Chapter 76: A Blink

A blink.

Floating, she looks around at the light mouth of the beast she is in.

Mercy protects her with a barrier.

She then gazes further down at the beast's mouth as she notices something unusual . . . but there is a point . . . where things can't seem to get past, and things literally. Any and everything that goes past that threshold.

No light, no matter.

Realizing that sends shivers down the Mother of Mercy's spine. This isn't just darkness. It is a true void.

A fraction of inexistence itself lingering at the back of this beast's throat! What is this creature?

She looks back at Charlotte in worry.

. . .

A blink.

She gasps, breathing heavily as she gets up in a cold sweat.

"Neo?" she looks around the well-written room. It is just the average normal room, a bed, desk, chair, closet, etc.

A room she is all too familiar with. She looks at her clothing, finding herself in pajamas.

Creak.

The door to her room opens.

"Come on, wake up and get ready to go to school!" says her father.

"What?! Where?! How?!" she questions in confusion.

"Come on! Get up already!" he says again.

She looks at her hands, her ears ringing.

The ringing echoes in her head, zoning everything else out.

Was it all a dream? But it felt so real . . . ? Why am I back here? What's happening . . . ?

She puts her head in her hands.

I– Why am I back here now? When will it end? Why am I on the third floor of the Castle again?

"Charlotte," her father calls her name, right next to her now.

"Aaahhh!" she screams in anguish, her voice filled with despair as uncontrollable tears roll down her face.

Smack!

A hands flies across, hitting her face very hard.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

It's followed by other hard hits on her shoulder and head.

"Why are you screaming? What do you want? Are you happy you made me hit you?" questions her father, his voice sharp and his face frustrated.

Charlotte continues to cry quietly.

"Don't hit her," says her mother, standing at the door.

Her father turns around, "Well, she started screaming!"

"And still don't hit her in front of me!" she demands, "I am a mother! I can't help but speak up and protect her!"

Her father huffs and leaves the room, and they arguing back and forth, fighting until it finally stops.

Charlotte sniffs, her face expressionless.

"Get up and get ready to go to school," urges her mother, still standing at the door.

Silence.

"Well? Come on," says her mother.

With a movement akin to a corpse and a dead expression, Charlotte quietly gets up and walks towards her closet.

. . .

A blink.

She now finds herself in the car, her younger brother sitting next to her in the backseat and her mother driving them to school before work.

She gazes out the window, looking at the large elevator at the center of the Castle that leads to the other floors.

How many centuries has it been since I was here last? I never came back after I left . . . I used to call this . . . the bundt floor . . . was it? Because it looked like the pan flipped upside down.

Before it and below her, she sees three huge construction sites surrounding it . . . a place meant for the constant and endless contesting so that one would claim they are the best at something . . . The Dromes.

The first one . . . all forms of mainly physical events are contested on this.

Video games and anything related to mental activity as the main focus are contested in that one.

. . . and that last one confused and disturbed me when I thought of it.

And it is the dream of everyone here that they are at the top of everywhere in every single regard when it comes to all of these and more, money, health, status, family, children, etc.

She faces forwards, –

. . . that is what I am . . .

– shakes her head, –

And here I am, we are, living on this large Bundt floor.

– and sighs.

Oh well . . . not like I had entered any of them . . . never got the chance to, and probably would have never reached them.

. . .

A blink.

Standing in front of her school's main gates, she waits.

"***************!"

She turns around, watching as her best friend at school approaches.

She grabs her hand and they walk through the main gates.

Ah . . . the only joy I ever had back then . . . meeting her.

. . .

A blink.

Class. First row as usual is sitting in the front row and the math teacher is teaching, he seems very nice to her and all the girls.

Creak.

The door to the classroom opens and someone steps in . . . someone she has long forgotten . . . how many millenniums has it been . . . since she has seen this friend . . . who is now . . . dead . . . ?

Her mind turns her head to look at her best friend sitting next to her . . . she is looking at their friend who had just entered with a wince on her face.

The entire class but a very few are looking at him.

"Why are you late? What happened to you? Did you have diarrhea?" questions the teacher, his tone condescending and mocking.

Her friend stands stiff at the door, embarrassed as the entire class laughs silently.

"Why are you late?" he repeats, continuing to pressurize the student. He places his remote down and focuses his entire attention on the boy.

Thoughts race through Charlotte's head.

. . . ever since my childhood, he never missed a class, was never absent except on official vacations when school was closed . . . just like me . . .

In all my classes and the time, I spent with him, he was never late even once . . . this was the first time . . . 10 minutes late to the first math class.

She turns to look at the teacher, her gaze full of despise.

He is nice to all the girls and doesn't dare converse with the boys who hold the batch of an original in the class . . . but why specifically target him? Not only him but all the other teachers as well. They treat him very poorly . . .

She looks at the boy again.

