The Twisting of Gerald’s Mind

The transformation of the lower ring was complete, at least on the surface. The streets, once choked with filth and despair, now bore the strange beauty of Plaga's touch. Blackened vines strengthened crumbling buildings, their tendrils pulsing faintly with a life that defied understanding. Fountains that had long run dry now gushed with clear water, and the eerie, glowing fruits of her dark plants sustained the people. The afflicted, once shunned and broken, now stood tall, their hollow eyes filled with an unsettling reverence.

But for Gerald, there was no peace in this renewal.

He walked among the people, watching their faces light up with hope as they gathered the fruits or drank from the fountains. They no longer looked at him with desperation or fear; instead, they looked past him, to the vines, the fruits, the twisted structures of their new world. They no longer prayed to God. They prayed to her.

Plaga’s whispers grew louder in his mind, her voice weaving through his thoughts like a poison. At first, it was subtle, a faint presence he could ignore. But now, she was constant, her words shaping his dreams, his waking moments, his very sense of reality.

"You wanted them to live," she said one evening as he stood by the fountain, watching children laugh and splash in the water. "And now they live. But you do not smile, my knight. Why is that?"

Gerald gripped the edge of the fountain, his knuckles white. "Because I see what this is," he said through clenched teeth. "You’ve given them everything they need, but you’ve taken their will. They’re not living—they’re existing for you."

Her laughter echoed in his mind, cold and mocking. "And yet they are happy," she said. "Happier than they ever were under your King or your God. Does it not please you to see them thrive?"

---

The Taking Begins

It started small. Gerald would wake in the night, drenched in sweat, his dreams filled with visions of decay and renewal. He saw his own hands blackened and twisted, vines growing from his skin, his reflection in the water no longer his own.

When he prayed, he felt nothing. The solace he once found in the act was gone, replaced by a gnawing emptiness. The silver cross he wore felt heavy around his neck, its touch cold and foreign.

"Why do you still cling to that?" Plaga whispered one day as he knelt in the quiet of his home. "It does nothing for you. Your God has abandoned you, Gerald. You belong to me now."

He ignored her, gripping the cross tighter. But the more he prayed, the louder her whispers became.

The next morning, he awoke to find the cross missing. He searched his small home frantically, tearing through his few possessions, but it was nowhere to be found. As he slumped against the wall, exhausted and defeated, her voice filled the room.

"You won’t need it where we’re going, my knight," she said, her tone soft but taunting.

---

Visions and Doubts

Plaga began to show him things—visions that blurred the line between reality and illusion. He would walk the streets and see the faces of the people twist and change, their glowing eyes staring at him with accusation.

"You gave her everything," a man’s voice hissed, though his lips did not move. "You damned us all."

In the evenings, his reflection in the water showed not himself but something else—a figure cloaked in shadow, its body writhing with vines and decay.

"You are becoming what you always feared," Plaga whispered as he stared at the image, unable to look away. "But does it frighten you, or does it excite you?"

Her words burrowed into his mind, making him question his own thoughts, his own beliefs. He began to doubt the choices he had made, the sacrifices he had given. Was this what salvation looked like? Was this what the people truly needed?

---

The Isolation

The people of the lower ring, who once looked to him for guidance, now avoided him. They whispered about him in hushed tones, their eyes flicking toward him with unease.

"He belongs to her," one woman said, her voice barely audible. "He’s no longer one of us."

Gerald felt the weight of their rejection, the loneliness creeping in like a shadow. He had given everything for them—his faith, his soul, his very being—and now he was an outsider in the very community he had sought to save.

"You are mine," Plaga said, her voice wrapping around him like a vice. "They know it, even if you refuse to accept it. You are not one of them anymore, Gerald. You are something greater."

---

A Test of Faith

One night, as Gerald sat alone in his home, Plaga appeared before him. Her form was as hauntingly beautiful as ever, her tattered black dress flowing like smoke. She stepped closer, her hollow eyes glowing faintly.

"You look tired, my knight," she said, her voice almost tender. "Have I asked too much of you?"

Gerald glared at her, his fists clenched. "You’ve taken everything from me," he said, his voice shaking. "My faith, my purpose, my place in this world. What more do you want?"

Plaga tilted her head, her smile cruel and cold. "You gave those things willingly," she said. "And yet you cling to them as if they were stolen. Why is that, Gerald? Do you regret your choice?"

He hesitated, the words caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to answer her.

She stepped closer, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers were cold, her touch sending a shiver down his spine. "You wanted to save them," she said softly. "And you did. But salvation is not without cost. Do not resent me for taking what was freely given."

---

The Breaking Point

As the days passed, Gerald’s sense of reality began to unravel. He heard voices in every shadow, saw movement in the corners of his vision. The line between Plaga’s whispers and his own thoughts blurred until he could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

"You’re losing yourself," he whispered to his reflection one night, his voice trembling. "You’re becoming hers."

The reflection stared back, its face twisted with vines and decay. And then it smiled.

"You were mine the moment you made the pact," Plaga’s voice said, echoing in his mind. "Do not fight what you are, Gerald. Embrace it. Become what you were always meant to be."

Gerald slammed his fist into the surface of the water, shattering the image. But as the ripples faded, he realized that the reflection had not disappeared. It lingered, watching him with hollow, glowing eyes.

And for the first time, Gerald felt the pull of her power not as a burden, but as a temptation.