Perhaps it should not have been odd. It should have felt as though she were back home once again. Back where she felt safe. Where she felt she belonged.

Something felt different about Hargeon.

It had not been very long since she had first left the port city for Hosenka, not expected to be back here again for several days still, more even if she had found herself so inclined. But the events that had taken place through the early days of her vacation had managed to completely throw Vyra’s plans awry. Such, to be back here, for the smells of sea water to overwhelm the air than that of burnt skin, blood, and the poor conditions befallen the North, it was as much a vacation by its own right.

It nothing else, it brought with it a sense of relief.

The nature of the North, the powder keg situation that she had been thrown into; the suddenness of it all paired alongside the actual output, the carnage that she witnessed and in and some instances even had a hand within. To no longer be there, words could hardly describe it proper. So much so that as she saw the city of Hargeon through the window of the elegant carriage, the vibrant blues of the sea off in the background just within the distance, she could not help but let out an overdue sigh of relief.

From the point that everything had at first seemed to calm down, where Veronica Barothy had finally ascended to the throne once held by her father, where a loose sense of peace settled upon her new lands, she had found herself feeling like she still had to hold her breath. The conflict itself, the nightmares that plagued her throughout her time in the North, the shift between the two gave the Demi-Human more than enough reason to tread carefully.

More even, an unwelcome visit from her other self, the interaction had between the two being one that was much too close for comfort for Vyra. To have encountered her again, even under the circumstances being different, left her as conflicted, if not far worse than the first time before. Not to detract from the environment, her own dream perverted into that of a nightmare run amok, Vyra having has little input or sense of agency within her own mind as she had been when she first encountered her other self.

But even within her own dreams, it felt all the worse. To suffer the ailments of her Magic run unhinged, spreading an almost corruptive-like state within her own body, that was an agonizing experience. But that, to be within her own dreams, knowing that she had no control, that with every passing second that the world around her only got worse and worse, there was a true terror to that.

It only further lent to the relief that came with being back home.

So much that she was looking forward to; the sleeping within her own bed, within her own room. Being able to enjoy the foods that Blue Pegasus and Hargeon alike were able to offer – perhaps not quite as foreign to the now somewhat Hargeon Demi-Human native as Hosenka may have had to offer – and the unexpected benefit of being recognized and having the respect that came with being a Blue Pegasus wizard were both welcome boons too. But perhaps more than anything else, it was that after all of the madness she had encountered only recently, between the Barothy coup, the worsening nightmares, and the second encounter with her other self that Vyra would be able to find a sense of peace and a sort of maternal advice from her guildmaster, Alisa Vollan.

Though, for as exciting as that prospect were, she still dreaded such confessions. For as much as she might have thought to explain the appearance by her other self as the cause for everything, the Demi-Human could not do that. Especially not to Alisa. It had been the feeling throughout her time in the North, the knowing that at some point, she would have to explain what happened, if only to know where she went wrong, how things could have been different, if she were at fault. Being merely moments from actually returning to Hargeon, the anxious nature of it all left her almost second-guessing herself again.

It wouldn’t be easy. Neither explaining anything that happened, nor even the changes in Vyra, namely the vibrant red color within her hair that now replaced every trace of the unique but beautiful light blue color. A gift from her visit into the Nightmare, that was how the two Sisters described it, talking as though it were commonplace. Vyra doubted that it would be something that Alisa would wholly understand, but the woman had already more than shown that her worldly understanding of not just what was before them, but also that Magical in nature, far exceeded anything Vyra could have appreciated.

Stepping out from the carriage just before the main gate into the port city, Vyra let out an overdue sigh of relief, a burden of stress lifting from her as the reality set that she were home.

It was undeniable.

Hargeon was different.

Just quite how, she could not put her finger upon it. But there were no doubt to the Demi-Human and Blue Pegasus mage Vyra that things felt different.

Warranted perhaps. After all, her time in the North had left her as much affected too, not just per the crimson red hair which were cast out to all sights, more than a few heads turning to see; those whom had come to know her in some capacity or another. Many just whom had become accustomed to the presence of the Demi-Human than that of her actual character and person, but to assume the hues and shades of red where blue had been rooted within their memories, they as much found similar doubt to what she were encountering.

