Author: Lurina

124 POST-MORTEM/写/6 - The Flower That Bloomed Nowhere | Royal Road

Due to Seth's interruption, Kamrusepa's targeting is off. She doesn't disarm Ptolema.

Rather, she cuts straight through the center of her body, cutting her - and her heart - clean in half. The woman has less than a second to realize what's happened and scream in horror before the sound is replaced by a gurgle of blood the upper part of her torso tumbles to the ground, the jagged, frozen grass piercing through her eyeball.

No one wanted this. Even Kamrusepa reacts with horror, her eyes going wide. But it's already too late.

Seth screams Ptolema's name, and takes advantage of Kamrusepa's moment of hesitation, casting the Biochemical-Trancing Arcana. His reflexes speed to fever pitch, and he throws himself towards where Ptolema lies, quickly dying, his simple force barrier pushing nearby matter aside as he approaches.

Kamrusepa interprets it as an attack. She tries to cast the Time-Slowing Arcana on Seth, but is interrupted again by Theodoros, who uses the Object-Manipulating Arcana to hurl another chunk of the building at her; she dodges, but it still breaks line of sight. Seth tries to quickly dispel Ptolema's neurological resistance so he can treat, but debris from Theo's attack scatters over her body. He curses, screaming at him.

Meanwhile, Ezekiel moves to attack Ran in earnest. Right before Utsushikome can activate her barrier, Ran feints him with a pistol shot before discharging half the eris in her scepter, flooding the area with raw heat and energy. Ezekiel is surprised by the sudden escalation, and the attack lands, throwing him backwards, the smell of burning flesh filling the air.

Kamrusepa goes for Seth again, but he casts the Bacteria-Springing Arcana,filling the air with microorganisms under his control, and physically throws a chunk of the scattered debris at her, though this does nothing. Then Ran's attack reaches him, too, and he stumbles in surprise.

On the other hand, I wonder if it was always doomed to end badly from the very beginning.

People change. The circumstances of their lives shift, and they drift apart. Perhaps, even in the best of all possible worlds, our closeness in those initial two years would have always been a fleeting thing, and the most I could have hoped for was a more amicable parting. Where we remained friends but lived different lives, catching up every once in a while.

But that would never have been sufficient for me. I'd become completely dependent, while at the same time trying to hide that dependency. Our friendship was predicated on a misunderstanding.

I wanted unconditional love; a baseline of assured stability, the kind you'd optimistically get from a parent. I still do to some extent - it's why I found the idea of an asymmetrical relationship with Neferuaten so attractive. I wanted someone who would tell me they would always be there for me, who would always be proud of me and cheer me on. I wanted someone who would care more about me than I would them, and in doing so, let me stand on their shoulders.

But that's not a reasonable thing to want from another person who isn't a parent, and it's certainly not something I would ever have obtained from Shiko. She was her own person, with her own insecurities and loneliness, and dreams of fame and love to somehow resolve them. But I placed her on a pedestal and didn't see her as fully human. I assumed that her life was perfect, and so made everything about myself and my own suffering. I was oblivious to my ability to hurt her.

She underestimated the disparity between us, while I overestimated it. Neither of us really comprehended the actions of the other. Again; a misunderstanding.

When I think back to that last year from Shiko's perspective, all I remember is fear and anxiety-- I felt like I was being stretched taut and crushed to death at the same time. I was at the age where everyone suddenly and sharply transitioned from being children to being proto-adults. My old friends on the mainland suddenly had no time for long bridge conversations with me, and even the other kids I knew at school were, as is the typical for anyone introverted and somewhat awkward, getting into new hobbies and modes of social interaction I didn't really understand.

Part of the reason I became so obsessed with school and extracurricular work was because it felt like I was being left behind, and it was the only way I knew how to run. I thought it if I just did well enough, everyone would somehow have to like me and pay attention to me. But then before I knew it, my parents started expecting that level of effort all the time, effort which still didn't seem to be changing anything I actually cared about.

So I kept charging forward. Studying, jumping into contests I didn't care about in the hope of pleasing my parents, getting in projects I didn't care about in the hope of maintaining friends with similar interests. Finding ways to wedge myself into people's lives.

