01-19-2021, 09:42 PM
It wasn’t painful, like it had been in Eha’s cottage. It was just all-consuming, and when it finally ended, exhaustion unravelled to the furthest reaches of Thalia’s soul. The pencil tumbled from aching fingers, and for a moment she only reached to gather in her knees and felt the weighted burden of her endless existence. Had her surroundings held even the faintest promise of sanctuary she might have rested an eternity in that position, but there was nothing in here she wanted to remain close to. Her fingers wrapped the mark on her ankle and squeezed, even though it hurt. Then she pulled herself up.
She was slow, testing the limits of her balance, rubbing at cold limbs; caught between the instinct to flee and the fear of what she would discover behind the locked door.
The doctor (don’t think about him) had said the others were already gone, which neither concerned nor surprised her. Dreams intersected Thalia’s life like crossroads, and like Patricus they continued on other trajectories. She wasn’t an axis upon which anything turned, and she wasn’t special. She’d told the Pope that too, although she had come to regret how blunt she had been in her surprise at his motivation to find her. Thalia barely knew him, yet thoughts of him swarmed her with melancholy. Like losing something you’d never even had; something unquantifiable, but vitally important, like life-blood.
Seconds trickled by and she slowly pieced herself back together, stepping lightly around memories that might drag her back under, and glazing right past the scrawlings she’d made on the bathroom walls. Some old habits died hard, and by now she knew she was in way over her head, just as Patricus had warned. But she was so bone-weary of warnings. No one sane would encourage her to the ends she pursued, and she didn’t seek protection from the dangers, but she couldn’t stop either. She padded a circle across the cold tiles, and finally forced her leaking thoughts to consider practicalities. Her head throbbed. She needed to figure out exactly where she was. And she needed proper clothes, and shoes, and the wallet that was currently still in the adjacent room. The one she desperately didn’t want to have to go into.
So instead she squatted by the mirror she had unhooked from the wall, to at least assess the wound on her head, unprepared for how much blood rusted up the side of her face -- but moreso for the startling moment that the face staring wide-eyed back at her was not her own.
Everything prickled cold at that impossible certainty, riding waves of shivering fear through her very core, even as her own bloodied features realigned. A cruel whisper curled in its wake; that something in her had finally snapped. That maybe Aylin was right. “I’m not crazy,” she said. Tears swarmed her eyes hot, but she only pinched them away with her fingers. She couldn’t afford this. Delusions had never crept into her waking world before; not like this. She pushed away from the mirror, all thoughts of nursing her injury forgotten.
Panic threatened. The walls of a trap she wasn’t sure how to escape.
She pressed her hands against her chest like she might quiet the hammering beat within, or at least force herself to pull together into some semblance of control. Because where was there to run? She’d chosen to take the journey alone, to wander far from home and comfort and a sister who begged her to return. She’d chosen not to hide from strange gifts and stranger curses, drifting further and further from the sort of life that could ever be considered ordinary. “You’re stronger than this,” she said. You have to be. Yet she was desperate for a touchstone to reality -- to a reality she recognised anyway, and suddenly feared might be finally slipping right through her fingers. There were only the images circling all around, though; miserable proof of her own abnormality. And though she didn't want to, for it seemed the most nebulous of life-rafts, she forced herself to look.
The drawings were rushed, like denying the outlet had made their birth all the more frantic. Thalia's cautious scrutiny finally stopped on the man beneath the soaring ravens, framed by the island's Rock, one of his eyes white as bone. She recognised his face; from older sketches, but also from the bus station in Estonia. It had frightened her at the time, it still did, but if there were answers in dreams then maybe it was time to confront the common thread. She had promised Patricus she would be careful, but sometimes the only thing to do was shove your hand into the monster’s maw and hope it didn’t bite. And if it did? Well, she didn’t think about it. It was something to hold onto. And for now the resolution was enough.
