A/N: This was a story that I've had in my crazy head for a loooong time. This is not a character-gets-sucked-into-video-game story. The aim is to create a thorough novelization whilst orbiting around an OC of mine in the Mass Effect Universe. Many controversial themes will be employed such as graphic sex sequences, drug addiction, alcoholism, trauma, extreme violence, etc. These will be recurring motifs.
Lingo also is used from different television shows, movies, books, etc.
Circumstances may or may not change contingent on the addition of my OC so as not to become a tedious read but overall will remain on its designated path as seen in all three Mass Effect games.
Please enjoy. If you have any criticism, I would love to hear it.
The Broken Mass of Memories
Prologue
At first it was tantalising. A fragrance with no origin that permeated the air. It was of fresh ground coffee complemented by a sinful aroma that drenched itself in chocolate. It overwhelmed and bred heightened sensations. Fondling bundles of nerves in
slow, heavy throbs, the pleasure shook her to the core.
At first it was melodic. Easy on the ears, the ringdoves cooed amongst the branches. Larks warbled in chestnut trees with staccato whistles. Small creatures with brown streaky plumages to which intensified the quality of their songs delivered in flight.
The songbirds trilled (shameless in doing so) their sweet music from every corner of the world.
At first it was smooth. Long, silky tresses spilled over a bosom looking as black as ravens.
Then it was soft. Winds as merciful and gentle as cerulean waters and golden sands. Like a sea forever trapped yet battered in the eye of a turbulent storm.
At first it was blinding. Suns dazzled for days and hypnotised without pity for sensitive eyes or souls. Stirring vulnerable sight it shattered inhumanity with shafts of sun-drenched warmth. It never bothered to dim its lustre for fragile creatures. If
to perish on the spot for staring, better for them to perish from such beauty painlessly and divinely.
At first it was mouthwatering. Swigging a mouthful of red wine with distinctive relish. Savouring the clean, salty tang of Gorgonzola cheese. So rich and strong flavoured in bluish-green veins of decadence she hadn't tasted before.
It was all of that and more. The dreams of a dream for which one burned for during the midst of a glum winter where—it could be said—not a friendly face was in sight.
It was all that and then some as she lay there unmoving.
Perfectly still and precious like that of a porcelain doll. Only covered in filth.
It was all of that...
...and at last there was the sixth.
Invisible to the naked eye.
A sensory trait that, to all intents and purposes, existed not.
The Sixth Sense.
As opposed to the remaining five that forged these sensual self-indulgent tales of extravagance, the Sixth did not deceive her.
As tempting as the dream was and tried to be (believing itself to be true with colourful words and vivid descriptions of what the world could give to her, let her look like, let her be) the Sixth could not lie.
It was comprised of instincts. Most of which usually wrong and therefore too risky to ever pin one's hopes on. Its position was predetermined. Not so different from the life within the dream and all the same it was overused. It was worn out to the point
where she had memorised the falsified patterns for what they really were.
The hunches of the mind could not lie. Not like the rest of them so easily weakened, so disloyal in their anguish for an outlet.
It would not lie. Refused to lie. It was stronger than the false realism the senses fabricated. Naturally out of sheer desperation.
Therein lied the fear…
Once realised, the skies opened and the tempest erupted. Rain fell endlessly and dropped in brutal bursts that swept whatever was without security away. It purged itself and cleansed away the bad and good.
The winds were no longer soft, but chilly. The thunder clapped as though He had demanded it. The lightning crafted lines across blackness in several misguided paths. The sounds melted away from lullabies to howling shrills.
The magical and awesome dream had faded.
And with it, her cruel faithfulness lived on and devastated whatever artificial pleasure seldom remained in those moments.
Part of her didn't want to leave. It was so nice.
Then again, part of her wouldn't allow herself to stay. Distorted reality was no joke.
Of all the places, that was the worst; where time after time again her flaws so often surrendered to the lie.
Clumsily. Painfully.
Its obviousness was enough to cripple those of sane mind. For those whom held their bodies erect; tall and arrogant and without fear of hatred or retaliation.
Fear and Hatred.
Those felt one in the same.
And all of this…in an attempt to forget…
To let the memories fade for good.