Perhaps more, it had been the quiet.

The festival, having previously consumed all of Hargeon’s attention and focus only a short few days ago, had long since ceased – Vyra herself only having had a chance to enjoy with Alisa upon one of the last days of it. The merriment, the comradery, the laughter and cheer, as encapsulating as it had been, it were no more. Normalcy had returned. Or at least, what passed for normalcy within Hargeon.

Even this though wasn’t quite that.

It was in the air, a feeling of something. Nervousness? Not exactly. Fear? No, she had encountered more than enough fear up in the North to know that that was not what seemed to lace the air. It left her feeling awkward, as if it were not entirely her home despite it having been exactly that. Unease set it, perhaps what was within the air all along. A feeling of uneasiness, started upon by the relative quiet filling the streets, odd even by the typical Hargeon standard, made all the more apparent and obvious with the hushed whispers and cautiousness taken by the random passerby’s.

It left Vyra utterly confused. Until she saw them.

It was brief, barely out of the corner of eye for that matter, but if her mind had come to doubt her eyes, certainly the startled cries that echoed through the adjoining alleyways did not leave much for confusion. A small gathering, maybe not even a dozen’s worth in total, but the clanging of chainmail scrapping against armor was not a sound that were hard to be mistaken for, especially not for the Demi-Human, the memories of traversing through the Barothy Keep trying to secure away the Countess as the rioters of the North descended upon them still all too fresh in her mind.

No reason to suspect Barothy forces, but certainly something else. Guards. But not even those local to Hargeon. Never could Vyra remember there being the need for the city of Hargeon to bring forth armored patrols. Even during the festival, whatever outside security there may have been, they didn’t behave or operate like that of a unit; they were mercenaries effectively.

“What…” She softly spoke, muttering under her breath more than anything else. It was impossible to ignore the curiosity, but she had come to know better at this point the risk that came with reaching out.

Another noise, this one far closer and clear than the clamoring of soldiers’ movements, sent a sudden shiver down her spine, the Demi-Human looking in all directions for some place safe, some place to be hidden. An alleyway. Hardly anything impressive, but under pressure it at least drew her out of sight as the noise became more apparent, forming now into that of a conversation on by its own.

“Rune Knights in Hargeon… World’s gone to hell man…”

“Hey! People care about these things. You can’t tell me that you’re not at least a bit stunned as the rest of us,” another voice retorted, a conversation between two parties, with Vyra inching as close as possible to hear every little thing she could.

“Nah fuck the North! Bunch of either mountain people or people living in trees…”

“Damn, tell me how you really feel…”

“Come on, they do their own shit, they have their own governments, kingdoms, whatever you wanna call them as. Like, you can’t tell me that this is a shocker. An old type of government, you treat the people like slaves, and suddenly we’re surprised when they get tired of that? I just don’t get why it’s something that the South should be concerned with.”

An incredulous gasp escaped out of the mouth of the other, Vyra seeming to as much have a hard time finding where one could disagree. She had seen how the people lived under Lord Barothy. Free perhaps, but barely that. “You’re not serious are ya? Forget the South, I mean the people of Hargeon should care cause our city’s guild may have had a member involved in that!”

Vyra’s heart sank, the strength waning out of her legs as she listened. Had news of what happened in the North already spread through Fiore? How was that possible? Worse even, how had it been reasoned that someone were involved? She knew it to be her that they were talking of, but wished that it weren’t. That none of it were true.

She wanted to move. To go somewhere. Anywhere other than here. But she found herself paralyzed, dread overtaking her. Dread of how she may have come to feel if, or rather, when, Alisa would find out. Mustering her will, she moved, darting down the alleyway, not sure where she were going, what may have been there, or anything of the sort.

She just had to move.

Vyra didn’t even see her at first. How long she had been running, she did not know. Exhaustion had set upon her as she leaned against one of the alleyway walls, those ahead of her looking no different than that of what she had been through only moments ago, and before those as well. She had not even seen her until after her voice flooded through the narrow path, the Demi-Human looking up to see something she had not envisioned.

