In this house, there is no door or address.
The windows are closed,
keeping everything that remained.
Sometimes, she went back to that apartment. She would stand in the middle of the space, casting her gaze across the bare space. Where once there had been furniture, plants, art, life... there was bare space. Where once there had been laughter, tears, anger, love... there was emptiness. A void that wrenched her heart open and tore out everything she held inside, trapping it in the space, suffocating her. Tears ran down her face.
I sent a message to the moon
that, now, is only yours,
but it didn't reach her.
15 July 2016 9:24 a.m.
[ text to: Jongin ] I miss you.
15 July 2016 1:50 p.m.
[ text to: Jongin ] ono??
24 December 2016 11:47 p.m.
[ text to: Jongin ] You are the love of my life. I miss you every day, Jongin. Every single day.
She'd gone back to look at them so many times. The "Delivered" message status haunted her. How long had his body laid in the alley, death pulling its cold shroud over it, while she had gone about her day none the wiser? The fact that she could have been minutes too late for him to see the first text ate her up inside, as did the fact that he would never lay eyes upon the last.
It said that I found a little bird
that didn't want to be alone
in this sky that closed.
She had never felt so trapped. Even the sky, so vast, so full of hope and promise, felt like a cage. Even the thought of home, with all its open fields full of flowering grasses, felt like a threat of shackles. She flew through the clouds but there was no longer any joy in it. Just a passing through one empty place to another.
I just want to find my destiny
without knowing the path
of those who passed here through
the dawn that arrived.
The dawn that changed.
She often thought maybe she didn't want to know the details. Other times, she thought that she may go insane without them. With or without, there was no denying that her life had forever shifted in his absence. With every rising sun, her heart hardened a little more, built a wall farther and farther up that blocked out the hurt.
The dawn that stayed.
And when daybreak came and the wall broke with it, unable to hold it all back anymore, she picked up every jagged piece to put back together again.
Sometimes, Vartouhi crosses the threshold of her door and steps out of her shoes, a practiced flick of her wrist enough to swing the door shut behind her, and when she looks up, she freezes. Any thoughts she had been mulling over scatter like spooked birds and leave behind only empty stillness.
A strange series of emotions wash over her, like aggressive ocean waves, knocking her under every time she tries to surface from them.
Awe. It feels surreal to think that she comes back to the same place every day, wakes up in the same bed every morning. She remembers breaking into empty homes and hotel rooms. She remembers sleeping in the subway stations. She remembers the meals that came from the charity of her friends, and the free cups of water in cafes.
Affection. Thinking of all of those people that helped her makes her heart swell.
Loneliness. She remembers the people she cherished that have come and gone.
Guilt. She could have kept in better touch with them.
More guilt. How can she be worried about that, when she should be focused on returning home?
Self-loathing. She knows she’s been dragging her feet. It’s been so long since she felt that urgency that used to carry her out into the world, beating blisters onto her feet from how far she wandered, cramming information into her head until it was so full she had headaches. She knows she could be doing more. She knows nothing she’s doing now is remotely productive to getting off this planet and getting home. It’s not even going to help her find out what’s happening back home.
So why is she here? Why has she fallen into this routine?
And why is she so reluctant to break out of it?
Vartouhi stands there for several minutes as these thoughts circle in her head, like a merry-go-round that never slows down. Finally she gets a grip on it, and blinks away the images in her mind’s eye to focus on the reality in front of her. She takes a deep breath through her nose and exhales sharply. The foot halfway in its slipper slides fully in, and its twin follows suit in the matching slipper. She puts her keys and purse down on the little table by the door and walks further in. She doesn’t go too far; just to the living room, to flop back onto her little couch and stare up at the ceiling.
In some ways, she’s glad she’s learned to force that merry-go-round to stop before her emotions get out of control.
But has she gotten too good at it? Is this why she isn’t doing more to go home? Because it’s too stressful, and she’s gotten too in the habit of stopping stressful trains of thought and blocking them out?
With a groan, she throws an arm over her face and sighs again.
Her fingers squeezed together under a sudden tight pressure surrounding them, and that was enough for the princess to reluctantly lift her eyes. A beat of silence passed as her still-sleepy brain assessed the situation, and she gasped, sitting up abruptly as she realized what was happening.
She and Kyungsoo had fallen asleep next to each other, tired out from their emotional discussion. He was now writhing fitfully in his sleep. His hand around hers tightened and loosened with every twitch or jerk of his body. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw his eyebrows furrowed deeply and eyes shifting back and forth rapidly under their lids. He was having a nightmare.
Vartouhi carefully pulled her hand out of his grip to push herself onto her knees, sitting on her legs so she could lean over him and use the hand to prop her up. “Kyungsoo,” she called gently, not wanting to startle him. He did not wake up. She frowned and put her hand on his shoulder, giving him a few small pushes. “Kyungsoo,” she tried more insistently. But again, he did not wake up.