3 hours helping echo scripting club at school with their dumb echo game project, even though I didn't really like echo games. 2 hours consulting with Iwa about her theater work just so we'd have an excuse to talk. 2 hours at my desk staring at a textbook to make absolutely sure I'd get a perfect grade in an upcoming exam. 1 hour writing equations and an accompanying essay in the meaningless hope it'd get featured in the Dai League Young Mathematicians newsletter until I passed out.

Living in Itan, on top of cutting me off from my old friends, was also an increasing pain in the ass. The whole island had less than a million people on it, so doing anything substantial involved taking an airship over the sea. Which in turn meant wasting days trudging through customs offices and waiting around in ports.

"Shiko, the master of pharmacology guild in Oreskios in holding a meet-and-greet next weekend," my mother told me out of nowhere after arriving home one evening. "I'm going to book us in for a two-day trip, okay?"

I flinched, turning from the kitchen counter where I'd been helping my grandmother chop vegetables. "What?"

"The house is still being renovated, so we'll have to stay at a boarding house again," she continued. "I'll try to get one near the docks this time."

"I don't have time for that, mom..." I told her anxiously. "I've already told Nikka I'd be there for her birthday party on Saturday, and that I'd be helping with the club at school."

"Shiko, if you're serious about getting into medical science, you need to be making connections in the industry, or else you'll just end up a member of the rank-and-file," she told me. "You can't squander your genius like that."

"I already went to that thing at the university showcase--"

"But you didn't talk to anyone," she interjected. "If you don't talk to anyone, there's no point!"

I hadn't told my mother at the time that I was interested in becoming an arcanist on account of her anxieties, only that I was interested in working in medicine... Though even that was a dream with an immature grounding, however grand and high-minded it had seemed to my real self. Since I'd... Uh, meaning Shiko, since I'm still talking from her perspective... Had been a child, I'd seen helping and caring for others as a way to become liked. There was something liberatingly simple about endearing yourself to others through playing the wholesome role of a doctor or healer. I always carried around a little pack of bandages and other supplies, even as a kid. I'd become friends with Theodoros (as opposed to just sitting around his house whenever my family brought me over) when he'd fallen while playing in the garden and I'd cleaned and bandaged his knee.

It turned out when I grew older that I was much more talented at technical thinking than I was with the crisis management and interpersonal support skills that are ultimately central to medical practice, but the appeal of that purity was still lodged somewhere deep in my mind. And my grandfather, who was the most successful individual I personally knew - towering over every branch of the family - served as an appealing example to follow.

But on a fundamental level, I didn't understand myself, or what I wanted or needed. I overreached, and ended feeling like I was ruining my youth through entombing myself in my own ambition. There was no time to stop and think about where I was even trying to go...

That was what Shiko was feeling. And with that in mind, what she really needed from a friend was relaxed, gentle support. Someone who wouldn't be too demanding, but who could be there for her during what little free time she had. Who made her feel like herself, and could bring her thoughts about her future into focus by telling her what it was okay to let go of.

I did the opposite of that.

"Kuroka?!" she said, looking at me with befuddlement from her doorstep.

"Uh, h-hi," I said, my toned my pained.

"What are you doing here...?" she asked, sounding put off. "You didn't call, and it's like nine o'clock..."

"I know, um. Sorry." I sniffed. "Listen, I really don't want to be a pain, but do you have some time? Some of-- Some of the other kids at home were being really shitty again today, and I... I'm not holding it together well. I thought we could talk a bit. Watch some stuff."

She rubbed her eyes. "Kuroka, you said the same thing on Tuesday... I told you, I really need to focus on getting through my coursework right now. And it's late, I need to get to bed soon--"

"It doesn't have to be for long or anything," I said, speaking quickly, before she could get another word in. "Just, I just... I feel so awful... I don't know what will happen if I can't calm down..."

She furrowed her brow at me deeply. "Kuroka, you can't just--"

"Please," I interrupted again. "Just a few minutes."

I was like an animal. Like a frightened, wounded animal. I had no sense of the future, only the moment.

I reacted to her perceived withdrawal with panic, desperation, and increasingly a willingness to do anything just to have her pay attention to me, to prolong the status quo a little longer so I wouldn't have to spend another lonely night feeling completely and utterly lost. I pleaded, I guilt-tripped, I implied I was on the verge of hurting myself. I stretched the truth to its breaking point making my life seem as miserable as possible, so she'd feel obligated to be there for me.