“ALISA!”

In the immediate moment she felt her spirits begin to lift, a sense of relief rushing over her, as she responded in rushing towards her guild leader in kind, throwing her arms around her, an embrace that despite how routine or common it may have been, held no shortage of absolute delight and meaning towards her.

Within Alisa’s arms, Vyra felt safe.

Not wanting to let go, it was not until the Sculptress spoke again that the Demi-Human lifted her head, the sense of absolute safety starting to peel away as the concern upon the woman’s face started to become more and more evident. “What…” she muttered out, her thinking of her fears beginning to seem made manifest. “Happened where?” False confusion spewed through in her words, the Demi-Human a poor liar in her own right, even worse towards someone like Alisa – the very notion of such an act being all but sacrilege to her – but to believe that her reality were simply just a foolish notion of dreams, she would have championed that as well as she could have hoped to.

But like the branch expected to hold the weight of the world within the storm, the illusion she wished for herself were all but left shattered as the words escaped from Alisa’s mouth. Whatever strength may have come in absolute glee dissipated immediately, the Demi-Human’s skin going white, causing the crimson locks to stand out even more than before. “What… no…” She couldn’t figure anything else to muster, no words to adequately describe the bowels of self-hatred she found herself now within. It was hard to tell,  just quite what was it that she hated more; the idea that what she had found herself a part of could have run so rogue in this regard, or that the one person in the world that she cared about found herself as much involved.

Her grip waned, one knee giving out altogether as Vyra nearly slumped down, her fingers mustering enough strength to grab hold of the Alisa and secure what could only be described as a poor balance, but there was little she could do.

Through eyes that focused upon the face of Alisa, the woman whom she would have done anything for, given anything to see happy, within her heart she saw only the abyss, the Nightmare staring back upon her.

How unfortunate the nature of how things had played out.

A game, with each of them serving as their own piece.

And Vyra neither knowing her presence upon the board nor the direction the unseen Nightmare moved her piece about.

In the company of Alisa, it should have been the safest place that she could have ever imagined herself, the Demi-Human having desperately wished for it throughout her endeavors not only within captivity of the Witch Hunters, but also whilst her time in the Northern parts of Fiore had reached their absolute worst. Here now though, having actually achieved that desire for, should it not have been blissful? Vyra felt only agony, agony for a world that had deemed her as a monster.

A monster like how her mother had deemed her.

Like how everyone before her first arrival in Hargeon had recognized her as being.

Except for Alisa. The woman who held her close now had been one of the only few whom ever looked at Vyra as something more than a freak, than as a monster, than as a fetishized woman, as some expendable. And it warmed her heart. But it did not change the coldness that the Demi-Human felt throughout herself, the lingering sense that her life was no longer becoming her own. First brought forth by the incumbent nightmares, amplified by the advent of her other persona returning within her dreams, then the horror itself; whatever the manifested world of her dreams had become twisted into. Whatever the Nightmare had begun to warp it – warp her – into becoming.

For as grateful as Vyra was to be home, as safe as she wished to have felt in Alisa’s arms, she had come to realize in part that she would never be truly safe. Nor could she have kept Alisa safe she feared. Whatever it was that lingered within that realm of nightmare, the voice that echoed through, with every word sending a sense of death through her very being; to ever wish to drag someone else, least of all someone who mattered as much to Vyra as Alisa did, she could not dare reason so.

How she wished to believe Alisa, to believe that what she would confide would be kept between them, but what were she quite to believe? Her experiences in the North had already traveled faster than even she had in her return, their telling coming by way of whom? Those whom she had thought aligned with, traitors whom still held loyalty to the late-Lord Barothy? A ploy by Veronica Barothy? Perhaps nothing sinister; simply a case of unfortunate timing on some account. Whatever it may have been, she found herself nonetheless torn at the idea of opening up.

What were to happen if she were to confess and that be discovered too?

A campaign had been waged against her already on such basis. No reason to think that it would not only devolve into more torches and cruelty towards her and Blue Pegasus by extension.