She chewed her bottom lip lightly, eyes darting over his face. After their talk, it must have brought up some very painful, persistent memories. Vartouhi felt bad, like it was her fault because he talked about his past with her. She thought of waking him more aggressively, but she didn’t want to give up the softer method just yet, hoping it would allow him to wake calmly rather than in a panic. She took his face gently into her hands, leaning forward until her stomach pressed against her thighs. The princess rested her forehead against his and closed her eyes. The worry settled as a sickening discomfort in her stomach. She just wanted to help her friend.
After just a few seconds, Vartouhi felt strange. Her abilities were activating, but they weren’t as overwhelming as they could be when she felt distressed. Rather, she could liken it to being led by the hand. A dizziness filled her head. She felt as though her consciousness was sliding out of her body. The darkness of her eyes being closed became blacker, deeper, something more.
Eventually, she was grounded again. The air was chilly, and she rubbed her palms over her upper arms absentmindedly. The whole area radiated a sense of pain, sadness, and anger. She began to walk, and soon, grayscale images began to fade in from the darkness. They were blurry; she could barely make out the figures of three people in the first--a man, a woman, and a child. Their features were indistinguishable, as was the room they were in. She could only see basic shapes and shades of gray.
As she walked on, more and more came up. She could only speculate as to what was happening in each scene, judging by the positions of the figures. Each scene filled her with more and more discomfort. It was very clear that they corresponded with Kyungsoo’s earlier explanation of his past, and not a one depicted anything close to happiness.
The princess heard a faint sound, and her head snapped in its direction. Nothing had come up in the noise’s direction yet, so she was looking into complete blackness. She hurried, and soon she could hear better. Mumbling and whispering, hiccups and gasps. As she pressed on, scenarios lit up further and further down, and finally, she saw a figure kneeling on the ground.
Kyungsoo.
Vartouhi ran to his side, dropping down next to him. “Kyungsoo… Friend Kyungsoo,” she called worriedly. He lifted his head slightly to look at her, his eyes connecting with hers for just a moment. But then they averted, distracted by the scenes behind her, and he whimpered, lowering his head again and shutting his eyes. “Come on. Look at me. Only at me,” she urged, but he shivered and shook his head, not wanting to face the awful memories around him.
“My mom… I can’t look at that sad expression on her face. I can’t.” He began to repeat it to himself, and Vartouhi blinked in confusion, looking back at the blurry image. She realized he must be able to see the scenes clearly.
But why? she wondered.
Had she somehow fallen asleep without realizing it? She doubted it; she’d felt completely alert the second she realized Kyungsoo was suffering. Even when she’d closed her eyes, it hadn’t been out of weariness, but rather a natural gentle reaction. But why else would she be in this dream-world?
One of her hands rested on his back, rubbing up and down in an attempt to soothe him. The images around them started to move, circling them, coming closer. Her eyes glowed, and she tried to concentrate, reaching out her telekinetic influence down to molecular levels. She tried to slow the wavelengths of light to infrared levels, where they would no longer be visible, but she couldn’t find them. This puzzled her, because the space went dark anyway, almost as if her will alone was enough to make her idea happen. She let the glow in her eyes die down, and thought of rearranging the light to make a lovely scene of a garden.
And suddenly, as if a large rock had been dropped into a pond, color splashed up out of the void. It washed the darkness away as it fell, wiped it away as the color spread like a wave along a shore. Soon it was creeping up, up, up, and overhead. The entire space had transformed into a beautiful garden. Warm, golden sunlight shined down on the two of them. Soft green grass grew under them. Colorful flowers swayed with a gentle breeze.
Vartouhi’s eyes widened. She didn’t even notice Kyungsoo look up, too amazed that the exact picture from her imagination was before them. She only snapped out of it when he let out a tired sigh, and she turned to look at him. He still looked a bit shaken, but his brow had smoothed out considerably and his eyes held no fear in them. His lips parted in awe as he took in the garden, and he looked to Vartouhi after he’d given it a once-over.
A slow smile spread across his lips, tired but genuine. Relieved. Thankful. It was almost like she could feel the emotions rather than just perceiving them in his expression. Before she could think on it, however, he wrapped his arms around her in a hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered. She brought her arms up to wrap loosely around him, resting her cheek on the top of his head, and sighed while she closed her eyes.
When Vartouhi next opened them, she was holding the side of Kyungsoo’s face with her forehead pressed to his. Her eyes were still glowing. She let the light fade out as she pulled back, staring down at his serene face. There was even the ghost of a smile on his lips. She slowly slid back into bed, stumped. As she mulled over the strange events, she tired out her mind, and fell asleep.