And for a little while, it sort of worked.

"The spirits of the dead leave a particular residue when they manifest their powers," the female protagonist said, pulling back the curtains. "It manifests like condensation."

"How does that help us?" her co-star asked skeptically. "It's been over a week. Anything like that would have evaporated days ago."

"Maybe,"she said. "Or maybe not. After all, fluid can leave stains. Especially when the paint on the windowsills was still drying."

"This is dumb," I complained from my spot on Shiko's bed, trying to act like everything was normal. "I-I mean, they only introduced the paint thing five minutes ago... You can't have the solution to a mystery like this only come up right at the end. It defeats the point."

"Mm-hmm," Shiko said, disengaged. She was looking at her textbook.

"Don't you think, Shiko...?" I asked desperately.

"Yeah," she said.

"Yeah..." I said, smiling stiffly. "So, who do you think is the culprit?"

"I dunno," she answered.

"You dunno?" I hesitated. "Sorry, if you're bored, we could watch something else, whatever you feel like--"

"I'm really tired, Kuroka," she said, glancing at me for a moment. "I'm kinda surprised you have so much energy. I thought you were feeling bad."

"I-- Well, I mean..." My face flushed. "It really helps me get my mind off of things, being here like-- Like we always do, you know..."

"Mm." She nodded slightly.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm not being weird, am I?"

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. "Let's just finish the episode."

"I'm really glad you're here," I said, my tone frail. "I dunno what I'd do without you... You know..."

"Yeah," she repeated. her eyes distant.

"C--C'mon, you don't have to be so... So..."

When the amount of negative emotions you bring someone supersedes the amount of positive emotions, they grow cold. It's not that they don't care about you, at least not necessarily-- Rather, it's just a product of the way the human brain draws associations, in the same way that food which makes you sick becomes disgusting for months after the fact. That which brings pain represents pain. It's just that simple.

'Friends support one another during hard times. If she's really my friend, she'll always make time for me when I'm suffering.' That was the principle upon which I was operating, yet somehow remained ignorant that I was already violating. Shiko did consider me a friend, and did want to help-- If she hadn't, she would never have humored me in the first place. But I didn't show her empathy in return. I pushed her too far. There is no such thing as a person with bottomless compassion.

Though it arguably demonstrated more a lack of social consciousness than an egalitarian attitude, Shiko had never treated me as a dependent during all our years of friendship; she'd happily used her luxury debt allowance for both of us every time we wanted to meet, and bought me birthday and Akitum gifts without ever asking anything in return, without letting that asymmetry influence the way she treated or, as I later learned, even thought about me. But that changed greatly in those later months. She resented my dependence, saw me less and less as a person and more as an obligation, a thing that obliviously consumed her precious time while giving nothing in return.

Why couldn't I take a hint? Why did I ignore every attempt she made to try to find support elsewhere, to the point of letting my relationships with the friends she'd introduced me rot on the vine? What the fuck was I thinking?

She just didn't understand.

I'm not sure I do, either. I think at some point, as my mental state slipped further and further from any sort of grounding in reality, I got into a mentality like I was on my deathbed, or was stricken with a debilitating illness. Why didn't she care about me? I hadn't done anything to hurt her! Didn't she see my suffering? Didn't she feel any responsibility?!

I felt grief, and somehow that grief turned into anger. I felt like I couldn't survive. I didn't know what to do.

"...Kuroka," she said over the logic bridge. "I think I need some time away from you for a while."

"What do you mean, some time away?" I replied, distraught. "H-How long?"

"I don't know. A while."

Oh god. She won't even give a number.

"I just-- I, uh, I don't feel like I can help you right now, you know?" she said, sounding tremendously on edge. "I have so much work, and I feel like you need to look for other people who can be more there for you. I feel like things have got out of hand..."

I don't know if you have anyone else, but just accept it, please. I can't deal with this.

"I... I don't understand," I said, feeling a horrible, empty feeling growing inside of me, swallowing everything it touched.

You can't do this, I thought. Please, don't leave me alone. I don't want to be alone.

"I'm sorry," she said, not looking at me.

"What did I... N-No, please. I'm really sorry. I really haven't meant to be a burden!"

"I didn't say you're a burden," she replied, trying to be patient.

"I can-- I'll do better," I said quickly. "I'll, uh, I'll stop talking about gloomy stuff all the time, okay?! We don't have to talk as much, just... Please don't cut me off..."

