Chapter Two
"Welcome," a low voice purrs into my ear.
"I don't remember saying thank you," I respond, not daring to open my eyes.
For I feel nothing, nothing at all, and the complete absence of any kind of stimulation, a sort of indefinite waiting. Before that, one knows constant stimulation, before agreeing to die at the end of every day.
I have no concept of how long the wait was, if time existed at all. There simply was, quite suddenly, a raw wet caress against my cheek, the feel of a living thing lacking skin. My eyes fly open with the gasp of shock, of existance again.
I gaze into a pair of inverted eyes. They emit the low, hideous phosphorescence of fungus and soft-bodied things that live in complete abyss, where light is unknown. Here, darkness.
He is looking at me curiously, above, upside-down from me. I gather, after some intermittable amount of time, that he possesses a substance. It has no warmth or motion, but is a blackness deepened.
"Is it too dark for you now?" he asks congenially, effeminately.
"No," I whisper, and my voice sounds very faint indeed.
There is light, a harsh whiteness that burns even through closed eyelids, protected additionally by hands. It seers in its unnatural intensity, its raw power. It is as if it is of a spectrum that would be found at the edges of the universe, were we ever to pierce our isolated bubble. There is in it both the coolness of creation, and the warmth of destruction. It is not meant for mortal senses.
He is there, the only thing that can be looked upon with safety, illuminated with a terrible androgynous sort of beauty to his features. It is unearthly now, transcending human duality. The form he wore on earth was only a parody of this, a weak amalgamation.
"What could possibly you want with me?" I say, and am ashamed that it comes out weak and groveling.
"What, indeed!" it laughs, baring glittering teeth like a smile. "Because I want you. Because you are a challenge - you three are all a challenge. The irony is I created the last challenge to myself."
"It's not true!" I cry desperately, "Your only way is lies and dishonesty!"
"Is it?" it asked, its voice taking on a deep masculine rumble, "I find the truth to be the most effective, in the end."
His touch is upon me again, tracing the contours of my body, the length of my limbs, the shape of my face, leaving a rank moisture behind. I can only emit a sort of stifled whimper as he sorts through my insides, violating my internal viscera in the most obscene manner possible, as if to divulge a secret hidden from him.
Then he was there in my mind, the intimacy of my being, of my memories. He could, conceivably, cause me endless agony, but I find merely the fact that I cannot weep here crueler than anything. I cannot even cry for my sister's trials, of which I know nothing of.
He cast me aside, disgusted, and thundered monstrously: "You have no face! That is why you cannot cry, ill-gotten miscreant, pervert of hubris! What are you?"
"You didn't find what you wanted," I gloated, aware that he was at the weakness. His eyes blazed.
He is there, up against me again, voice soft and feminine and coaxing. "I got what I wanted. And I will have it."
"Then do it," I urge him. "All you are is empty threats."
"YOU FOOL! I am all that there is! There is nothing beyond me!" The light became even brighter, washing me away, until I felt like a shadow myself. He softened, growing smaller and the light faded into the gray of dawn.
"Go back. Tell yourself it was only a bad dream."
"I will tell myself everything you said was true," I agreed finally. "And that it is all pointless to me."
He shrieked in a wordless rage, a banshee wail ending into the range of the inaudible. Everything went dark again.
* * *
"Professor!"
The word was on my lips, before I was even aware, and I felt my body go stiff with alarm as I sat up. There was a soft pattering. But, no, I am alone in the comfort and safety of my own bedroom at home.
Home.
I sit there, confused. My red-haired sister, Blossom, floats in, safe and intact as you please. She whoops happily, and Bubbles joins her through the doorway in a fading blur of blue light.
"She's all right, Professor! She's up!" the blonde cries out back into the depths of the house.
The Professor looms in the doorway now, worry written all over his face. He crushes me into a protective hug, sobbing with relief. I cough slightly, and he releases me quickly.
"We thought you were dead," Bubbles says suddenly. Blossom hushes her, but she keeps on going, stubbornly. "You were laughing, and laughing, and then you fainted, and nobody could wake you up ..."
"Well, I'm alright now!" I insist. Everyone seems to relax, as the strings of tension are cut. I hop up out of bed with the Professor's hands steadying my descent. I squirm angrily.
"I'm fine!" I try to ease my way out the doorway, but my sisters catch me into a tight mutual embrace. I try to keep my sigh to myself, and squeeze them both to please them. I have to get outside. I make my way down the stairs, and out onto the porch. Their eyes follow me, but I am not intercepted.
I thought that I heard the rain earlier, and I hold out my arms, walking forward, feeling the rain on my body again. It feels like water, pure water, natural water.
"Professor, she's standing in the rain," Bubbles complains, confused.
"I know," he says, and his voice is shaky.
I feel another person come up behind me, and an arm lands heavily on my shoulder.
Breath tickles my ear in an intimate whisper, pitched low enough so that I am the only recipient. Blossom's voice is thick with strength and emotion: "It wasn't a dream."