The next morning, she woke up to the smell of food. Vartouhi felt exhausted, and immediately crawled out of bed to get some food and water. When she saw Kyungsoo in the kitchen, she called quietly, “Good morning~” And out of habit, she asked, “Did you sleep well?”
“Actually, it’s weird,” he replied, sliding his spatula through the eggs he was scrambling. “I had a nightmare, but it turned into a good dream.”
The words made Vartouhi pause as she was taking the water pitcher out of the refrigerator. She tightened her grip on the handle, afraid she may drop it, and closed the door to walk over to the counter. “Oh?”
“Yes,” he answered with a nod, which she caught as she glanced at him out of surprise. “My nightmare was full of bad memories. I was trying to outrun them, but they trapped me. But then ah…” A faint tinge of pink rose into his cheeks, and she looked back and forth between him and the water she was pouring, trying to witness his reaction without spilling her drink. “Well, you showed up. And then when you tried to comfort me, suddenly we were in a garden, and I started to feel better.” He chuckled. “It’s weird, right? Weirder that I remember it so well…”
Vartouhi stared at him, and when he looked to her, he blushed harder. “Wh-what?” he asked. She abandoned her water to go closer, hands moving to press to the sides of his face again. He let her turn his face to look at her, eyes wide with surprise, and she lifted up onto the balls of her toes to press her forehead to his. She closed her eyes, concentrating. She experienced that odd sliding feeling again, but it stopped after a certain point, as if there was a wall in her way. She tried again, attempting to push past the invisible barrier.
“What… are you doing?”
Like a rubber band, it felt like her brain snapped back into her head, and her head hurt like it might if she hit the back of it on a wall. Vartouhi stumbled back against the counter, one hand clutching it to keep herself up while the other pressed to her forehead. Kyungsoo rushed over, hands finding her shoulders to try to help her stay steady. “Touhi! Are you alright?”
She nodded faintly, and upon his uncertain look, she waved him away. When he dropped his hands, she left her glass on the counter, forgotten, and headed for the bathroom instead. With a sigh, she closed the door and began to draw a bath.
There was no way it was just a coincidence, but she still didn’t understand. How exactly had she entered Kyungsoo’s mind and controlled his dream?
Vartouhi shifted her eyes away from the blaring light of her phone to look up at the tall building in front of her. Drops of water clung to her eyelashes. Her hair was plastered to the nape of her neck, the sides of her face, and across her forehead. The innocent baby pink of her dress was splotched darker with raindrops. It steadily overtook the lighter shade as the rain continued to pour down.
But there was no lightning, or thunder.
In the past, that wouldn’t have stopped her from going to see Jongin. The date on her phone haunted her, however. She was constantly counting days. It was the twenty-ninth since they had last seen each other, and she kept wondering how many days would pass until he had enough ‘time.’
She shivered as a distressing thought threw anxiety down her throat as cold and painful as swallowing ice cubes whole. Maybe he’d decided not to see her again. Or she wasn’t important enough to remember to get back to. Maybe she was the only one suffering.
Her eyes overfilled with tears and she tilted her head up to let the rain come down her face and help them slide down her neck faster. She firmly believed that there was nothing to regret in life, because she would not be who she is at the present if anything were different. But Vartouhi regretted being bold. If it meant losing a dear friend, she would take it back.
It hurt that much more, because of the nature of the mistake. Was the universe so against her sampling affection, intimacy, and romance? Maybe those stupid dramas had brainwashed her.
She wanted to go up. She wanted to see him. She wanted to demand that he tell her if he never wants to see her again, because this uncertainty was tearing her up. Vartouhi wanted to be brave, like she was when she kissed him in the first place.
She second guessed her plans. Bravery led to this situation.
And for some reason, there was a strange worry--one that had never crossed her mind in all the times she’d visited him before: what if he was with someone, up there in his apartment?
Her stomach churned and she swallowed hard, turning to face the sidewalk. She took one last long look at the doors, one last moment of hesitation and inner debate, but in the end, she walked away.
She broke into an empty hotel room for the first time in months and crawled onto the bed, still sopping wet. Vartouhi closed her eyes and tried not to think about anything so she could sleep. When she kept tossing and turning, she heaved a great sigh while sitting up to arrange some of the pillows from the second bed vertically next to her. She nestled close against them, arm slung over the curve of one.
It was cold, so in the end, it ended up being how tired her eyes were from crying that put her to sleep.
Vartouhi's eyes opened into a squint, bleary. She sat up, wondering if she'd imagined the sound, but no--it came again. Three knocks at the door echoed off the walls of Jongin's apartment. She crept over to the door to peer through the peephole, and upon seeing a large box, opened it. "Hello?"
"Delivery! For a Miss..." The man peered at the tag, confused. "V... Vaaar..."
