Chapter 1 : Twisted Reality
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A/N: Please review. And go read my other fics. Flames are welcome, always. If you the fic, that’s your business. All I ask is that you tell me why you it.
I’m not going to post whose POV this is yet, nor am I going to tell you what it’s about. I want you to tell me what you think in a review, and if you leave a signed review and/or email address I will be able to tell you whether or not you’re right. So please, tell me what you think! And I KNOW this fic is short, so please don't comment on it.
Reality (rē-ăl’ǐ-tē)— 1. The quality or state of being actually or true. 2. One, such as a person, entity, event or state, that is actual. 3. The totality of all things possessing actuality, existence or essence. 4. That which exists objectively and in fact.
Fragments of memories, as if from another life, chased each other. Times of bliss, which she was sure were from another life. Happiness no longer existed.
She heard rushing water, as if from a waterfall. It filled her ears, and she was sure she was drowning in it.
Air…she needed air. Her vision was fogging at the edges, and she swayed. Emotions warred with each other. Fatigue warred with pain warred with intense sadness. These all warred against the deep sense of betrayal.
Betrayal is the strongest, it shatters, it breaks. Betrayal won this internal battle, and she cried out.
She saw with such clarity as she had never seen before, though her eyes were graying and her vision of the real world was darkening.
A vision rose before her and a moan of anguish rose like bile in her throat. She bit it back, cursing. But she couldn’t stop seeing; she couldn’t stop herself from looking at this vision. She couldn’t stop anything.
She felt like she was floating, as if the ground no longer existed. And perhaps it didn’t, not where she was. Perhaps everything was different now, in this place where she rested before she need to plunge herself into the battle again, tearing, kicking, screaming.
But this place, this sense of oblivion…it was reassuring. Strangely calming, it almost emanated with the sense of security.
But it was a façade. Almost instantly, the sense faded, and she was faced, once again, with herself and what she had done to deserve this.
And a face rose before her, a face that haunted her even in her waking hours. A face that she loved so dearly, yet loathed. She was facing itself, coming to gather her soul from her.
The fading around the edges of her vision danced in front of her eyes for a few mere seconds, then disappeared. Her sense of security, of oblivion, followed suit. She was alone and suddenly and painfully aware of the pouring from her temple, from her sense of panic and fear and horror. She was aware of every moment of her life, and the complexity of it’ existence. She was aware of how vulnerable, how exposed, she now was.
There was an instant, and then the searing pain entered her . She screamed, her throat ragged, a name tearing out of her lips. It would be a long time until she knew whose name she called.
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