No.

It would not be by Vyra’s hand that Blue Pegasus were to find themselves in such a state. They had done more for her than she could have ever hoped to repay. And even for Alisa, someone who cared deeply for her, and for which the affection was mutually felt, Vyra could not dare put Alisa’s guild in such risk. For as much as she sought to just confess, to express all of her pain, the agony that lingered within her, the fear that clung to her like the hot air upon the summer day, she could not take that chance in the open. Nor within the relative privacy of the Hargeon back alleys.

With how she felt already, it were unlikely that even that could have been managed if she felt different. Her body weak, the support of Alisa being just enough to keep from collapsing upon the ground outright, it taking several moments for the Demi-Human to extend her hand upon the cobble wall, her body instinctively leaning against it, what weight she could put upon herself holding her steady, albeit weakly.

Enough to see Alisa moving towards a door. Nondescript by all rights, a door that led to any number of locations or destinations, likely though just a cupboard of sorts, far from uncommon throughout the back alleys as Vyra had come to find in her earliest days within the city. It left Vyra confused though, to where it was that Alisa thought this may have led, for a moment Vyra thinking that Alisa expected her to expose her plight in the company of brooms and other miscellaneous pieces. As her guild master reached out though and took hold of her again, giving Vyra the briefest of reprieves to simply relax herself, what she saw as Alisa opened the door left her speechless.

It did not quite process until they had stepped through together, the door quickly shutting behind them as Vyra turned her head. Everything just as she had last left it. The bed haphazardly made, about as shoddy of an effort as Vyra may have found herself willing to give, evening garments laid about upon the floor, the plate of which her breakfast had been served to her, the very same one that she had promised to have brought down to the cook still upon the large table, empty save for a handful of crumbs.

She was back in her room. Her room within the Blue Pegasus Guild Hall.

Turning to Alisa, her face was as much in a state of disbelief and absolute confusion, elated feelings conflicting in real time against those of wonderment. It perhaps was something that she should have seen coming; never had Alisa found herself at a lacking to surprise the Demi-Human, and this seemed to be no exception. She wanted to ask just how it was that she achieved such a feat, but stopped herself just shy of asking, a part of her as much knowing the wonderment that came of such a feat were in that she did not know, and to think that Alisa had ever exhausted her means of impressing Vyra, she were far from the course.

A sense of adrenaline rushed through her though, a feeling of renewed energy, of rejuvenation, some of it brought through the being within her room again, much of it coming now out of a true sense of safety, one that could never be wholly realized within the open streets of a city under Rune Knight siege. But so much time had passed, even being within here felt almost different, off even. From her brief time in Hosenka to the number of locations that she found herself resting within the North, to be face to face with her own bed again, the massive piece of furniture that dwarfed anything that she had been resting upon in the previous days, it was a welcome sight.

For the most part.

While her eyes looked upon the bed, the silken sheets, the feeble effort that Vyra had made to actually make her bed, so came a rush of dread that sent a painful shiver upon her backside. It was impossible not to look upon it and see the terrors of her dreams, the nightmares that had robbed her of her imagination and restfulness, the corruption that seeped through every step she took as she traversed a world deprived of her. A world where her own greatest fear had become stronger within.

A world that she had no way of avoiding. She had felt the effects of exhaustion before, the torment, the delirium that came with it being some of the worst experiences she had faced in near memory. And for as much as she may had dreaded the prospect of being faced within the world of terrors again, more she faced when her trying to evade the rest of sleep would eventually cost her more than just her mindfulness, but rather her own life.

Vyra swallowed hard, her mind at points racing back and forth from that horrid scene that she had traversed through, the echoes of whatever lingered there ranging hollow within her ears, broken away only by the contrasting sounds of Alisa’s warm voice, the words indecipherable, but the sound alone enough to remind her of where she was. The darkness in her mind parted briefly, looking around again to see the room, the faintest of smiles appearing upon her face. She was safe there, she knew it but struggled to admit it to herself.