"I'm not cutting you off," she said, her tone growing more stiff. "Like I said, it's just for a while."

"I don't..." I winced painfully. "You said you'd always be there for me..."

She twitched. How can you be so selfish?!

My life, by this point, had started to fall apart. I'd gone from struggling in school to actively failing exams and getting stern warnings from the staff. Worse than that, though, some days I felt like I couldn't go in at all. I couldn't stand the sight of Shiko doing things with other people without me, couldn't stand feeling so horribly out of place surrounded by rich assholes.

But whenever I tried to speak to her, it was like we no longer even communicated in the same language.

"Hey, uh, Shiko, do you want to trade notes on this coursework?"

"I told you, Kuroka," she replied stiffly. "I don't have the energy to help you, right now."

I didn't even ask for that!

It was like that with other things, too. I couldn't enjoy any books or dramas any more because they just made me think of her. I spent every night stressing myself half way to death.

Things only spectacularly fell to pieces, however, when I learned that she was moving back permanently to the mainland. By this point, the lingering embers of the revolution had calmed to the point that bombings and outbreaks of violence were extremely rare, and my-- Rather, Shiko's little brother was getting close to the age that he, too, was due to start school. While the private girl's school that Shiko had attended had held a relatively good reputation, there was no equivalent on the island for young boys, which left their mother concerned about his education. She was also worrying about Shiko's future, and had picked up on some of the sources of stress I described earlier.

So she made the decision that it was time to relocate the family. I didn't hear about this until two months after the decision had been made because, by this point, she was actively making an effort to avoid me. But when I got the news, I felt a horror like nothing I'd ever experienced before.

It felt as though I was living in a nightmare. Like I'd been transformed into some grotesque goblin, some insect, and every day the fact we'd ever been friends at all felt like nothing but a fantasy I'd deluded myself into believing. I was so afraid.

Honestly, my memory of those final months, at least as myself, is a blur. I just couldn't let things go. I kept trying to get her to speak to me, to somehow re-establish a connection before the chance disappeared forever. But by this point, she'd made it definitively clear that our friendship was finished, and there was no putting things back to how they used to be.

Yet that didn't stop me. I linked to her logic bridge over and over and over. I sent her letters. I tried to catch her on the way home from school. I acted desperate, I feigned understanding and developed maturity, I pleaded with appeals to our shared history. I told her how much she meant to me and how much I cared about her.

But it was all in vain. Spoiled, debased, ruined. All I succeeded in doing was making myself look like a creep who was beyond incapable of taking a hint.

Even on the very last day, the day she went to the port to leave Itan and never return, I still didn't give up. I managed to find out that her mother had already left the day earlier, so she'd be alone. I hunted her down to a waiting area overlooking the beach, an echo of our very first meeting.

I can't recall our conversation properly, even from Shiko's perspective with her superior memory; I've overthought it so much that the facts have become a blurry, broken mess, overwritten by dream and excessive contemplation, the events playing out in my mind again and again and again and again. I remember that Shiko was startled at first, but ultimately calmer and more relaxed around me than she'd been around me in a long while, since it was a public space and she knew it was the last time we'd probably talk.

What else... From my perspective, I remember crying a lot. I remember the spark of hope that surged within me in seeing that she was finally willing to hear me out, that maybe we'd reconcile, and she'd share the key for her bridge at her home in Oreskios. I remember ranting sentimentally about our first meeting, about how she was the first person whoever made me think about the future, and who freed me from a life of solitude. I remember speaking frankly about my life at the Isiyahlas' in a way I never really had before, neither overstating nor understating things. I remember saying how much I loved her grandmother's food.

I remember reminding her of our promise that one day we'd visit the edge of the Mimikos together.

"If I could see the edge of the world with you, like we talked about... The two of us, looking down into the darkness of what's left of this universe... I'd be happy to die. Happy that, even in the face of everything, I wasn't alone."

I remember the sadness I felt as I realized my words weren't truly reaching her. The distance in her gentle smile and her tired eyes.

From Shiko's perspective, I remember feeling uncomfortable and tired. I remember that, even as this person I'd been friends with recounted all these good memories we'd had together with such passion, I couldn't bring myself to feel any sentimentality at all. I remember thinking about all the times they'd interfered with my life over the past year and made things worse, and seeing them as almost an embodiment of everything I hated about that island, and the sense of relief and excitement at the fact I'd finally be leaving it behind.

