The Prologue
Echoing the Words
A person opens their eyes to an all-encompassing void. It stretches as far as they can strain their eyes to see, their forehead straining to keep the focus on the distance in front of them. There are no walls or ceilings in this place, no discernible definitions. It's as if someone decided to take a giant eraser and meticulously tried to rub out all the stray marks and lines of a sketch they were none-too-pleased with.
The person wonders how long they have been there, just standing dumbly into empty space trying to sculpt some sense of what is going on. Come to think of it, they can't really seem to form any sort of coherent grasp on the situation at all. They don't remember who they are, how they got here, or any details about themselves. Hell, they can't even remember what they look like. It's all a jumbled mess, a fog on their mind that will not lift no matter how many times they do that squinting motion with their eyes. As if that will help. But, for some reason, they don't do what a sane person would do and immediately panic. They get the odd sense that it doesn't matter at this point. They just stand there blankly, wondering what will happen ne-
A light suddenly catches on with absolutely no warning, blinding the poor guy and sending him backwards onto his bare behind. Wait-oh, of course! He's a guy! Wow. How could he forget something as simple as his own gender? He mentally berates himself for dishonoring his own manhood. He's a well-bred man and he's damn proud of it! He's a man with a sore behind.
Surprisingly, the fall doesn't send him careening into an eternal fall in this seemingly endless vacuum and lands him in an awkward sitting position. His left leg ends up unpleasantly smashed underneath his well-muscled frame and his right leg comes up to wave hello to the entire empty universe. After settling himself more comfortably on the floor, he inspects his crushed leg for any major damage. The only implication he finds of his body's bizarre desire to twist in on itself is a splotchy parade of red marks on his tawny-white skin. Oh hey-another thing he remembers about himself! He's catching on quickly. Maybe, he's smarter than he took himself for at first.
Hello, a monotone, airy voice says that catches the abyssal traveler out of his self-discovery celebration and ego stroking. The man looks around puzzled and straightens his grizzled frame to prepare for the inevitable wincing climb to his feet. Balancing himself onto his good leg, he pushes his hands against the surreal floor that invisibly supports him. The light shines upon its surface, leaving sharp reflections of a glassy sheen, giving an appearance of looking through a window on a sunny morning. Glare spirals outwards from the circle of light on the glass floor, illuminating a white, oblong object.
The man slowly and curiously approaches the object, and becomes confused as to just what and odd thing he's seeing. The object in question is polished with an artificial shade of pure white. It stands upon three legs that support its egg-like frame, black and curved in the fashion of prosthetics that absorb impact with the ground. Lines are etched into its surface and the man surmises that the object is broken into several pieces, almost as if it had been put together from several parts. Like a machine, almost. A single, flaring lens stares at him with a laser pointing directly at his lower section, inspecting him with unflinching focus.
"Uh.., hello?" He asks this question with a sense of awkward caution, not sure if the thing in front of him is what is actually calling out to him. "Can-can I help you?"
The oblong thing startles him by moving its laser up to meet his gaze and opens the parts on its sides. They separate from its main body, panels attached to the mess of wires and steel beneath. Its circuitry becomes slightly exposed as it widens its lens.
There is another side to tell.
"Another what?"
A story yet untold, a voice yet unheard, a mind yet unseen.
"Listen, you're not making any sense, and I just need some help figuring out wherever the heck I am. Actually, first and foremost who I am. Do you know me? Do you know anything about me?"
The story has yet to be written. The pages are blank, waiting for the words to be marked in their pages. Yet the cards know the story. They hold the future. The lines of the future have been written, but the voice still lingers.
"Now, that makes no sense. How can the future be both written and unwritten? That's a paradox. Look, can you just stop with the fortune cookie speak so I can get some semblance of sanity. I'm already hard pressed at the edge of my dang head all this space-voidy dimension stuff. Just answer in a normal way, like a normal person. Well, you're not exactly normal or a person, but still, please just tell me what the absolute heck is going on."
The fortune-teller forms a shape with its laser, a woman in determined flight.
"Okay, I will admit, that is pretty cool. How are you able to do that with just a circular panel in your optical processor? That should be impossible by the looks of you. You're like a robot of some sort right? Who built you? And for what purpose? Will you get me a look at your insides so I can see?"
The man is caught off-guard by just how many questions he is asking the tiny, white robot. "Wait, since when do I care about all this?! Look, just tell who I am and how I can get out of here. Okay, little thing?"
Strength is shadowed by memory. She seeks release and sanctuary from the terrors of the night. However, the Memory will not let her go. She is both free and shackled. She has prevailed where others have fallen, and will prevail again. But not without sacrifice.
Realizing that he is not going to get any straight answers out of it, the man decides to go along with the fortune reading and try to piece together what it is trying to tell him.
"Strength? Like a tarot card? You said something about the future. Who is 'she'? I assume it's the woman you're making with your little heat-seeking laser there. What sacrifice are you talking about?"
Strength will be close. She is chased by the Empress, merciless and cold. The Empress needs her. Strength alone, will not be enough.
At this point, the confused traveler decides to allow the strange contraption to go on its reverie and listens on in silence. He pieces together the story as it is being told and opts to ask questions only when necessary.
The robot shifts its image to that of a circular eye.
The Fool. He drifts aimlessly in a void, waiting for salvation and forgiveness. He sought knowledge, but could not handle the cost. The Fool is himself his greatest enemy. The good is the bad. The bad is the good. The truth will be too much.
The next part struck the man in the chest like a newly sharpened serrated knife.
He will need you.
"Me?! What can I do? How can I help when you don't tell me anything but cryptic mumbo-jumbo and vague statements?!" The man shouts in exasperation as he strokes his bushy, impressive beard. A very impressive beard! Like, one of those beards that will guarantee a trophy at the World's Manliest Facial Hair Contest.
The robot next aims its laser at the man's forehead, startling him and setting giving the motor of his mind the mental kick to get it started and focused again. He listened intently to what it next said.
The Magician builds his walls. He rips the ground and forces it skyward. He shapes words into a Siren, a High Priestess. She will sing to all the world. He clings to beams of moonlight and the ringing of bells. The Magician shall bring joy to all.
It will not be enough.
"Wait, if I'm supposed to make everyone happy, then why is that a bad thing?"
Pygmalion sculpted Galatea out of stone, a woman that was flawless in all ways. He doted on her with endless love and passion. Aphrodite took pity on him and brought his creation to life.
"Okay, seriously…what does Greek mythology have to do with the future? Now, I think you're just messing with me."
Maybe, I should just leave.
"Fine by me, it's not like you anything useful to say in the first place. Blasted thing can't even answer a sensible question. Must be defective. Well, nice chat with you little thing," the annoyed amnesiac muttered sarcastically.
At this point, the man was just simply annoyed at his whole predicament. He was beginning to just give up and start wandering in any given direction when he noticed it. Not really a feeling, but more a sensation. A sensation of lifting and awareness. His mind became clearer as the sensation took over. He began remembering himself in the vaguest parts of the abyss of his mind. The dark void began to shatter and crack as white, glaring light swallowed everything in its voracious appetite.
Don't give up on her.
"Wait wha-"
That's all I can say. Goodbye.