Glancing to the woman again, Vyra exhaled, a part of her wanting to say nothing at all, desperate to keep her nightmares her own and not taint Alisa, but she knew for as much as it may have hurt her that Alisa wished to know, so that she may better help her.

As painful as it would be to open that wound and let forth those terrors, it was with the best of intentions.

“I don’t know how things went so wrong… It just all happened…”

And so she began, describing everything, how the carriage driver refused to go further and that led her to the remains of the battlefield, the coffin that everyone had died trying to acquire, the staff within it. She kept quiet about some of the details throughout it, such as her individual involvement in it all, but continued. Then it was about Hosenka, the armored Knight – who turned out to be a werewolf – who abducted her, brought her to Lord Barothy, left her sleep deprived, ready to be executed.

“It wasn’t a trial… It was just a show… From the moment they had brought me there, they already determined what they were going to do…”

She explained how Veronica Barothy saved her from her father’s tyrannical decision, led her to safety, the two Sisters who allowed her residence. Vyra paused for a moment, reluctant to go on, but then went on to explain of what Sister Talia and Mara described, how they viewed Vyra, and what afflicted her. That was she was infested by the Nightmare, as they described it.

“The Nightmare… I didn't know what to think of it…”

Then she talked of her other persona, the entity that Vyra knew Alisa was still fully aware and familiar towards, the part of her that had indirectly drawn the two close, the one that would have done anything to see them torn apart. Vyra wished that she could have said that there was nothing about that encounter that left her worried, but everything did. She looked different, more warped in nature, with hair red in color just as Vyra’s ended up becoming. And how she moved, how she commanded herself within the nightmarish realm that Vyra struggled to exist within; it was terrifying the parallels that she saw between that and the first encounter within the recesses of her mind, the same contrast in power between the two.

“She was different… Worse. I thought, I thought that after the encounter with the Witch Hunters, that that was the end of it, but I’m afraid… I’m afraid that she’s just getting stronger and stronger…”

It all led to the ordeal through the actual coup that took place, Veronica Barothy seizing power from her father, orchestrating the fake kidnappings, riling the townsfolk to fight her war for her, Vyra being a pawn throughout it. The cultists, the deal struck, Vyra confessed everything to it, a part of her still unsure of if what she did was right, if it were more motivated out of anger, fear for the people of what the Lord Barothy may have done, or simply driven by guile?

“I thought I was doing a good thing…”

And then there was only one thing left to talk of, to convey to Alisa. The Nightmare itself. Vyra physically shook as she recalled what happened, the horrid environment, the dream world that was being torn asunder through her very eyes, the desire that ran through her at every given moment to tear out her own eyes at what she was seeing. And the voice, the echoing voice that with every word wished for her to die right then and there, any fight that may have been within her, any sense of will to continue on being drained in that moment.

From her nostril came a thin trail of crimson that descended down her upper lip, some of it falling to the ground in a small puddle that formed upon the polished wooden floors, some of it upon her hand as it happened to move upon its trajectory. As she realized it, the Demi-Human’s eyes widened, stunned, terrified, unable to do much more than simply remain there with a horrified look, quite whether it were the retellings of her encounter or something else not quite obvious.

All she could do was look to Alisa, a look upon her face that screamed out of desperation. A plea to help her, to help her from something that scared her more than anything else she could have dared imagine.

In Alisa there was something that had been long lost from Vyra. Something that over the course of time she had found that she needed, more and more.

Hope.

She had come to lose that, Vyra had. Throughout her plight in the North, even in the moments that came prior to, her presence in Hosenka, the catalyst to all of this, had been an attempt to instill that within her. An escape from Hargeon, of sorts. Of the corruption that ran rampant, the politics that as much influenced the daily lives, and the hardships surrounding it, hardships that as much enabled for someone like to end up homeless within the streets as it enabled for a group like the Witch Hunters to commit such horrid treatment upon her.

A city that as much abandoned her at her lowest and betrayed her at her highest.