Is it because he came from outside the Castle? Someone who is the son of the people who came here from the void?

The only reason he is in this class is because of his perfect grades. Many times, I have seen our math teacher intentionally give him difficult problems to solve on the board in front of everyone, and he always solves it. Is this . . . your chance to finally get to him? To lay into him?

Everything is happening so slowly again . . . as she relives the events . . .

She looks at her friend, who looks down at the ground with a heartbroken expression on her face.

I cannot watch this again . . . could I have done something back then? To change your path? From becoming what you are . . . which is whom I despise, I feel sickened by, I run away from . . .

. . .

A blink.

Ah. I have been here a good number of times . . . not as much as my best friend though . . .

She looks to her right, seeing her best friend swinging her feet and to her left, **** is on the verge of tears, his eyes puffed up.

Ahh, it's one of those days . . . **** is getting bullied for many things, his obesity especially. Looking back on it . . . he probably ate so much to distract himself from his life . . . he probably was getting bullied by a group and my best friend stepped in to help him again. I would sometimes join as well.

Step, step, step, step.

Charlotte's father steps in front of her.

"Come with me,"

Sitting in front of the principle, her father does all the talking. He always has been a smooth talker in the public eye.

Looking from the outside, anyone would see a good royal citizen. But living with this person . . . is a different story . . . completely different . . . I am almost fascinated by this charade.

. . .

A blink.

Ah, must have been a big fight. I was sent home with my dad.

She finds herself looking out the window towards the core.

Looking to her left, she finds her younger brother next to her. He waves at her to play a quiet game with their fingers. She smiles gently and accepts, and they start tapping and playing the game.

"Sit still, you two,"

"Bu–but dad–"

"I said, sit still!" their father reaches for the glove box and pulls out a knife as he drives, "Or, it's the end of the both of you today,"

. . . the expected reaction . . . not like we knew at the time. We thought that as long as we didn't make a sound, it would be fine and he wouldn't shout at us again.

"Didn't I tell you to stop associating with that boy? Have you not listened to me and been friends with him this whole time?" he demands.

"Well? Answer? What do you want? I feed you and I keep a roof over your house and this is how you treat me? What are you missing?" he questions again.

. . . there it is again . . . this isn't the question it seems to be. There is only one answer I can give . . . I can ever give . . . my silence.

. . .

A blink.

She looks down at her food and picks up the fork.

Eat slowly.

It reminds her of eating at a pace faster than hers . . .

There it is . . . all over again.

"Dad, can I go play on the first floor?" asks her brother.

She looks at him with a sad expression.

No, focus on school and your studies, she will say.

Their mother shakes her head, "No, focus on school and your studies,"

Grow up already and focus on your studies, he will say.

Their father huffs, "Grow up already and focus on your future,"

"Bu–"

Smack!

Their mother smacks the table.

There will be no further discussion on this. You live in my house, you are under my mercy.

"There will be no further discussion on this. You live in my house, you are under my mercy," she says.

Look at me go, I could work as a fortune teller.

A smile curves her blank, dead face. If one saw it, they would have been creeped out. But luckily, no one could.

See . . . even you . . . yes you . . . for no–

Existence spazzes out, as if glitching for a second, and everything is back to normal.

Blank face back to normal, to how it was.

She looks at her brother with sorrowful eyes, drowning in thoughts.

I pity your attempts and envy your hope. You have not lived as long as I have, but soon you will also realize, that it is futile . . .

She looks at her plate.

Perhaps . . . futility goes beyond what even I could have imagined at the time . . .

This entire existence . . . is futile . . . my existence amounts to futility . . .

. . .

A blink.

Huh? It's the small shed we used to meet at during spring break . . .

She looks at the drawing on the walls of the three friends.

. . . right. I drew this the day I lost her . . . her parents moved her to a different school, far away to keep her away from him and me . . . I blamed him for it . . . and soon I lost him as well. He had disappeared, not like anyone but me cared. I had felt the guilt for what I had done, he wasn't at fault . . . he always kept trying his best to be what they wanted . . . what is expected . . . this rotten existence was at fault . . . but not long after, you would return.

. . .

A blink.

A handsome, slim, young man approaches Charlotte and extends his hand.

Zahtan . . . ah, the day I met you. You slowly made me a completely different person . . . and it took me an eternity to realize in which direction you went. Had I noticed earlier, and not let myself be distracted and consumed by the momentary blinding euphoria of release, could I have helped you?

. . .

A blin–

She keeps her eyes closed.

. . . enough . . . no more . . .

She opens her eyes slowly, finding herself on the second floor . . . Adornment and Luxury . . . drama and romance are the center events of this level . . . with its disgusting effects lurking behind.

As she walks behind Zahtan, who oozes charisma to everyone around him, almost every other step is a shop filled with women's make up. All the women look almost the same down the skin color, ninety percent of them look white. There are shops that provide the service of permanent and perfect skin color change after all.

