The Empty Mirror
Chapter 55: Symptoms
After a deep reflection on the enigmatic artefact known as the "Two of Wands," I held it with determination as I rose from the ground, feeling my energy renewing. My eyes fixated on the rod, whose top displayed a sickly appearance, with an amputated monkey paw that sent shivers down my spine and caused a lump in my throat. I adjusted the choker around my neck, the one bearing the name "Hunger on Trial," and amidst a hint of hangover, I remembered why I considered myself as the Page of Wands.
Though the idea was implanted in my mind by the Marquess as part of her plan to invoke the rod, there was a faint understanding of what it meant to be a Page of Wands. The Marquess had hinted in her prophecy, or rather in her tarot reading, that she was the Queen of Wands, suggesting that I was linked to this theme in a more modest manner. Considering my role as the master of arms of the "Ace of Wands," the anomaly of the forest, it was clear that I too had a connection to the minor arcana of wands. However, the true meaning of belonging to the minor arcana of wands remains a mystery to me to this day, as I do not precisely understand what it entails to be part of this category.
Following the relentless hierarchy of wands, I understood that, not being a queen and far from the Marquess's level, my role within this framework was destined to be that of a Page of Wands, according to tarot interpretations. If we considered only the human cards within the wands family, which represent manipulators rather than subjects, my position was relegated to that of a Page of Wands in this intricate plot. However, this conclusion was merely an assumption, a rudimentary theory based on the information I had gathered and the musings I had delved into on the subject.
Thus, as I roamed the enigmatic domains of the Hanging Gardens, I relied on my protection granted by "Hunger on Trial" and "Two of Wands," finding some calm amidst this nightmare. Still, like a wizard traversing a foreign realm with staff in hand, I could discern through the dense grey mist the monsters lurking in this monument. In addition to the gigantic insects whose deformed figures loomed in the gloom, there was a constant fear of being discovered by these insectoid creatures of colossal proportions, with their repugnant membranous wings and their fatty, putrefied proboscises. Though fear engulfed me, I remained vigilant, ready to use "Bite" from "Hunger on Trial" or somehow employ the "Two of Wands" staff, should the need for a more direct confrontation arise rather than the simple healing effect it offered.
As I wielded the staff, I felt it emanate an inspiring presence that instilled a sense of purpose and determination, strengthening my resilience and adaptability. It seemed to make me stronger and more capable of withstanding enemy onslaughts, reflecting the constant process of evolution and growth embodied by the staff. However, its scope and duration were shrouded in a complex occult mystery that eluded my understanding. Upon reaching one of the terraces of the Hanging Gardens, I found myself compelled to feed once again due to the hunger curse imposed by "Hunger on Trial".
I watched suspiciously as some of those plants I had dubbed "Curse," especially one that seemed on the verge of giving birth to one of those abhorrent insectoid creatures. It wouldn't be far-fetched to think that, within hours, the plant would spawn its hideous offspring. Still, I had time, if time passed similarly within this nightmare, although my temporal perception was an aberrant chaos, both here and in the tangible reality since I ventured into the forest, since I entered the castle.
With caution and a light movement, like a feather falling slowly, I approached the plant, stabbing it repeatedly to prevent its spores from entering my lungs. Although the plant was taller than me in stature, it became vulnerable to my attack when left unprotected from its defenses. I reduced it to flesh and dying petals, with the fetuses inside lying beneath my slashes. I ventured inside the plant with horror, unable to fully adapt to the aberrant sight and the act I was carrying out.
It's worth noting that these plants were already large in size on their own, almost reaching the height of my chin, but when pregnant, if we can call it that, they became even larger and plumper, forcing me to slightly tilt my head upwards to glimpse their apex, which was even more repugnant. They were so bulky that if I attempted to hold them, I had to stretch my arms to their fullest extent to barely cover their bulkiness. However, despite their imposing size, they remained vulnerable to any physical attack once they lost their ability for independent movement, becoming mere insectoid breeding grounds. Once the plant died and withered, I would sneak inside to stab the still defenseless fetuses.
I sharpened my knife with surgical precision, slicing through the placenta with a meticulousness almost ritualistic, eager to uncover the viscous and repulsive interior. My suspicions were confirmed as I beheld those insects, grotesquely tiny compared to the horrendous death that had befallen it among the vines. Perhaps shared gestation had further marred them, though their size remained immense. The membranous sacs that housed them resembled huge sacks of putrefied cloth, while the fetuses, barely born, lay twisted and tangled within them like rotten ropes, occupying the least possible space.
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I devoured them greedily, lamenting the lack of a spoon to savour them more leisurely. A gut-wrenching laughter escaped my lips as I swallowed that grotesque and nauseating feast. I wasn't concerned about leaving part of the corpse intact; I had sated my hunger enough for the lust of Hunger not to torment me for a good while. With agile movements, I resumed my path, feeling satisfied but struggling against the vomit threatening to rise in my throat. The mutant insects, blind to my presence, buzzed above my head, reminding me of their deformity and their complete deviation from the natural norm.
