YOUR'S WILL BE FREEDOM" He yelled, his voice pulling Lillian closer and closer. Was she loyal? Lillian wondered. She gave up, let herself float in that abyss as scattered pieces of herself, each knowing only one or two things. She didn't return to his side, so did she deserve the rewarded freedom? She didn't get to work through these thoughts before his voices screamed through the void yet again. He was pulling her closer with every syllable. "YOU LOST YOUR MIND. YOU LOST YOUR FACE. YOUR VERRY BODY DROVE YOU INSANE. YOU EXIST AT THE EDGE OF TIME, BUT I BRING YOU BACK BY CALLING YOUR NAME." His voice was all she could hear up until the final moment. He pulled her along and drew her to the destination, whatever it was. Then her senses exploded outwards, filling her mind with new, maddening amounts of information before another voice filled her mind and culled the madness.
"LILLIAN VISROYALE" An odd sound that seemed to be a cacophony of fabric moving across fabric to create words. This sound entered Lillian's mind, filling every corner with her own name. And when the sound left, she found herself on the ground, her senses providing only the information her mind could handle. Lillian saw black like something covered her eyes. Her nose picked up the faint smell of dirt and the aroma of sawdust. Her ears picked up the sound of two people breathing, but three moving, nearly hidden by the sound of wind and small animals. She tasted iron but couldn't feel any blood in her mouth, like the memory of a mouth filled with the metallic fluid hadn't quite faded from her tongue. A chill swept across her skin, the wind brushing across her bare flesh. Her knees rested directly against the grass, and her hands lay against the flesh of her thighs. >I'm naked.< Lillian thought, as more sensations filled her mind. She could feel that she had three broken limbs, all easily repairable. Her muscles felt strained like Lillian had pushed her entire body well beyond the breaking point for far too long. And, the final feeling that reached her mind was that of a hand, bony and rough, holding her head in place, quite firmly.
"Eno eb ug, Kot semo crethos bel whol." A series of syllables produced by that same sound that seemed to be made by cloth brushing past cloth entered Lillian's ears. She didn't understand the words, but soon after they were created, Lillian felt a piece of clothing of some kind get draped over her front, protecting her from the elements. Lillian tried to turn her head, but the hand on her face held fast in a way that didn't match the feeling its form transmitted. She debated trying to lift her strained limbs to fight off the thing holding her, but a few things stopped her from doing so. The first, the thing holding her, seemed to be the origin of that odd sound that mimicked a voice, and it definitely knew her name. The other, while the breaks in her limbs were easy to repair, they weren't the only thing wrong with her body. She had severe bruising, lacerated muscles, torn tendons, cracked ribs, and she was starving for how odd it was to have such a feeling be background noise. So, Lillian decided it was best to try and request the hand be removed from her face.
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"Uhh, I'm not entirely sure what's going on, but may I request that I be permitted to move my head?" Lillian requested the freedom of her face in a civil tone.
"No." That odd fabricy voice replied. It was strange to hear a sound and feel in her mind the intended emotions, but the voice carried a feeling of relief and a minor bit of finality. But, the almost dismissive nature of the words was familiar. Lillian knew of one person who could simultaneously wholly ignore your existence while keeping you held in a position that felt like you were his focus. Him. The individual Whose name even now escaped Lillian's brain, as if the concept of naming his was an action that couldn't be permitted. He was who had pulled Lillilian from that abyss, but he did not have a voice like this. But it still had to be him.
"My liege, if you'd be so kind, could you please tell me why I'm not allowed to move my head?" Lillian used a title that she felt would convey her beliefs, even without the memory of his name.
"You haven't stabilized yet." That sound of rubbing fabric entered her ears again. And, in her mind, she felt a form of confirmation to who was in front of her. That feeling came along with another, indicating that Lillian should allow whatever was happening to proceed. So, she did. Lillian sat in silence, content to know she was in safe hands, even if they were merely the hands of an acquaintance. She trusted the one holding her, even if he did not trust her. So, she sat and waited for some sort of sign to arrive. A sign of what? Lillian didn't know; maybe it would be a sign that told her what he meant by stabilized. Or, perhaps it would be simpler, like the hand being removed from her face. But for now, Lillian let herself remember the past.
Lillian didn't know him very well. That wasn't to say she never spoke with him; no, they spoke semi-regularly. But, when they interacted, it was not as friends or anything more substantial. Their relationship was one of a leader and a warrior on his council. She knew of him, and he knew of her, but what they knew about each other was limited at best. What Lillian could claim to know about the person himself was his undeniable might. A power that shook the world and called to the souls of those around him. He left an impression on the mind of anyone who bore witness to his form. But, aside from the occasional speech and the rare words of encouragement he provided, Lillian knew next to nothing about the man. She knew she trusted his guidance and would follow him to the end. But, Lillian couldn't say if he was a good person or someone of high moral character. He was simply a figure in her mind, or at least that is what she could recall about him now. His features, like his name, were gone, and probably any memory that would assist in identifying him along with them. But, That was fine; Lillian didn't need to know these things. All she need remember was the idea of him.
