The misty veil is her window to the world.
She walks the fog-filled fields, one stumbling step at a time. Colors she has no words for stream across the limitless, yet strangely suffocating, empty sky. She doesn't know where this place begins, or where it ends. All she knows is that she is here for a reason, and that reason is somewhere along this way. Perhaps the roads she had walked upon a thousand times or maybe a brand new one that she has never before attempted.
What awaits her at the end is unknown, hiding in a shroud much deeper than the one she walks across, day and night. Her search has gone on for long weeks and months and years, and maybe decades and centuries? Time is strange in these parts. She stopped counting a while ago, and has all but forgotten where she stopped as well.
The things that haunt her are similarly fleeting in nature. They do not question her and they do not answer. She dares not acknowledge they truly exist for fear of giving them power, but the fear they elicit is definitely real. Faded outlines beyond a smoky haze, distorting shapes just beyond recognition. Some seem similar to her in stature, while others are different, holding hauntingly unreal, dangerously pointed shapes that glimmer even in the fog.
Fire and metal, heat and cold, anguish and the memory of hope, and an ever-growing desperation are her guides. She's a seeker, trying to find something she lost, something everyone lost. Faces follow her path, grimy and hurt, singed and fearful, each of them calling, beckoning and taunting her along the way. And then there are others, inhuman masks that breathe ashes and flames, movements rigid and cold, their intents more harmful than she dares to imagine or remember.
Sometimes it's almost unbearable, so she closes her eyes and just runs through the mist. She runs until she can't run any longer, collapsing in a panting, sore heap, retreating into an empty consciousness for however long she can. And then it stops, and she is once again on her way, trying to find that elusive thing that she cannot grasp, even though every fiber of her being commands her to keep moving.
Her keen sense of direction is useless around these parts, whereas once she could have, and probably had navigated through places without so much as opening her eyes. Lush, dark green splotches would surround her, with the sounds of both flora and fauna to guide or distract her. And yet she always knew where to go, what path to follow. The longer she lingers in this dimension of fog, the more unreachable her goal seems. Or her starting point, for that matter.
She turns and rubs her eyes, trying to focus on something, anything. The why, the where, the how, even the when, are questions she has been finding to be more and more difficult to answer, every time. When she opens her eyes again, the sight is at least more familiar, than usual. A large tree with a burrow-like house nestled at the bottom, sitting on a bit of land embraced on all sides by water. The sight makes her hands tremble and she bites her lips, her chest swelling with nearly forgotten emotions.
She goes closer, running her hand along the tree's bark. She can't feel its texture, or the life pulsing within it. That is a privilege reserved for those who remain within the realm they're supposed to inhabit. Even with time and space and thoughts and wants swirling within her, she knows this place is significant to her. There is warmth to it, one that invites longing and nostalgia.
A tremble runs through her as it all crystallizes within. The home, her home, a small, but beloved dwelling she was proud to call her own for so long. A shelter that lovingly embraced her, when she wished to be away from the presence of others. A confidant, privy to both her bright and pleasant moments, as well as the hushed, difficult studies late into the night, once the desperate, fruitless search sent her spiraling down darker paths. But those are just the memories, as her hand only touches upon faint cold.
Other things emerge as well. A reckless drive for something she has lost, the unmistakable sting of failure and the overwhelming urge to make things right. Calm, soothing utterings, trying to reassure and comfort her. A growing frustration as time goes on, and harsh words she never truly meant to say.
A sigh from behind her makes her spin around. Her hands glint faintly and the images of fire and gunpowder spark within her once more. They fade quickly though, once the noise behind her turns out to be a goofy little creature. A collection of awkward, mostly circular shapes, haphazardly forming a living being, one whose name emerges from her lips almost without any thought at all.
He approaches the door without halt or without acknowledging her presence. She recalls him as a person of boundless, unstoppable joy and yet his expression is sullen and sad. He knocks on the door with one disembodied hand and waits. She knows that nobody will answer the door, not anymore. He seems to expect such as well, but that doesn't stop him from knocking again, a little stronger, as if all he needed was to be a bit louder and get her attention.
None of that would amount to anything, whether he knew it or not. She hears him clear as day, the knocking, the name he utters once, twice. She can hear him, but she cannot answer, not as long as the veil exists. It is a distance that cannot be crossed by mere words.
And yet, when he turns around and unknowingly walks right through her like a ghost, it's not the usual cold sensation she feels from everything else in this realm. It is not merely unpleasant, but unbearable, threatening to topple what little strength she managed to collect over the past some time. Though maybe, that burning, searing pain isn't from his touch, but the warm tears running down her face.
She reaches out without though, her hand glowing in a brilliant light. For a moment, everything comes flooding back in. Rituals, words of power, arcane forces and a gamble for the salvation of many. Her nails grasp into the fabric of the wall between them, ready to slash it to ribbons, just so she can hold him in her arms again. Just a tear in a veil already so thin, it is all but translucent. For a brief moment, even he seems to flinch, looking in her direction like he can almost see her in that other world. In that endless curtains of fog, just waiting to spill out of a makeshift exit.
But she pulls her hand back, as the icy touch of her labyrinth grows to its apex. She remembers the warnings, the research, the potential magnitude of her actions. Perhaps she can indeed return. Perhaps it would be easy as this moment seemed to suggest. But every day she spends here, every time he must have come in vain to visit, remind her that she is already paying a heavy price for her decision. There is no telling what could happen, if she does not consider every step carefully.
She sighs and closes her eyes briefly. Holding onto her thoughts and memories, everything that makes her who she is, has become harder with each passing moment. She dares not think of how many times she may have been thrown off her path already. She dares not think of how many times she might need to refocus and try again. But for now, she at least knows where she must go.
Dark and angry crimson clouds are gathered at the far edge of the horizon. She isn't sure whether they have always been there, if she has chased them before, or if they were just another mirage. They seem real enough, as real as this world could offer, and that is already more than enough.
Whatever they rage over is far beyond a reasonable distance, but by the time she formulates that thought, her legs already begin to move. She soon breaks into a run. What it is, she cannot tell. Even the distant sight of it is enough to unnerve her. For all she knows, it may just as well be every nightmare fused together.
Yet even if it is hell she is sprinting towards, the fleeting thought of another tranquil night in her home and the faint memory of his warm hand, are all she needs to push on. The misty veil is her window, but it shall not remain her prison.
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