Amidst the grotesque wonders of the Hanging Gardens, I stumbled upon a sight that chilled my blood: a tree, but not a common one. This tree was composed of muscles and skin, as if the wood of the trunk had split open to reveal rotting tissues twisting in reddish and blackish tones, permeating the air with a foul stench and oozing a yellowish pus that intensified the discomfort. Its roots, instead of sinking into the ground, resembled severed human limbs, with mutilated feet, fingers, and legs extending like twisted appendages in search of sustenance. At the top, instead of branches, an intricate bony lattice rose above the tree's canopy, formed by bones torn from the rotten muscles that composed its being.
It seemed that, instead of sap and resin, an amorphous mass of liquefied human bodies flowed within it, their putrefaction still exuding a sickly sweat. Though it boasted leaves among the distorted and deformed faces that adorned it, I hesitated to classify it as a plant; rather, it seemed like an aberrant creature, a mixture of life and decay. My amazement turned to horror when the tree, sensing my gaze, emerged from its lethargy and began to move, slowly but determinedly, on those mutilated human legs. I couldn't discern if these limbs were an inherent part of its being or were grotesquely attached, as if they were defective appendages torn from torn human bodies and wrapped in dark skin that betrayed their human origin.
The tree, however, showed no interest in me and, confused, settled onto the ground and began to sink its roots into the barren soil of the garden, as if seeking to re-establish itself. Its roots, deformed extensions of human legs, remained buried as the tree stood motionless, feeding solely on the decay of a desolate ground. Though my heart continued to beat strongly in my chest, I decided to ignore the presence of the tree, hoping not to encounter more of these strange aberrations of nature and fearing the potential consequences of provoking guardians like these in the Hanging Gardens. After this grotesque and unsettling encounter, I was fortunate to once again find the translucent plant that provided me with water, or rather, its saliva. I preferred to feed on insect fetuses and quench my thirst by drinking saliva than to die; the path I took was an even more macabre torment.
However, it was evident that the constant influence of the "Two of Wands" kept me safe, for I understood that the sustenance from the Hanging Gardens was nothing but a form of contamination, a degeneration of the monument's greatness, like ingesting pure oil. Besides the gangrenous poison that lurked around me, the "Agonal Breathing," whose fatal laceration was a constant threat, there was a sinister uncertainty that seized my mind: Would dying in this nightmare also mean death in reality?
The symptoms of the poisonous gangrene plunged me into an agony that hinted at a grim fate, but I didn't know if this poison, originating from the world outside Hanging Gardens, would have the same lethal effect outside this place. The line between nightmare and reality blurred before my eyes, challenging me to question the true nature of my existence here. The lack of need for sleep and the perpetual twilight in this place only heightened my confusion, leaving me trapped in a whim of uncertainty. What I did know was that the "Two of Wands" acted as an antidote against the corruption of Hanging Gardens, purifying my body from its malignant effects.
Under a relentless rule, I watched as gangrene crept between my fingers, gradually spreading until it hid beneath my nails in a subtle retreat. My body seemed to be trapped in a perpetual state of illness, where the poison fought to extinguish me while the gangrene advanced, only to be suppressed and healed by the "Two of Wands". This process left my being exhausted beyond the physical, spiritually agitated to the point of recklessness. In some mysterious way, the "Two of Wands" activated passively, at least in my hands, though I sensed that its effect could come at a considerable cost in the future, perhaps even robbing me of my sanity.
The truth was that the "Two of Wands" did not heal me individually, but its influence spread like a wave, uniformly curing the illness within me. However, this healing was not perpetual; when the disease reached a critical level, the "Two of Wands" would automatically activate, or in the face of abnormal increase in the degeneration of Hanging Gardens, heralding my downfall. Although it was inevitable that the contaminating spores would penetrate my lungs and cause additional havoc, the "Two of Wands" continued to work tirelessly to purify my body from the external corruption of Hanging Gardens.
Amidst my madness, unanswered questions tormented me. What was it pursuing, and why was I compelled to ascend to the top of Hanging Gardens, without knowing what secrets they hid or what my role was in all of this? No one had explicitly told me; I simply felt dragged, seduced by a mysterious force towards an unknown destiny, towards the realization of something perhaps unspeakable. What horror loomed over Hanging Gardens?
Even the Marquess, indirectly, seemed to await my reaching the end of this place, eager for me to discover something in her name. What was that? Ah, yes, now I remember: something called "Neanderthal" or something of the sort. Whatever it is, I know it's important, something beyond my comprehension but possessing a unique and special significance, capable of influencing the course of destiny. I felt compelled to fulfil a purpose I didn't understand, yet still, I felt enamoured to press on, without will, like a reanimated corpse.
Trapped between the crushing weight of expectations and the illusory freedom, humans dance on the tumultuous stage of existence, portraying predetermined roles in a play whose script they never had a voice to sign. Forced to wear the mask of what is expected of them, they tread the narrow path of conformity, sacrificing their authenticity on the dark altar of social acceptance. However, in the silent rebellion against this imposed fate lies the spark of hope, the possibility of finding meaning in the denial of imposed norms. In this constant battle between what is expected and what is desired, the fundamental paradox of the human condition is revealed: in the tireless pursuit of freedom, we find ourselves bound by the invisible chains of others' expectations.