Eventually, the sign Lillian was waiting for arrived. The hand on her face moved, and a wrapping of some kind took its place, blocking her eyes before they could take in the surroundings. She could move her head now, and with that freedom returned, she was also able to stand. Feeling the ground beneath her feet and the grass between he toes was a profoundly nostalgic feeling, for reasons Lillian couldn't comprehend. She didn't know why, but the world around her felt so foreign but so familiar. As a child, you once knew who'd grown older since you last met—the image of what once was imposed over the now. But Lillian couldn't figure out why she felt this way. She felt the wind against her face and the sun on her head, and all of it felt like a long-lost friend, forgotten till the moment they reappeared. A profound sadness welled up from inside of Lillian, a feeling of loss without the understanding of what she'd lost. Lillian tried to hold back that wave of emotion, to stim the tide and sort through herself to find the origin of this feeling. But they proved too much for her, as tears started to drip from the corners of her eyes, and her lips started to quiver. Lillian began to bawl at that feeling that she didn't understand, and a bony hand landed on her back, holding her against the world so she wouldn't be swept away by the rushing torrent of emotion. With the silent reassurance, Lillian leaned against that hand and let herself cry without understanding why.
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The Man
The Man watched in astoundment, his mind reeling at the sight in front of him. Grey, a husk, had transformed into a young woman. The injuries from The Husk restraining Grey still plainly evident across her pale skin. Purple and black bruising along both arms and on one leg. Unnatural bends in the limbs, indicating they were still far from mended. Her bare chest, what was probably a sight to behold if she was healthy, was marred with black marks and a distorted ribcage. Her stomach was sunken in like she hadn't eaten in weeks. The Husk still stood behind her, holding her face, pointed to the sky, but The Man felt that underneath that emaciated appendage, her cheeks would be sunken, and her eyes recessed. While The Man took in the sight of the damaged girl, The Husk spoke out a command."One of you, Get some clothes for her." The Woman moved almost instantly to obey, producing a cloak from somewhere and draping it over the broken girl's body.
This person was injured, and her body was filled with signs of torment and pain. But unlike what The Man expected, the first thing to leave her mouth was not a scream of agony but a stream of sounds that sounded like words. "Uhh, Pum'v jet onkilorupp sulo haxat nud keick en, fut caxan Pum loquoch zaxat Pum fo dolmittow te vevo vupp whoaxad?" The words sounded like gibberish to The Man. The form completely separated from that of any Langauge The Man had ever heard. "je." The Husk replied with a similarly odd-sounding word. It spoke this unknown language so naturally that The Man almost missed the dismissive tone, with how caught up he was in the unfamiliar words themselves. "Vupp riogo, dib ug'd fo se gict, ceurd ug proaxaso torr vo hupp Pum'v jet axarrewow te vevo vupp whoaxad?" She spoke again, this time her tone seeming to contain a note of respect that The Man hadn't heard in the previous stream of syllables. "Ug whaxavoniz chaxafirizow yot." The Husk replied, its rasping horror of a voice revealing nothing to The Man.
No one said anything for some time. The Man watched as pieces of something floated away from the body of the girl, who he eventually realized must be named Lillian. Snippets of black and purple drifted out of her injuries and out of the space beneath the hand of The Husk. Like impurities in metal, pulled off by a blacksmith after they floated to the top. Those same injuries slowly faded, the bruising vanishing, the bones realigning themselves. But, no matter how many of those impurities drifted away, Lillian maintained the figure of a starved individual. Her limbs, poking out from beneath the cloak, still lacked any muscle definition, the skin sagging away from the bones. But, despite this, Lillian appeared content to sit and wait for whatever The Husk was doing to reach its conclusion.
After some time passed, The Husk took a piece of fabric from its body and tied it around Lillian's face, blocking her eyes before stepping away from her kneeling form. After, she stood up with almost fluid motions, betrayed only by the trembling of her limbs, each working past its current form to hold her up. But, Lillian didn't seem to notice the strain on her limbs as she flexed her toes and sniffed at the air. She held the cloak to her chest in a manner that made one question if she even noticed the action or was too absorbed in taking in the sensation of the world around her. The Man watched her look around, her eyes still covered, but she appeared to take in new information with the action despite her impeded vision. Her face displayed a mix of emotions, confusion, wonder relief, and a tiny bit of fear. But all of these soon gave way to an expression of sadness. Tears dripped out of the blindfold, her lips quivered, and her body shook as she let out a cry of confused grief. She cried out with a sound that spoke to a loss of a loved one or the disappearance of one's home, but The Man couldn't see any sign in the area of what would elicit such emotion. The Husk appeared to expect this kind of reaction as he stepped forward and placed a single gnarled hand against Lillian's back, allowing her to lean backward and weep at the skies above.
Lillian cried for some time, her voice the only sound in the area. No one interrupted her, each for reasons unknown to the others. Her tears flowed down her face, soaking into the dirt below, and her wales of sorrow echoed into the distance, but the only consolation she received was a single hand from a monstrous thing pressed against her back. Eventually, her tears stopped flowing, and she opened her mouth, letting another stream of unintelligible words flow from her lungs.
