[she doesn't get a chance to finish that thought, because a memory is starting!!
It's a small apartment unit that you find yourself in, when the memory begins. The area is just big enough for a bed, a stockpile of non-perishable food, a stack of neatly piled clothing, and a bathroom with a small shower. You're scared, but more than that, you're furious. You're also alone in this place, which is part of the problem - but the larger problem is that you can't get out.
The first few hours you're locked in here, you spend checking the walls and the door, the ceiling, the floors. It's all in the vain hope that the person who left you here forgot some small part of the room to enchant, the hope that there will be a space left without the wards that cover the entire area. You don't know exactly how long you spend running your hands over every possible surface, trying to push with your powers to see if you can bend any part of your surroundings to your will; there aren't any clocks here, any way to tell how long you've been stuck. You assume it must be at least hours until you stop trying, exhausted and desperate.
That's when you start screaming - mostly for help, for someone named Ezra to let you out. You would give so much to get out of here, but you don't offer him anything or concede anything. You didn't do anything wrong. You shouldn't have to give him anything. You trusted him, and he left you here alone. You can't say exactly how long he intends to leave you here, but the store of food and water he's provided could last weeks. Months, probably. You start to feel sick with dread.
The days (or what you imagine must be days) start to drag on. You check the wards. They're still intact. You eat, thinking about whether it would be better to spite him by leaving the food alone. You realize he'd have no way to know. You stare at the window (an illusion, you realize after you try several times to break it), the walls, the ceilings, the floor. Sometimes you cry and sometimes you yell, but you learn new things about this place all the time. The first time you lay down on the bed, you catch a floral scent in the pillow's cloth - after a while, you place it as a scent that your grandmother loved, and the hysteria comes in waves along with a fury beyond anything you've felt. Oh, you think, he wants to make this homey. Oh, look how much he cares about you.
When you start beating the walls with your fists and feet hard enough to draw blood, you learn there aren't any bandages. When you notice how unnaturally tired you're getting after attempting only a little bit of magic, you realize there's some kind of enchantment keeping you exhausted. You start to sleep more, both because of this fact and because you haven't been provided anything else to occupy your time. You are not giving up, but you're sinking into a kind of numbness that makes unconsciousness so, so tempting.
In your dreams, you visit people you can't see. Your sister, always closing doors behind her that you can't open. Nico, whispering words he's said to you before - you're a wildfire, he coaxes. Let it burn. Reina, peering at you over a book and quietly telling you that you are a fool, that you are not missed. Tristan, a hand on your shoulder, urging - look at the pieces, see the whole. You're always trying to reach for his hand, for Parisa as she tells you that your despair is not interesting enough to entertain her. It's always whispered, low, as she moves to lean towards your ear. The dreams take on a darker tone when Callum comes, murmuring and irritated. Nobody likes a martyr, he says, and your stomach twists with guilt. Shouldn't he be—?
Days begin to blur together; time begins to lose the meaning it once had between cycles of sleeping and waking unhappily. Your thoughts keep racing, both furious and terrified, plagued by both the drive and the anxiety that has always fueled you. You come to realize that you are the most exhausting person possible to be alone with. Even when you're awake, you lay there, trying to remove yourself from your thoughts, your fears, the rage that just keeps on burning inside you.
The memory doesn't have a firm ending as much as it peters out, returning from a dreamlike state to the present, fading with a feeling of being half asleep for a few moments as it lingers. When she comes back to the present and tries to move away, there's a shudder as she realizes the bubble is still intact and they're still trapped in here.]
[HELLO????? I YELL AS IF I DIDN'T ASK FOR A TERRIBLE MEMORY
The memory shocks him in the sense of it being familiar in an entirely separate way of what he's used to. Of being alone, of being trapped, or forbidden from truly exiting a place even if you can leave. Being leashed--though by duty rather than kidnapping. He's not sure which is worse. Both are bad. It's not a competition.]
I--
[He's not sure what he could say, but whatever it would be, he has no time to say it. He's frozen as another memory comes, and it isn't another memory from someone else.
[it's strange and disorienting, being put in someone's perspective like this, and even more so to see this kind of memory - fire and gunshots and blood, not to mention the dread of whatever that illness might have been. when it's over, she takes a few deep breaths, reeling slightly from seeing both things.]
[It's so awful getting tossed around in a bad memory only to have one of your own memories spring up on you right afterward.
He slowly lets out the tight breath he had been holding. It doesn't look like he's concerned, but there is an edge to him--like he's trying to remain unbothered because turning wild will not help here.]
[That's fine. He is a patient man and doesn't mind the time taken to figure it out.]