And then I remember realizing that this sentiment wasn't wholly rational. And that we'd had some really fun times it'd just become hard to think about. I remember how glad I was to find someone who liked the same sort of stories I did. And I remember feeling, for a moment, very sad.

"I'm sorry it turned out like this, Kuroka. I'm sorry I can't be your friend."

And from both perspectives, I remember the final part of the conversation. I remember telling Shiko that I couldn't bear to say goodbye to her. I remember Shiko saying in response that learning to say goodbye is something that's just a part of life. I remember not understanding. I remember the boarding-bell going off, and crying out for her to wait, and to to not leave me. I remember saying, over and over as she left, that she was sorry.

I'm sorry, Kuroka. I have to go.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry...

I remember the anguish I felt when I lost sight of her. The voice in my head that said, she's gone. She's gone away to have a wonderful, full life, with countless friends and more fun things than you can possibly imagine. You'll never get to see her again. You'll never hear her voice. Never feel the warmth of her kindness.

Never cook another meal in her kitchen.

Never study together on the patio.

Never sit beside her on her bed, just happy to be together.

Never, ever, ever.

I walked home, feeling like I was already dead. Unable to believe what had happened. Oscillating between despair and fantasy. Feeling like I was transforming back into mud as I gazed towards a horizon I'd never reach.

I couldn't sleep at all that night. I gasped and sobbed with grief and regret until my throat was hoarse. And though I tried to go into school the next day, I couldn't stand it-- I'd already alienated myself from Shiko's other friends. I didn't know why I wanted to be there any more.

I left at noon. I stopped going to school.

I lost my scholarship later in the month, and I didn't even care. When I was transferred back to a public secondary school, I refused to go to that too. I didn't eat. I didn't speak to anyone. All I could do was run, lie still, and try not to think.

The next year of my life was probably the worst it had ever been. In retrospect, I'd put the Isiyalahs in a strange position - I was 17, so I still had a few months of mandatory education and parental oversight, but only that year, so it wasn't convenient to get rid of me and force me back into the foster system now that I'd become a problem child. But I refused adamantly to get back into education, or to do much of anything. Social workers got involved a little, but because Itan was such an institutionally dysfunctional place, they didn't manage to solve anything.

I've never been a mentally healthy person - not as a kid, and certainly over the past 12 years. But I don't think I've ever come close to the utter, all-encompassing despondence I felt then. My mind was stuck.All I could think about was the mistakes I'd made.

I won't discuss some of the things I did that year. Not because it's embarrassing (although all of this is, obviously, pretty humiliating) or because I want to preserve some dignity or false grace like I was talking about earlier, but because it just feels indulgent. I hurt myself in a lot of ways, both literally and abstractly. To the point that I managed to make even the Isiyahlas have an emotional response to something.

The only event worth noting is that, when I was in hospital at one point, Yohani showed up to see me. He didn't seem to really know what to say to me, and in the subsequent small talk I learned that he, too, would soon be moving back to mainland (along with many of the families that sought refuge on the island) but it stands out as the last kind act I experienced as my former self.

After that, I aged out of the state care system. I left the Isiyahla's home and moved into a tiny box of an apartment in the ass-end of nowhere that the government was obligated to provide for me until I turned 25. It was grey, and all the furniture smelled vaguely of leaves and sweat. And from that point on, my life became very simple. I slept. I went to the toilet. I ate. And, occasionally, I went to a distribution center to pick up some supplies. Very occasionally, I would mindlessly watch dramas or read people's conversations over the semi-functional logic bridge in the corner, which made a grinding sound like a dying engine and occasionally leaked water all over the floor.

It went on like that for another year.

In such a state, cut off from the rest of humanity and left to marinate in my own misery, my cognition went to where it had been when I was a child; shifting aimlessly between anger and escapism.

On the days of anger, I would curse Shiko for abandoning me. Curse my father for forgetting I exist, and my mother for dying young. Curse the entire world for being a rotten, unfair place, where some people were unloved and had nothing while other people drowned in affection and material wealth.