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Lillian
Lillian collected herself. The embarrassment of losing herself to her emotion overtaking that sadness that even now she didn't fully understand. To dampen her embarrassment, she voiced a minor curiosity she held in her mind. "My liege, why did you cover my eyes?" Lillian asked, curious as to why she hadn't been permitted to observe the world.
"The soul forgets, but the body remembers. Certain sights would awaken the memories and drive you mad, and then you'd be beyond my hands. I wouldn't be able to save you. So, while I am near, keep your eyes covered. Eventually, your body will come to forget the same as your soul." That sound of cloth in the wind formed words once more, explaining why Lillian must not look at the world that she wasn't capable of withstanding the knowledge of what she'd done while in that abyss. Lillian had doubts about such things. But, she wasn't reckless enough to risk it if all it cost her to believe was a temporary lack of sight.
But, with that question answered, another came to her mind. A question formed from her last memories before the abyss. The war and its final battle. "Did we win?" Lillian asked, afraid of what the answer would be.
"That is a question that I cannot answer." The rustling sound replied a feeling of regret following the words. "Your war is over, and the people have long forgotten why it happened. They live a life unaware of the details and why such a thing came to pass" The sound was like the wind against sheets on a line, and the words sounded like exactly what they'd fought for, but the feeling that followed was not one filled with triumph but regret. "But, I cannot speak of victory or defeat."
Lillian wanted to ask for more detail, but whispering in her mind told her that it was wrong that it was not her place to ask for such things. That if she wanted answers, she would have to seek them out herself, not have them handed to her on a platter. So, Lillian tied her tongue, and let her follow-up question fall away, never vocalized. Instead, she asked another question unrelated to the ones already asked. "What are my orders, sir?" She asked, putting on the mask of a soldier, the one she wore before the abyss.
This time the emotion came before the sound of cloth, a feeling of pity, regret, and hope. Then the words came like a hunter, seeking out her wish to return to the past. "I'm sorry, but I cannot give you orders. I cannot lead you, nor can I grant you the guidance you desire. You will have to walk the lands and find your path for yourself. And, I can only offer a few paltry parting gifts." The hand on her back disappeared, and Lillian felt the breathless body move to stand in front of her. "For valor on the battlefield and the courage to give yourself entirely in service to a cause, I grant these boons, do you accept them?" The rustling voice used a modified version of the words of ceremony that Lillian knew well.
"I, Lillian Visroyal, would be honored to accept what is offered." Lillian continued the ceremony with the statement of acceptance.
That same bony hand that had covered her face, and supported her back, was placed against her forehead. From within that hand, Lillian felt something vulgar reach out, and at first, she recoiled from the sensation. She stepped back, avoiding that feeling, one of a cold, clammy hand reaching into her mind. But, she knew this was to be a gift, so she pushed against the desire to avoid the invisible hand and rested her forehead against the still extended bony finger. The sensation continued, a feeling of fingers combing across her mind, looking for something. It felt disorienting and disgusting simultaneously, but it didn't last for long, as it found what it was looking for after some time. It pulled on her understanding of words, seeming to stretch them apart, and place something new in the space between them. The process continued, and after a moment, Lillian Realized what those hands placed in her mind were new words, sounds with the same meaning as ones she already knew. But, it wasn't a complete understanding of the new language, just enough to survive, it seemed. After the hands finished, Lillian felt them recede; somehow, they felt weaker than when they first invaded her mind. But, as intangible things, imagined by her mind to comprehend something she didn't fully perceive, that weakness was a subtle thing. Like the chill had left them, or they'd somehow stopped moving organically. But Lillian didn't get any time to think of this feeling. As the bony hand on her forehead vanished, and the figure in front of her walked toward the other two individuals she'd sensed earlier.
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My body felt heavy, the action of pulling someone from the void breaking the bonds of my person. My flesh ripped with every motion, but I had to convey instructions. So, I walked, stepping closer to those two, each step ripping holes in me, letting what passed for blood in my body flow out onto the dirt. My head hurt, my senses failing to provide an accurate picture of the world. >Die.< A voice crept into my head. But I let that pass; I had little time to deal with the madness right now. The bones in my extremities crumpled into a sandy substance, dragging my limbs down with an unsupported weight, but I had to reach them and speak. I saw him about to ask something, so I forced myself to yank a memory to the surface of his mind—the time I sent him to the tower. My body was ripped apart by the journey to reach him, but like now, I had to provide instruction. I don't know if he understood, but his mouth stopped moving, and silence prevailed for the final steps of my journey.
"Take care of her," I spoke, the action agonizing. "Travel with her for some time." I continued, the world rebelling against my desire to convey words to a person. "I will return in a few years. When the time comes, she cannot follow you; she cannot go to the tower; it would kill her." My words entered their ears and no one else's. It was likely uncomfortable to hear, but I had to coney this request. Or was it an order. >Who are you to order them?< The madness asked, but I didn't care. Like I, it would now sleep. We would sleep, and when we woke, we would fight again to see who would walk the lands in this body.