Vartouhi paled. "F-for me?"
"Depends. Are you this girl?" The man flipped the tag for her to see what was written there. Sure enough, in plain lettering: Miss Vartouhi.
"Well, yes, but I--"
"Great!" he interjected, dashing behind the hand truck and tipping it back to wheel the huge box inside.
"No, you don’t understand--Ah, sir? I... can't, this can't be for me," she tried to explain. But the man simply set the box in the middle of the living room floor before wheeling on out.
"It's your name on the label. Have fun!"
Vartouhi blinked owlishly as the door shut with a feeling of finality, simply staring for a long moment as if expecting the man to come back in and announce it was all a joke. But nothing happened. The apartment was as still as ever. As a matter of fact, where was Jongin? she wondered.
"Nevermind that..." she mumbled, turning to look at the box. The real question was: how would she explain this to him when he came back? It was taller than her, maybe even taller than him, and narrower in width. The princess cringed. He was a nice enough friend to offer his apartment to her for shelter. Surely he would think she was purposefully getting to comfortable if he came home to find this... "What is it, anyway?" she wondered out loud, walking closer.
Shaking it revealed that it must be heavy for a human, because it was a considerable weight compared to most things she'd picked up on Earth. Besides that, it didn't move much under her little hands pushing and pulling. She pursed her lips into a frown. No, it was definitely not something she wanted to keep here for Jongin to find. Afraid he may come back at any moment, her eyes glowed white around the irises as her power picked it up, and she quickly opened the window. It barely fit through, but she managed, and away she flew with it, to the mountain where she'd first crash-landed.
Once she and the box had landed safely, she ripped the box apart into its perfect rectangular sides, gasping at what was inside.
It was... a eunuch?
Vartouhi shuffled forward, unsure. How could a person sleep upright like that? And what human on this planet could weigh so much? Was it just Koreans that were so lightweight, and perhaps in another country heavier humans dominated? But as she came closer, she noticed lines over key body joints, and some going down the arms, legs, and torso like the seams of clothing. She furrowed her brows, reaching out for its hand.
She shuddered and retracted it a moment later. Cold. She bit her lip, eyes wide. Was it a dead human?
Vartouhi circled around, checking for more abnormalities. Immediately, she spotted a glowing red symbol on the nape of its neck. It appeared to be a circle, broken by a short line at the very top. She had no idea what it meant, but she reached up to touch it nonetheless. The skin underneath was abnormally hard. She pressed down to investigate further. There was the feeling of pushing a button, and the familiar click of one, too. She gasped and backed up as there were whirring noises coming from within the thing, several lights flashing on and off under the skin.
Its fingers twitched. Muscles--or some mechanism similar to muscles--flexed and relaxed.
It turned its large, muscular body towards her. Dark eyes glowed red around the edges, then yellow as it looked directly at her. She lifted a few inches off the ground, nervous. Finally, its eyes glowed green. "Subject identity confirmed. Initiating incapacitation." The voice wasn’t quite human, and Vartouhi began to fly upward to get away from it, but it bent its knees and leapt into the air, high enough to grab her by the shoulders. She was so startled that she lost concentration, and it easily overpowered her, shoving her into the dirt hard enough that dirt blew away from the impact in a shallow Vartouhi-shaped crater.
Her head was spinning, and in that time, the thing pulled its hand back, a syringe needle sliding out of its index finger. "No!" was her shrill, fearful cry as it jabbed her in the neck, injecting some substance into her. She was all-too alert with panic, and her eyes surged with light, mental influence ripping the thing apart in seconds.
She sat up in the midst of the debris, breathing hard, a shuddering whine escaping her on every exhale. With shaking limbs, she stood, and jumped up into the air. Before she could break the canopy of the trees, she felt woozy. As the base of the mountain came in sight, she was seeing double. Her eyes wouldn't stay open next, and she could feel herself losing altitude. The trip to the ground was a short one, but she fell to her knees as she landed, groaning while she crawled forward. The light began flickering out of her eyes and her limbs felt like stones, but she dragged herself forward, writhing and squirming towards the creek.
She felt the cool water flow around her as she tried to roll onto her back, falling unconscious midway, lying on her side.
ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #5
s ʜ ᴜ ᴛ ɪ ɴ
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Eighth Floor
Gifts and Home
Wedding Services
Ding. Ding. Screech.
Uh-oh!
The elevator has stopped between the 7th and 6th floor.
but the other person in the elevator with you begins to lose it.
Can you calm them down, or does their hysteria spread to you?
Will you panic, or will you ease their worries?
You can keep your cool for a time,
What happens?
