The Price of Not Knowing

Sena curled up in bed, burying herself under the mattress. 

The piercing pain in her head throbbed, a relentless drumbeat against her skull. Overwhelming her was the choking fear of being shunned, of rejection. 

Why? Why am I so afraid of telling him the truth? 

Why do I keep seeing memories of people I don't know? 

Why does it hurt so much to open up just a little bit more? 

She knew they meant her no harm; Idris had shown nothing but kindness and acceptance. But…

She swallowed back her tears, fighting against the tightening knot in her chest. 

Why can't I just tell him, especially if he can see my two souls anyway? 

She heard the thrumming of her own heart, a frantic drum trying to burst from her ribs. Her breathing became ragged, each inhale a painful gasp for air. She tried her best to suppress the tears, racking her brain for the fragmented memories of faces she couldn't name.

Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking. 

Lurking behind the window pane. 

Silent. Still. Waiting.

She felt a strong, looming presence, a cold dread seeping into her bones. She shivered violently under the sheets. 

There it is again! Damn it! What is this presence?!

Frustrated, she jerked up and ripped the covers from her face. Her eyes darted across the dimly lit room, scanning every corner, every shifting streak of shadow. 

Nothing. 

Her gaze moved from one windowpane to another, slowly, deliberately. Still nothing but the dark silhouettes of trees and the night sky beyond.

She stood up and moved to close her drapes. Both hands gripped opposite ends, slowly drawing them together, her movements cautious, as if waiting for something to suddenly materialize right in front of her. But as soon as the drapes met and closed tightly, there was only empty space.

She took a deep, shaky inhale. 

I need to get a grip on myself. I can't go on like this. She muttered, walking towards the second window adjacent to the bookshelf.

And as she placed both hands on opposite ends, preparing to pull the drapes together, there it was! Right in her direct line of sight.

Eyes—wide, dead, unblinking. 

Silent. Still. Waiting.

A pair of dead eyes, piercing yellow, stared blankly at her. 

Her breath caught mid-inhale, frozen in her throat. 

Her eyes didn't tremble or waver; they were simply drawn, fixated on that set of predatory, ancient eyes darting directly at her. 

She leaned her face closer… and closer… until her forehead gently met the cool glass pane, the only barrier between her and the unmoving gaze.

Its beak seemed to be moving… 

Is it saying something? 

She listened intently; the silence in the room was thick, almost suffocating. But the beak was only drooping downwards as this bird held its stare, utterly unmoving.

For a second, the presence and shadow cast by this bird began to slowly, inexorably, grow larger and larger, filling her vision. 

Then, an intense aura emanated from this looming presence, a palpable pressure that made her knees buckle, trembling uncontrollably. Her hands, which had gripped the drapes tightly, slipped away as she slumped to the floor beneath her, her gaze never breaking from the imposing, ancient eyes.

"W—who are you?" She whispered, her breath misted on the thick still air.

The bird's mandibles began to clatter, a dry, sharp sound that grew louder and louder. Its wings started thrashing, a whirlwind of feathers and shadow, as it lifted into the air, hovering just outside her window. And just as swiftly and mysteriously as it had appeared, it vanished into the night sky, gone from sight.

She took a moment, sprawled on the floor, to process what had just happened. She didn't feel any fear towards the bird, no matter how imposing its presence was. Somehow, it had been showing up constantly but had never actually hurt her or made her feel anything other than being watched.

As she contemplated, her stomach growled, the sound echoing hollowly in the quiet room. She chuckled slightly, then lay her back against the floor, looking up at the ceiling. 

Why did I leave those juicy steaks to go cold? She wondered. 

I should eat something before I sleep tonight. And with that, she got up and headed towards the kitchen.

As Sena reached the landing, she crept slowly, peeking into the dining room. It was empty. The kitchen, too, was deserted. She was about to scour for leftovers when her eyes caught sight of the front door, slightly ajar.

She wondered if Idris had forgotten to lock it. 