Thalia fumbled the lock, fingers numb. One hand still curled into her chest like she was grasping at a knot keeping everything she was tied together. She was no longer thinking, just cresting oblivion in the way she did to keep afloat. She hadn't heard voices, or footsteps, and as she turned from pulling the bathroom door closed behind her, her eyes rounded wide as river-rocks to discover the two figures beyond, and the animals with them.
She was slow, testing the limits of her balance, rubbing at cold limbs; caught between the instinct to flee and the fear of what she would discover behind the locked door.
The doctor (don’t think about him) had said the others were already gone, which neither concerned nor surprised her. Dreams intersected Thalia’s life like crossroads, and like Patricus they continued on other trajectories. She wasn’t an axis upon which anything turned, and she wasn’t special. She’d told the Pope that too, although she had come to regret how blunt she had been in her surprise at his motivation to find her. Thalia barely knew him, yet thoughts of him swarmed her with melancholy. Like losing something you’d never even had; something unquantifiable, but vitally important, like life-blood.
Seconds trickled by and she slowly pieced herself back together, stepping lightly around memories that might drag her back under, and glazing right past the scrawlings she’d made on the bathroom walls. Some old habits died hard, and by now she knew she was in way over her head, just as Patricus had warned. But she was so bone-weary of warnings. No one sane would encourage her to the ends she pursued, and she didn’t seek protection from the dangers, but she couldn’t stop either. She padded a circle across the cold tiles, and finally forced her leaking thoughts to consider practicalities. Her head throbbed. She needed to figure out exactly where she was. And she needed proper clothes, and shoes, and the wallet that was currently still in the adjacent room. The one she desperately didn’t want to have to go into.
So instead she squatted by the mirror she had unhooked from the wall, to at least assess the wound on her head, unprepared for how much blood rusted up the side of her face -- but moreso for the startling moment that the face staring wide-eyed back at her was not her own.
Everything prickled cold at that impossible certainty, riding waves of shivering fear through her very core, even as her own bloodied features realigned. A cruel whisper curled in its wake; that something in her had finally snapped. That maybe Aylin was right. “I’m not crazy,” she said. Tears swarmed her eyes hot, but she only pinched them away with her fingers. She couldn’t afford this. Delusions had never crept into her waking world before; not like this. She pushed away from the mirror, all thoughts of nursing her injury forgotten.
Panic threatened. The walls of a trap she wasn’t sure how to escape.
She pressed her hands against her chest like she might quiet the hammering beat within, or at least force herself to pull together into some semblance of control. Because where was there to run? She’d chosen to take the journey alone, to wander far from home and comfort and a sister who begged her to return. She’d chosen not to hide from strange gifts and stranger curses, drifting further and further from the sort of life that could ever be considered ordinary. “You’re stronger than this,” she said. You have to be. Yet she was desperate for a touchstone to reality -- to a reality she recognised anyway, and suddenly feared might be finally slipping right through her fingers. There were only the images circling all around, though; miserable proof of her own abnormality. And though she didn't want to, for it seemed the most nebulous of life-rafts, she forced herself to look.
The drawings were rushed, like denying the outlet had made their birth all the more frantic. Thalia's cautious scrutiny finally stopped on the man beneath the soaring ravens, framed by the island's Rock, one of his eyes white as bone. She recognised his face; from older sketches, but also from the bus station in Estonia. It had frightened her at the time, it still did, but if there were answers in dreams then maybe it was time to confront the common thread. She had promised Patricus she would be careful, but sometimes the only thing to do was shove your hand into the monster’s maw and hope it didn’t bite. And if it did? Well, she didn’t think about it. It was something to hold onto. And for now the resolution was enough.
Thalia fumbled the lock, fingers numb. One hand still curled into her chest like she was grasping at a knot keeping everything she was tied together. She was no longer thinking, just cresting oblivion in the way she did to keep afloat. She hadn't heard voices, or footsteps, and as she turned from pulling the bathroom door closed behind her, her eyes rounded wide as river-rocks to discover the two figures beyond, and the animals with them.
![[Image: thal-banner-scaled.jpg]](http://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/thal-banner-scaled.jpg)