Word count: 1378
Usually, Vartouhi preferred to take stairs, unless she was in a hurry. She never was, and she wasn’t this time, either, but the stairs were blocked off--all of them, for cleaning. Cleaning! Vartouhi closed her eyes, wrinkling her nose slightly as she sighed through her nostrils. How absolutely inconvenient, she thought. Now she was stuck in close proximity with someone side-glancing at her for long moments, no doubt wondering where he had seen her face. She kept pulling strands of the wig’s dark hair to hang closer to her face, under the ruse of trying to restyle it. If it weren’t for the reflective doors, she would have worried that her pink hair slipped out from under the cap.
The middle-aged businessman was so preoccupied with looking at her that he didn’t even notice how she was watching him in the doors’ reflection. The princess watched as he took out that small rectangular device everyone had--a phone, she reminded herself--and began to tap furiously at it. Soon, he lifted his phone so the back of it was parallel with her face, and tapped at it a few more times. Vartouhi bit her lip uncertainly, unsure what his actions meant.
And then, the elevator gave a violent shudder, causing both of them to stumble. His phone fell out of his grip and dropped to the ground, sliding right in front of Vartouhi’s feet as the compartment settled just between the seventh and sixth floors. Without missing a beat, she bent down and picked it up.
The man was too busy pressing at the buttons on the wall to notice her confusedly tapping at his phone’s screen. He’d taken several photos of her--4, to be exact. There was a symbol that looked suspiciously like a trash bin, and when she tapped it, the pictures disappeared. She made sure each one of them did. But this was nowhere near the furious tapping he’d been doing before. It took her some trial and error, but she finally came upon his “Messages,” and paled as she read the most recent 3.
You won’t believe this. The girl from the news is in the elevator with me! The terrorist!!
Oh my God, what if she planted a bomb in the department store somewhere??
I’m gonna take pictures and send them to you. I need you to call the police for me and let them know to get over here as soon as they can. Pray for me.
Her eyes glowed faintly, and the screen cracked, but she didn’t stop pushing force on the device until the light in the screen flickered out and then the screen went blank. Immediately her eyes went back to normal and she looked up at the man, just in time for him to look to her. His nervous smile faded into a look of horror as he saw his phone in her hands, and then shock and regret when he noticed the state of his phone. Reaching over, she explained, “The impact must have damaged it. I hope it is not permanent.”
He was reluctant to touch her, just standing there fidgeting. So finally, she leaned over and took his hand to turn it palm-up, pressing it to his palm and closing his fingers around it before she let go. Then she backed up to lean against the elevator wall and look at the doors calmly, sighing. “Will we be here very long?” she asked out loud, unsure if perhaps this was a normal occurrence when taking elevators.
“You’re a liar.” Her eyes averted to the man again. “This is the highest quality phone case available for professional businessmen, known for its sleek style and its exceptional protection. There’s no way that fall broke it. You broke it.”
Vartouhi grit her teeth just slightly, feeling her chest tighten. She knew she had nothing to worry about, because she’d already deleted the pictures, and no one would believe just his word alone. Still, the fact that he recognized her even with the dark hair unnerved her. The look on his face became aggressive and confident, and that made her even more wary.
“I can just get them to take the SD card out and put it in another phone, you know? Are you really that stupid?” He blew air sharply out from between his teeth. “You know… you killed my lover with that bomb. She was buying cigarettes at our usual convenience store.” His voice was very low, and the words shook as the look in his eyes become darker, wild.
Vartouhi pressed herself into the very farthest corner of the elevator, eyes darting from him to the doors, to the walls, to the ceiling. She found only two exits: the doors and the service hatch in the top. His chuckle brought her attention back on him. “If I killed you now, I’d be doing the country a service, you know? Normally you’ll go to jail for vigilante justice but… once they know it’s you, they won’t doubt it was self defense.” He cracked his knuckles. “You’re nothing but a little girl. I’m very good at hurting little girls.”
She got chills all over, eyes widening, and he lunged. Immediately, she threw him back against the elevator wall, keeping him pinned there. He panicked at the sight of her eyes, a ragged growl of “What the hell are you--“ escaping him. She trembled, unable to remember what part of the body she could press on to make him pass out. Not wanting to waste time prodding, she closed her eyes and reached out her mental influence to wrap around his brain. She’d never forget where memory was located; she still remembered Afzal running a finger along the side of his head when she was forgetful, teasing her, and how she’d had her tutor tell her what it meant.
Vartouhi bit her bottom lip. Short-term was so risky. Too much aggravation, and she could end up turning him into a danger to society. She put the gentlest pressure on it, hoping it was just enough to wipe out the last hour, maybe the last day at the most. She wanted to cry, because it felt so invasive, and because the amount of concentration she had to put into it was so exhausting it was almost painful.