As she drew closer, a faint, wispy scent of smoke drifted to her, and she inhaled. She cautiously peeked outside and was surprised to see Idris sitting on a bench crafted from gnarled, upheaved roots, positioned before a small tea table. 

He was smoking, calm and stoic, a wisp of smoke curling lazily from his lips. I didn't know he smoked, she mused to herself.

She bit the side of her lip before deciding to join him, slowly closing the door behind her. 

No point in hiding; he sensed me already, for sure, she thought as she made her way, step by careful step, and settled beside him.

Idris leaned back against the bench's headrest, his gaze fixed on the night sky. He said nothing, but with a careful, swift motion, he removed the cardigan he wore over his sleeping chemise and wrapped it around Sena the moment she sat down. 

"It's cold out," he said calmly, his voice a low murmur.

Sena clutched the ends of the cardigan, crossing it tightly over her chest, accepting his kindness without a word. The warmth of Idris's cardigan enveloped her like a tight embrace. 

She stretched her legs, relaxing her back as she leaned against the bench's headrest, just as he did. The frail trail of smoke from his cigarette wafted into the night breeze, slowly dissipating as the gentle wind passed by.

Both of them stared into the night sky, silently.

"Sena…" Idris broke the stillness, his tone calm, composed, yet soft. "Are you familiar with Nithefuls?" he asked, treading carefully, the question hanging in the quiet air.

She subtly shook her head from side to side.

"It's when a maledict takes a human form…" he continued, his voice low.

Sena's gaze shifted from the vast night sky to Idris. She found herself appreciating the gentle curve and precise tip of his nose, the tranquil depth of his eyes, and tracing the strong line from his chin to his jaw. She took in the dominating, yet undeniably protective, features of his face.

"I still don't know what maledicts are to begin with," she admitted dryly, her gaze unwavering.

Idris raised his right hand and gently placed it on Sena's head, slowly stroking her hair. "Of course you don't…" he uttered dryly, not mocking, but acknowledging her innocence with a hint of melancholy.

"Maledicts," he began quietly, "are manifestations of strong emotions."

His voice lingered there, letting the word sink in.

"Their forms and purposes… they vary. But all of them are born from an accumulation of feeling. When someone endures… intense pain. Suffering. Grief. Regret. Every dark corner of the human heart… that's when a maledict begins to take shape."

He kept stroking Sena's hair, as if to lend her a shred of calm while he spoke.

"And sometimes… when everything becomes too much… too overwhelming… those maledicts, somewhere along the way… began to imitate us. To wear the face of a human."

His breath paused, almost as if he, too, was remembering.

"All these emotions we carry… just part of living… of moving and growing. Little by little, we gave them names. And then… we imagined them having form."

He looked as if he could see something no one else could.

"Until one day… they did. They became something with consciousness."

He tilted his head, voice lowering.

"You know… when people say they see a ghost… their mind races. They think the ghost is watching them… until it is. Paranoia takes hold. It's following me, they think. And every small prickling on the skin… every tensed muscle… makes them believe, It wants to hurt me."

A beat of heavy silence.

"And then… it does."

He exhaled slowly, as if the telling itself carried a burden.

"As time passed… these maledicts, which were once nothing more than our own emotions… became something else. A being aware of its own presence. Its own power."

His hand fell still against her hair.

"That's what Nithefuls are."

As Sena kept her gaze fixed on Idris, she wondered if this was the worry that perpetually shadowed him. She felt an overwhelming urge to comfort him, to truly understand if these were the heavy thoughts that drove his careful protection of her. 

Her hand stretched out slowly, gently tucking a stray lock of hair from his temple behind his ear. She exhaled a small, soft sigh.

"Thank you for letting me know," she whispered, her voice a calm in the quiet night.

Idris let out a heavy sigh, the smoke from his cigarette a faint plume against the darkness. 

"I can see your souls, Sena. It's the outline of a man and a small baby. And hearing you, sensing you, talking to you, knowing that you are a woman... sometimes, I'm scared to think that you might be a Nitheful." His voice was heavy with the confession.