And on the days of escapism, I would imagine miraculous ways I could be saved. I imagined Shiko contacting me again, and saying that we'd both just been under a lot of stress, and that she hadn't meant what she said. We'd laugh together, and she'd tell me about her life in Oreskios and how her family was doing. And then we'd talk about stories again, just like old times.

And then I'd cry, because I realized how false a hope it was.

What would my life have been if things had gone on like that, I wonder...?

Thinking back to my mental state as best as I can, I'd say it was roughly a coin flip. Heads, and I'd be dead. Tails... I dunno. There were little sparks of possibility. Days where I thought about going back to school. Days where I thought about just getting the hell of Itan, regardless of the consequences.

Or maybe I could have just... Kept existing, that way. Maybe I would have slowly made friends over the logic sea, built up connections and skills that, inch my inch, would have raised me out of my despair and into something resembling adult life. As much as I may have felt so, it's difficult to arrive at an utter and total dead end in life. Even if it's much slower than for others, you're usually making subtle progress in ways you don't pick up on at the time.

However, that's not what happened. Because one day, after a routine medical appointment, I was called back into the doctor's office, and they delivered a surprising piece of news.

"You have a Pneumaic Hyperadaptivity Syndrome," the specialist told me.

I blinked. I'd disrupted my sleep schedule to be there, so I wasn't fully attentive. "Um... What?"

"It's a condition associated with the developed of the pneumaic nexus," she explained, leaning back in her seat. "Essentially, you haven't developed an extremely common weakness in the extra-planar component of your brain."

"Oh," I said, and paused for several seconds. "Is that a bad thing? Do I, uh, need treatment?"

Something fizzled in the back of my mind, but I couldn't place it yet.

"On the contrary," she said, smiling. "It's a good thing, or at least a potentially good thing. It means it's simpler for you than the overwhelming majority of people to undergo arcane initiation. You can skip the lions share of the process."

"Arcane initiation-- As in, becoming an arcanist?"

She nodded. "That's correct."

I felt a little annoyed. It felt like I'd been dragged out of bed for what amounted to inconsequential bullshit.

"...okay," I muttered as I rubbed my eyes. "But I'm not going to be an arcanist. I'm not even in school."

"Oh, I see." She seemed a little disappointed by my reaction to all this. "You might want to consider looking into it. Apparently people with your condition generally have extremely good instincts when it comes to using the Power. That might be enough to overcome an academic advantage."

I doubt it. I sighed deeply, nodding along.

"And even if not, your condition is extremely rare," she went on. "It only manifests in roughly 0.001% of the population. There's a lot of research going into it you might want to look into-- You could earn some debt relief, above the league minimum at least."

"Mm," I said, not enthused.

"Let me give you this writ about it..." She reached into her desk.

On the way home, I couldn't help but marvel at the absurdity of my luck and fate. After all my shitty luck in life, all the ways I'd rolled like garbage on the cosmic die compared to someone like Shiko, this was the way I happened to be lucky-- To be more talented than her. At something I'd never be able to do in practice in a million years.

I knew the gist of it from school and our discussions. To be an arcanist, even the shitty kind that stood in front of an Conjuration pillar at a distribution center and turned garbage into food and household goods, you had to be multi-talented. You had to be able to perform high-level math on the spot, to be an excellent speaker with perfect intonation, and to have an amazing memory for all the incantations. Without any of those, you could easily end up blowing your own head off.

I didn't lack one of those talents, I lacked all of them. My academic skills, such as they were, largely oriented around languages and soft sciences. I was the worst possible candidate.

It felt like a cosmic joke at my expense. I wanted to laugh...

...but then, suddenly, that fizzling in my brain produced a pop in a long forgotten place.

Because I'd heard the phrase 'Pneumaic Hyperadaptivity Syndrome' before.

I went back to my awful apartment, and into the few boxes of my things, most of which I hadn't fully unpacked; this one was full of books. I dumped aside textbooks from school and novels that reminded me painfully of the past to find, at the bottom, a thick little leather book that I'd kept for many, many years.

Samium's journal.

I flicked through the pages to find the entry the bookmark had been on all those years ago. And then I read back a little bit, just as I had out of curiosity as a child so long ago.

And I saw it.

In that moment, the demon, which laid dormant in me for half a decade, suddenly crawled out from within my heart, like a serpent first emerging from the egg. And it offered me something insane. Something freakish and impossible, that belonged in a different world.

And from that instant, I was probably already damned.