In this trip, it had meant to repair that relationship. Instead, it left her wondering how much of her was still human. How much had been lost to her other persona, who through no active action had shown herself once again, having long remained one step ahead of her, in the wake of everything now being no exception. And how much were gone to the Nightmare within her? The infection that had spread beyond her dreams, that had blurred her own senses of reality such to where the blood upon her made her wonder herself if she were dreaming, the worst images her mind ever hoped to process rushing through her over and over again in perpetuity.

What saved her from further fearing that madness were the woman whom held her tight, the woman that Vyra more than anything else wished to keep safe, wished both to not have her involved for Alisa’s own safety, but also wished to have her there throughout all of it. In her heart she knew that could not happen, thus in the moments here, within these precious moments she at least could hope to reflect on the life that gave her the motivation to live on, rather than the nightmare-inducing hell she had come back within.

In her guildmaster’s words were the echoings of reassurance, of praises to the good natured girl that Vyra hoped to be, of what she hoped they thought her to be. “I wanted to help… I thought… I thought that this is what we did. Blue Pegasus, we help people, right!? I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear!”

It hurt. For the past two years, she had lived within this room, as much within reach of the life that she never had been given, seeing all those around her, those whom she saw strength in, inspirations for how she wished to live, proof that the world was not as cruel as she had come to view it. When given the chance, she hoped that she could live up to that standard that they had set, that Alisa had set.

But instead, who knows the lasting ramifications of her actions, how she may have tarnished everything; all the hopes and aspirations that she had only a few days may have had. How much of them remained?

How much of her dreams had been stolen by nightmares?

She felt the tight hold of Alisa, the emotion building up within her, wanting to reciprocate outwards, to hold her as close as possible and never let go. But she couldn’t. For as much as Vyra desperately missed Alisa, she was terrified too.

The echoing words of her darker self, the cruel lamenting of the insides of her mind, the plane of existence dissolving away into more horror before her eyes still seared throughout each time she closed her eyes. Within her ears rang the hollowing laughter of the horrid entity that existed, that taunted her, that filled every bone in her body with a sense of absolute dread and petrifying panic, a part of her still terrified to sleep, terrified to encounter it once again.

She felt something off, a wet feeling that she was not sure of, not sure quite how to appreciate. A faint ringing echoed through her ears, weakly, almost as though through a sort of filter. She held a finger to her ear, pulling it back to see it soaked in crimson, Vyra’s eyes widening in absolute dismay, terror and agony suffering through every muscle, every limb, every instinct of her wanting to make it stop, to rip her eyes from her socket, to cut out her tongue, to flay her flesh from her body, every moment of her head screaming in utter agony.

“Make it stop!” She cried out, suddenly reciprocating Alisa’s caring hug with one of her own, of absolute desperation, of a pleading nature like that of a hound wishing to be put out of its misery.

The nightmares further played out, the room around her being torn asunder as the Nightmarish Magic ripped through, tendrils penetrating through furniture, flooring, and walls alike, the ceiling being torn upon itself as it revealed the blackness of the void above, the howling laughter echoing all throughout.

Then she opened her eyes and everything was as she wished it to be. Nothing tarnished, nothing destroyed, nothing at all having been done. Alisa remained there, still holding her.

And it was quiet.

The echoes, the maddening urges, the agony, the horror, it was gone.

Except for within her mind, the brutality of it being little more than a constant reminder of the hell that was her world now.

Her heartrate quickened, her breathing became more erratic, confusion and fear constantly gripping her as she tried to hold on even tighter, the pressure so intense that she could feel her own nails beginning to sink within Alisa’s flesh, her instincts wishing her to pull away, but her fright causing her to only further cement herself to such a fate.

What comfort may have come were through her own weakness, the exhaustion and confusion of before, amplified by the terrors of the present draining her of her own energies. Her grip waned as suddenly as it had intensified moments before, leaving the Demi-Human effectively supported by the hold of Alisa Vollan.

She lifted her head slightly, eyes bloodshot, veins having burst from stress leaving her eyes stained with a faint blend of crimson atop otherwise golden pupils. “Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?”

Agony.

To be trapped within the prison of one’s fears, in itself a frightening void, but to Vyra, such horrors would present themselves as a vacation than her current predicament.