"But then you mentioned about living your third life, and it got me thinking," he continued, his jaw clenching as he struggled to articulate the turmoil in his mind, "maybe you were a reincarnation. Maybe you had Ashriel blood coursing through your veins." 

He paused, his brow knotting in a visible effort to wrestle his thoughts into coherent words. "But that doesn't make sense, because according to Chase, you have an adult's body, not a newborn baby. There was no trace of Ashriel bloodline in your veins." 

He swallowed hard, he pivoted his head slightly to face her, and his unseeing gaze stared at her. 

"I'm at a loss," he whispered, a rare vulnerability in his tone. 

"Can you please tell me, Sena? Please… Tell me who you are?" 

He begged, bracing himself for her to react strongly again, fearing she might walk out as she had before. But he still asked, his need for answers outweighing his fear of her pain.

"Okay… I'll tell you," Sena said. Her voice was firm, yet calm, a deliberate effort to comfort Idris's raw worry.

He took a long drag from his cigarette, then a slow sip of his coffee. He waited. 

Patiently. Anxiously. 

The silence between them stretched, filled only by the distant sounds of the forest and the gentle whisper of the breeze.

Sena reached out, taking a stick of cigarette from Idris's ornate wallet case. She noticed the fine, intricate ironwork of delicate flowers etched onto its surface. With a flint wheel ignition lighter, also crafted from metal, she carefully lit a cigarette for herself, the small flame momentarily illuminating her face in the still night.

"I don't know how much of this you'll believe, but…" She paused, hesitated.

Then, with a voice low but steady, she stared at the night sky while exhaling smoke in a thin frail blow and said: "I have lived, and died… not once, but twice."

Idris listened intently, his heightened senses focused on Sena's outline. He perceived the baby, clutching tightly onto the chest of the man cradling him. A solemn outline of what seemed like a father's tight embrace. 

Aligning with her story of past lives. Sena's twin, devouring her. Her life until seniority, steeped in bitterness and regret, with no memories or recollection of a life well-lived.

And now, she had woken as a woman, slowly becoming and beginning. 

Idris now pondered how Sena was not reborn as a child, as a reincarnated soul should be. She wasn't transferred, nor transmuted. She wasn't summoned or willed into being. She hadn't regressed, nor restarted. She wasn't a being aware of being transmigrated from a previous death, retaining memories or capabilities, he wondered what it must have felt like to ceaselessly wander into a vast expanse of emptiness and nothingness.

He tried to wrap his head around how she was not omnipotent, omnipresent, omniscient, omnicompetent, omniform, nor omnigenous.

"I really don't know what I am, let alone tell you who I am, Idris." Sena's voice was a fragile whisper, her lips beginning to tremble. 

She took one last, desperate drag from her cigarette, the ember flaring briefly, before she slowly, deliberately, crushed it in the ashtray, as if extinguishing a last flicker of hope within herself.

Idris's vast knowledge of the world, learning its very beginning and ancient times through his studies, combined with his limited understanding of Ashriel reincarnation and divinity, left him feeling utterly lost and helpless in the face of Sena's profound and complex revelations. 

He wouldn't even know where to begin to understand her or protect her. Yet, something deep within him ignited, compounding his resolve.

The hand that had rested still on her head now moved gently, drawing her against his chest. He wrapped both his arms around her, leaning his head against hers. 

"I cannot begin to understand," he uttered slowly, his voice wavering with a raw tremor, "just how overwhelmed you have been. Fighting and fearing, compressing and suppressing everything you've had to keep to yourself."

Sena, momentarily stunned by the sudden embrace, couldn't form a reaction.

"If you'll allow me, Sena," he continued, his voice now steady, imbued with unwavering conviction. 

"Let me stand with you. Protect you. Teach you. Guide you. Just a little bit. Let me carry some of the immense burden you've been shouldering all on your own. If you'll allow me, just a little bit, I'll make sure to do my very best to help you live your third life to the fullest."

Upon hearing his earnest words, tears streamed freely from Sena's eyes.