I cannot truly say. It's the last thing I really remember. But I believe... it had been a lie. A test. Just to see what humans would do. And if it were not, then it seems as if it had failed. Maybe his research hadn't been complete.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cw kidnapping
[she doesn't get a chance to finish that thought, because a memory is starting!!
It's a small apartment unit that you find yourself in, when the memory begins. The area is just big enough for a bed, a stockpile of non-perishable food, a stack of neatly piled clothing, and a bathroom with a small shower. You're scared, but more than that, you're furious. You're also alone in this place, which is part of the problem - but the larger problem is that you can't get out.
The first few hours you're locked in here, you spend checking the walls and the door, the ceiling, the floors. It's all in the vain hope that the person who left you here forgot some small part of the room to enchant, the hope that there will be a space left without the wards that cover the entire area. You don't know exactly how long you spend running your hands over every possible surface, trying to push with your powers to see if you can bend any part of your surroundings to your will; there aren't any clocks here, any way to tell how long you've been stuck. You assume it must be at least hours until you stop trying, exhausted and desperate.
That's when you start screaming - mostly for help, for someone named Ezra to let you out. You would give so much to get out of here, but you don't offer him anything or concede anything. You didn't do anything wrong. You shouldn't have to give him anything. You trusted him, and he left you here alone. You can't say exactly how long he intends to leave you here, but the store of food and water he's provided could last weeks. Months, probably. You start to feel sick with dread.
The days (or what you imagine must be days) start to drag on. You check the wards. They're still intact. You eat, thinking about whether it would be better to spite him by leaving the food alone. You realize he'd have no way to know. You stare at the window (an illusion, you realize after you try several times to break it), the walls, the ceilings, the floor. Sometimes you cry and sometimes you yell, but you learn new things about this place all the time. The first time you lay down on the bed, you catch a floral scent in the pillow's cloth - after a while, you place it as a scent that your grandmother loved, and the hysteria comes in waves along with a fury beyond anything you've felt. Oh, you think, he wants to make this homey. Oh, look how much he cares about you.
When you start beating the walls with your fists and feet hard enough to draw blood, you learn there aren't any bandages. When you notice how unnaturally tired you're getting after attempting only a little bit of magic, you realize there's some kind of enchantment keeping you exhausted. You start to sleep more, both because of this fact and because you haven't been provided anything else to occupy your time. You are not giving up, but you're sinking into a kind of numbness that makes unconsciousness so, so tempting.
In your dreams, you visit people you can't see. Your sister, always closing doors behind her that you can't open. Nico, whispering words he's said to you before - you're a wildfire, he coaxes. Let it burn. Reina, peering at you over a book and quietly telling you that you are a fool, that you are not missed. Tristan, a hand on your shoulder, urging - look at the pieces, see the whole. You're always trying to reach for his hand, for Parisa as she tells you that your despair is not interesting enough to entertain her. It's always whispered, low, as she moves to lean towards your ear. The dreams take on a darker tone when Callum comes, murmuring and irritated. Nobody likes a martyr, he says, and your stomach twists with guilt. Shouldn't he be—?
Days begin to blur together; time begins to lose the meaning it once had between cycles of sleeping and waking unhappily. Your thoughts keep racing, both furious and terrified, plagued by both the drive and the anxiety that has always fueled you. You come to realize that you are the most exhausting person possible to be alone with. Even when you're awake, you lay there, trying to remove yourself from your thoughts, your fears, the rage that just keeps on burning inside you.
The memory doesn't have a firm ending as much as it peters out, returning from a dreamlike state to the present, fading with a feeling of being half asleep for a few moments as it lingers. When she comes back to the present and tries to move away, there's a shudder as she realizes the bubble is still intact and they're still trapped in here.]
no subject
The memory shocks him in the sense of it being familiar in an entirely separate way of what he's used to. Of being alone, of being trapped, or forbidden from truly exiting a place even if you can leave. Being leashed--though by duty rather than kidnapping. He's not sure which is worse. Both are bad. It's not a competition.]
I--
[He's not sure what he could say, but whatever it would be, he has no time to say it. He's frozen as another memory comes, and it isn't another memory from someone else.
It's one of his own.]
no subject
What was - was that yours?!
no subject
He slowly lets out the tight breath he had been holding. It doesn't look like he's concerned, but there is an edge to him--like he's trying to remain unbothered because turning wild will not help here.]
Yes... It was.
no subject
Were you both... safe, after that, at least? The sickness didn't get released...?
no subject
I cannot truly say. It's the last thing I really remember. But I believe... it had been a lie. A test. Just to see what humans would do. And if it were not, then it seems as if it had failed. Maybe his research hadn't been complete.
no subject
[but she pauses a moment, realizing how that might come off.]
But - I'm sorry about your father.