A living hell.

The only way to describe it. Her mind betraying her, her own greatest fears exacting themselves upon her very soul with every shuttering of her eyes, her heart stopping for the briefest of moments, petrified of the reality before her and the reality that she dreads realizing.

Even before Alisa, one of the last vestiges of her own sanity, of her humanity, and she felt weak, the blood fading from her head per every passing second, fearful that the woman whom she looked up to with the affection equal to that of a daughter would not wring her hands upon the Demi-Human’s neck. She dreaded every moment of it, her own uncertainty, fear echoing in the air and her own will wrestling against the desire to tear her own throat out.

An easy escape from the hell she had been subjected to.

But, as she felt the blood curdle beneath her skin, the air in the air as much providing her with the certainty that she were still alive versus the fear that her life had been forsaken, a part of her sought hope. She longed for the wishful belief that Alisa could help, would still be willing to help, but the doubt within her mind remained persistent and unwaivering. Silently, she mouthed a prayer, knowing no god in particular, but just wishing for something.

Someone.

That anyone would be able to help her.

A sense of warmth flooded through her body as strength returned to her fingers, her grip - a vice that had left her guild master ensnared - finally releasing, allowing her to finally breath. A texture upon her face, a small cloth that brushed just beneath her eyes, from the corner of her own eyes her seeing the glimpse of the crimson smeared upon the cloth. Her blood. Blood from her eyes. To know such a circumstance were befalling her, what hope could be inspired from it?

Her gaze lifted up, her heart dropping to see the distress upon Alisa’s face; the absolute severity of what she had put upon her, upon her guild, now coming to light within Vyra’s mind. What had she done? Beyond the ramifications of what had happened to her up in the North – ramifications that even she could not appreciate herself – what had she brought forth upon the Blue Pegasus Guild? Upon Alisa? It ate upon her, to see such pained looks upon her, looks that someone as fortunate as Alisa, having given up so much already, should never be expected to again cast upon her.

The tears started to flow.

Hues of crimson intertwined with empty, colorless liquid, the intensity waning with each droplet that descended down her cheek. Only a short time until the crimson droplets – the remains of another nightmarish reality – ceased altogether. An irony that a Vyra crying normal tears were a more welcome sight than what came before, if only in a minor way.

“No… no there isn’t…”

Through tear-filled eyes she looked directly into Alisa, pain intermeshing with a sense of failure that no words could have abated. To hold back the Nightmare, it took every ounce of her being, all of her will to not feel the urge to flay her own skin, the madness that Alisa were not Alisa at all, she struggled through it all.

Worse even, the monster that neither dared address, the monster that existed within her from the very beginning, the one who no doubt sat deep within the recesses of her own mind, watching all that transpired in front of Vyra, no shortage of delight festering. An opportune time as any, Vyra feared, for her to make an appearance, a reality that she dreaded equally as much as she did the Nightmares itself. What hope could she have of surviving the Nightmares knowing that there were a part of her waiting for an opportunity to betray her?

“Even now, it’s here, scratching at me. I close my eyes, and the world, me, you, none of it is the same when I open them,” her words were weak, fatigue, exhaustion, pain, all blending together in one common tone. Defeat. “I don’t know what’s real, what it wants me to think, what even is even me believing anymore.”

Running her fingers along her palms, she could feel the blood flowing out of them, the grip that she had maintained so ferociously now but a memory as they felt cold to the touch, slow, immobile save for the capability to simply appreciate she had feeling still. Were it out of fear? The natural expectation of atrophy in the wake of fright? Or evidence enough of her body no longer becoming her own?

Then to whom?

The Nightmare?

Or herself?

“I wish I could take all of this back,” Vyra remarked, her tone defeated, a part of her seeing through whatever illusions of hope she may have had, no hope in sight. “I wish… I wish none of this happened… I don’t know what to do…”

She looked on, her eyes focused on Alisa, but her sight not upon the woman, but rather seemed to look through her. Into emptiness.

“I just want everything to go back to how things were.”

But in her heart she knew, as much as it killed her to admit it, that could not happen.