When she finally snapped her eyes open, she sank down to her knees, panting. Her limbs felt like lead, but she managed to lift her head to see the man staring at her with an incredulous expression. “What’s going on? What are you!?” he cried in a panic. He ran forward, brought his fist back, and she wasn’t fast enough--he slugged her one across the cheek. His arm reeled back for another, but her blowing the hatch in the top clean off its hinges startled him, and he fell forward. Vartouhi yelped as he knocked her head back against the elevator wall. Her head was absolutely throbbing now. What started as a groan of pain as she pushed him off turned into a sharp cry when she lifted herself into the air and through the hatch.
She had to get out. She knew she wouldn’t be able to use her powers for much longer. With the bottom blocked off, she parted the doors to the seventh floor just the slightest, checking for people in the immediate area. There were none (probably because shoppers were diverted to the other elevator). So Vartouhi gripped either edge of the doors and pushed. It wasn’t necessarily hard to force them open, given her strength, but it hurt with how drained she was. She quickly touched down on the floor, letting the light in her eyes die out.
She was breathing hard. Her head was spinning. She took the stairs, ignoring the protests of the janitors. She didn’t owe them an explanation, and besides that, she didn’t want to waste her breath. It wasn’t long before she was outside, and bolting for Kyungsoo’s place. Vartouhi did try to fly, but as she cleared the roof of one building, her vision started to tunnel, quickly filling in with darkness. She felt the insistent pull of gravity and a breeze before she felt nothing at all.
ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #4
ʟ ᴜ ᴄ ɪ ᴅ ɪ ᴛ ʏ
One morning you wake to find yourself in a straight jacket,
being taken off to an asylum.
What do the guards and psychiatrists say you did?
How do you prove your sanity?
Are you pretending or are you just scared?
Maybe you are just a little insane after all.
word count: 2034
Vertigo. An annoying, constant rumbling and shaking around her. Pain in her head that made her want to stay unconscious. Were her ears bleeding? She wasn't sure. She didn't even want to open her eyes, the pain behind them like acid eating its way through her flesh. But she did.
It was dim in the padded room. There was a little window with crisscross bars on it; she could see the scenery stretching back to the horizon until it couldn't be seen anymore. The lands on the sides of the path seemed almost rural, so sparse were the buildings, but there were no farms or really anything of use. It seemed whoever put her in the back of this moving room (Was it a car of some sort? She wasn't sure) was trying to bring her far away from civilization.
Her first instinct was to flee. She tried moving her arms, only for fabric to constrict her. Looking down, she found herself in a white long-sleeved garment. The fabric was rough and scratched at her skin, an extremely uncomfortable feeling. Belts pulled tight against her chest, some looping over her arms, which were stuck folded tightly over her chest. A strap ran between her thighs, she assumed to attach at the back and make escape more difficult.
Just as she tried to activate her powers, the pain in her head spiked so much that she screamed and threw herself back on the floor. Panting, tears collected at the corners of her eyes as she tried again, but the same pain returned and she groaned and whimpered in pain, writhing on the floor until it finally subsided. Her limbs were warm and felt heavier. Something about the flow of water in her hydrotubules didn't feel as smooth, as if something had made it more viscous. With a sigh hissing between gritted teeth, she concluded she was drugged.
When the vehicle stopped, men opened the doors in the back. Several held her down so one could inject her with more drugs. They took effect quickly, due to her physiology, and she couldn't move even if she wanted to. The hazy feeling made even the idea of moving seem painfully strenuous, her limbs even heavier than before. She was barely able to keep her eyes open, let alone stay focused enough to take in where they were taking her in the wheelchair. She passed between consciousness and unconsciousness over and over, the world fading into blurred images and then black again and again.
She didn't know when she slept. She didn't know how she ended up on a bed in a cell, an IV directing a sugar solution into her arm, the sounds of mad chattering and wild whooping and hollering echoing off the walls, making it seem like the noise attacked her hearing from every angle. One by one, the voices of the loud ones faded. The mumbled babbling continued, a murmur as the words all mixed together. It wasn't so bad in terms of volume level--a murmur of white noise rather than an obnoxious roar--but the things that were said disturbed and confused her.
"Miss." A clearer, calmer voice broke through the others. A woman dressed conservatively stepped into Vartouhi's view. She stood outside of the cell, staring at the princess with a gravely stern expression. Vartouhi fidgeted, feeling vulnerable under her stare. "My name is Dr. Song. You may call me Dr. Hyemin if you prefer. I need to speak with you about the incident two days ago."
Vartouhi felt the bed tilt under her as if she were floating in water, having to lean against the wall to make the dizziness fade. "Two… two days? Incident?" She couldn't speak any louder than a timid squeak, afraid because she had no idea what was going on.
The doctor hummed and brought her hands out from behind her back, revealing a clipboard with forms stacked between the board and the clip. She scribbled something on the paper with a pen in her other hand. "Two days. You were unconscious for over a day there, on your bed. The other day you were being transported here. I need you to tell me about what happened before that."