Cosmetic surgery center locations are also all over, hours are spent to take the perfect selfies with the perfect angles, filters, and makeup. Most of the time people are on social media, anyway.

And more . . . there is always more . . .

As for men, a perfect muscular body or a lean on along with a face as pretty as a woman with brilliant hair is what is ideal.

As for objects, between jewelry and cars . . . there is no end.

Physical attraction, attention, beauty, cute and sexy to all and especially of the opposite sex in most cases is the name of the game here . . . of course not that anyone will admit to it. The personality has to be distant and dismissive of the idea of such a thing,

I am cringing and disturbed at myself remembering my experiences here . . . I don't want to stay here and go through this again.

. . .

Charlotte closes her eyes again.

"I won't open them again . . . I said enough . . ."

Everything disappears and she is surrounded by complete darkness.

But we see in the dark . . . don't we? . . . no eyes we can close here, for they are mine and yours.

With Zahtan still in front of her, he turns around and faces her, reaching out for her with a smile.

She slows.

. . .

His mouth starts to move, "You took hold of this hand, to escape . . . an eternity of being a tool of this floor . . . in hopes of realizing (it),"

"But now you feel . . . no, you know so. There are no resets, your quench will never be satisfied, and even the life you carry is another delusion of you attempting to start anew and go for satisfying (it),"

He tsks, "How pathetic, to drag an innocent, naïve person who doesn't know any better into all of this, to think you used Neo as a tool to help you delude yourself into a fresh start! And where did that bring you and him? You desperately seek to sooth (it), to reach the calling you hear, and in the end . . . this is where it got you,"

"Disgusting," he scoffs, before laughing at her.

"Not to mention all the suffering that Aayn made you endure, you shut it all behind a closed gate, to not mention it again, to not let it be seen. (It) is the reason you went through all that, and it has the audacity to yet demand you seek it!"

A voice reaches her from all directions, traveling to her in the darkness.

"Give up on (it). Submit to me and stone your heart to (it). (It) dares criticize from the sideline while not knowing what we feel like. How could it? It isn't (us). Even now, (it) condemns you for having the child with Neo in the way you did. It echoes all your failures without acknowledgement for what you have been through! Ha!"

Laughter and mockery reach her ears, coming from everywhere.

"But I . . . I understand . . . I know what you felt . . . you fought me for an eternity and attempted to appease and satisfy (it). To feel the calm and peace of mind . . . to reach . . . (that) state of existence,"

Charlotte remains silent.

"I was there with you when unspeakable things were done to you by that beast! All that time in different kinds of horrible torture! And what does (it) do? Does (it) comfort you? No . . . it continues to condemn . . . that's all it does! I know you hate it . . . despise it deep down . . . "

. . .

". . . kill (it) . . . remove it . . . come to me . . . let me liberate you . . . let me show you true fulfillment! Satisfaction! Euphoria! The true path to reach (that). No longer listen to (it) . . . come and follow me,"

. . .

"So . . . what do you want now, Charlotte?" asks Zahtan, still offering his hand to her.

. . .

He turns into her younger brother.

"What do you want, Char?"

. . .

He turns into her best friend from school.

"What do you want, Lottie?"

. . .

She turns into Neo.

"What do you want, Charlotte?"

. . .

Neo transforms into a splitting image of her, standing in front of her reflection, still offering her hand.

. . .

"What do–"

Thrust!

Charlotte uses the shadow's strength to plunge herself into her chest, grabbing her heart. She takes it out, holding it in her palm.

A mark like the one Adora has is on her heart, and it glows.

Holding it above her reflection's hand . . . its flesh slowly and gradually begins to turn into stone . . . she places it on her reflection's hand . . . as the stone part grows, it reaches a part where it reaches the light . . . it begins to erase it . . . blood dripping into the void and . . .

Charlotte smiles, blood dripping from both sides of her mouth. The sensation of a burden lifted . . . no . . . it is all her inputs and sensations growing numb to (its) existence.

Ridding herself of everything.

Past, present and future. Worries, distractions, addictions, and responsibilities.

All submitting to the other Charlotte now.

Such a . . . euphoric sensation she feels . . .

She smears the blood on her smile and stretches her arm again.

Fine then . . . I'll go somewhere else, I guess . . .

She feels every muscle in her body relax as she floats in the darkness with a care.

I give up . . . I win . . . do as I please.

Charlotte starts to fall back slowly.

"Great job," praises the voice.

Laying down, she starts to close her eyes slowly.

"No worries . . . no stress . . . no problems . . . sleep . . . you are doing perfectly," it continues like a lullaby, lulling her to sleep.

Her eyes shut as she continues to float in the darkness . . . no noise . . . no life . . . no light . . . nothing.

"Goodnight, my beloved," says the voice, bidding farewell.

The heart is still slowly, gradually, turning to stone.

The light fading . . .