Vartouhi shook her head. "Nothing… I… Nothing of much consequence comes to mind. The last day I am able to recall, I was wandering, looking for employment… I was turned down over and over and quickly becoming frustrated. And then this man propositioned me--he asked me to sleep with people for money, and give him a large percentage of the pay each time. I was… insulted. Afraid. Sad. Livid."
"And what did you do in response?" Her question startled Vartouhi, not because she didn't expect it or want to answer it, but because she realized she wasn't sure of her answer.
"I made it extremely clear that I am not that sort of woman nor will I ever be, and that he should return to the filthy underbelly of this world where only the scum of the world unfortunately breeds. He was not happy with my words, but I simply walked away. And then…" Vartouhi trailed off, licking her lips nervously.
"And then…?" Dr. Song encouraged dryly.
"Well… he appeared before me again, later. With comrades. They stared at me from across the street. I did not think much of it; perhaps he was just sore over what I'd said, and relating to them the event. That's what my thoughts were at the time. But then I noticed them showing up everywhere I wandered… At one point they were so close by that I was compelled to run, and they gave chase, and…" She paused, blinking dumbly. She couldn't remember what happened after that.
All her life, it was common that she had trouble remembering the details of conflict she encountered because she was too upset. She would only remember the gist, confuse the sequence of events, and be unable to recall specific turning points or important details. Recently, it was hard for her to remember what happened after conflict, as well. She usually ended up realizing she was somewhere else, and assumed she spaced out while wandering, getting herself totally lost. Sometimes she woke up in a strange place, and assumed she'd spaced out while wandering and simply went to sleep before she calmed down enough to realize her new location.
"…I… must have gone to bed, to force my mind to go quiet. In sleep you do not feel emotions or pain, you see, unless you dream, so I have made it a habit to sleep when I feel overwhelmed," she finally continued. Vartouhi was satisfied with her explanation, but Dr. Song didn't seem convinced.
For a long, long while, there was only the scratching of the pen across the paper. Then, Dr. Song finally sighed and adjusted her glasses as she spoke up, "It was reported that you set off some bomb in a largely populated area. It killed 19 people and injured another 21." Vartouhi's jaw dropped, eyes widened, and she began to tremble. "There was significant property damage as well. You attacked authorities when they tried to detain you. They reported that you said you 'had power they couldn't comprehend' and you were 'a superior being' and someday 'the wrath of your people would rain down on those who wronged you.'"
At this point, the princess was in tears, biting her lip to hold in any noises as they slid silently down her cheeks. "What's interesting, is there is no record of you. Over the last two days, we have had anonymous tips that someone with your description broke into their home and took their things or ate their food. Vendors of various clothing stores and food stands brought forth information that you stole from their businesses." Vartouhi could do nothing but look down, ashamed because she was very aware of that much, and remembered it very well--especially how all of it had been a conscious decision, and how she had stopped feeling guilty over it a while ago. She felt ashamed, like those transgressions led up to the incident Dr. Song had described.
"Your behavior now suggests remorse, disbelief, honesty, and extreme shyness, however. I think it is very possible that you have an alternate personality. Normally people with dissociative identity disorder are only harmful to themselves, not others, but it seems you are a rare case--a person with an alternate that is a sociopath with manic episodes of extremely violent, almost terrorist behavior." Dr. Song said it with such nonchalance, and yet Vartouhi was completely floored. The idea seemed so impossible to her, because she had only ever hurt anyone if she felt she had to in order to keep herself safe. That hadn't even happened while she'd been on Earth, yet.
She was silent while Dr. Song began into an explanation of the asylum (Vartouhi's stomach gave a sickly lurch at the word) and a treatment plan, and why she had to be detained here until she was deemed no longer a threat to society. The princess wasn't listening. She was lost in her memories. How many times had the world gone black around the edges when she lost control of her emotions as a child, and her powers reacted? How many times had she tried to use her powers for offensive or defensive combat, only to find her adrenaline practically wiped out her control? How many times after such incidents had she become irritable and withdrawn as a result, distancing herself from others to stew in her frustration to the point she would be tempted to break things in the forest?
She knew her fragile emotional state was a problem, and that it could lead to disastrous results if her powers became involved. She knew over the years she struggled with ways to release her feelings safely, before they became so bottled up that it blew up. She had absolutely no idea if that could lead to another personality forming to vent out all those frustrations and negative emotions. She didn't want to believe that was the case. Vartouhi wanted to think it was just her defect--her unstable powers she's had all her life, and something (possibly those men) had provoked her to the point she completely lost herself and the memory of it didn't transfer over because it was a traumatic situation. But she couldn't exactly explain any of that to a doctor who believed she was human, and she had used a bomb instead of simply manipulating molecules to directly cause explosive reactions. She wished she could tell her--wished the doctor could listen and help her. But there was no way that she could. Vartouhi knew it would just be better to remove herself from this planet, and seek therapy and training in Balah, if it still existed.
She interrupted Dr. Song, "I have a mental defect, yes, but I do not wish to believe my mind is burdened with such an illness." Heaving a guilt-ridden sigh, Vartouhi continued, "Under normal circumstances, I would accept whatever punishment or treatment was deemed appropriate for such horrendous words and actions." She could feel energy flowing through her. The sugar solution had flushed out the drugs, and the water gave her strength and mental focus back. Her eyes began to glow, the straitjacket unraveling as Vartouhi lifted up in the air with a shocked Dr. Song looking on. "Unfortunately, you cannot help me. If I am to be made well, it can only be done in my homeland, which I must locate. So, please understand that I am leaving because I am still searching for a way home."
The straitjacket fell to the ground. She blasted a hole into the cell wall and flew out of it, up to the ceiling and into the vents, where she wound her way through them to bust through the ceiling and into the sky.
She fled to the forest and dipped her feet in the fresh water of a creek, tears still quietly leaking out of her pensive eyes.
This had to change.
...
She would change.
[ ooc note; I'm tired of waiting around for a thread where Vartouhi realizes she's let herself go in terms of control over her powers. So, this is canon to her story. She will have been in news, but only with sketch artists' drawings from the police station. (They had to knock her out to detain her, which means no mugshots were taken, and it's also not asylum policy to do them when the patients have not woken and been evaluated to make sure they belong in the asylum and not the jail.) Muses are free to recognize her from the news, though I will say she steals her black wigs (finally!!) directly after this self para, so it's also just as okay for muses not to recognize her (and actually I'd prefer more of that and less of the first option, for now). ]
[ The first in a three-part birthday gift for omjchx! I have nothing else to offer but my writing (because my PS skills are shit let's be real sobs), so I offered to write 3 things for her, whatever prompts she wanted. This one she asked to be about Vartouhi, and was to be based on this picture [nsfw but it's art so] and two lines: "She drifts." and "She feels small under the starlight." I hope you like it, bb! ^^ ]
The sun beats down from above, merciless, and she feels his heat wrapped around her naked limbs like he's ready to pry her open. There's nothing gentle in the warmth against her skin. It's oppressive and persistent, rising to a scorching level. Her pale skin ruins under the tight grip he has on her, pulling taut over lean muscle. It itches when it's tugged beyond the limits of its elasticity, and it tears. Blood and water rise to fill up the gap and her body slowly but surely becomes lined with little red fissures. The trickle of water that falls across her skin withers away into vapor as he inhales her. He means to conquer her.
She hears the ocean's laughter all around her. The waves throw themselves against the rock her body is splayed upon. Barbaric revelry it is; fiends cheering on at the spectacle of him taking her. Their spittle flies up onto her body and into her face, and she winces at the sting of the salt on her dehydrated skin and in the crevices of raw flesh.
She wants to escape. She can see on the horizon that there is land she could fly to, if only she had the strength. Her body is so stricken with dehydration that her eyes flicker with white light but inevitably go out within seconds. He's drugged her with his heat; her mind can barely function properly, and certainly cannot muster the ability to fly, let alone lift herself. She wonders why she is on this rock in the middle of the ocean in the first place. Why is she naked, and why didn't she fill herself to excess with fresh water before venturing here? These questions are meaningless now. Whatever poor decision making brought her here, she knows there is no changing it. He will devour all that she is.
She never imagined she would die this way.
She drifts. Eyelids twitching, eyelashes fluttering, she can feel her body floating.
The scene grows hazy. There is darkness as if she's closed her eyes, though she doesn't remember doing so. She doesn't remember anything that just happened. When she opens her eyes, she's home. She lies in a bathtub of lukewarm water, naked, but she knows that's a normal state to be in when bathing, so she is not alarmed. Her body is supple and beautiful and pale under the water. She feels a strange warmth. It's more than just the water seeping into her hydrotubules. It's in her cheeks, her neck, her chest, and the pit of her belly.
A tanned hand reaches into the water and cups her breast and oh--. She arches her back dramatically because she's never been touched like this before. The reason for the mystery warmth is solved as her black onyx eyes meet his chocolate-colored ones--and she thinks chocolate specifically, because like chocolate he is everything warm and satisfying and tempting and sinful, and she knows it despite how frequently her words have denied it. She expects a smug look of triumph to be glinting in his eyes to complement a proud smirk. But there is no such thing. The tug of his full, pillowy lips is one of muted eagerness and anticipation. There is only a lecherous admiration and perhaps a hint of reverence, though she's unsure why. She's even more unsure why it makes her heart pound against her chest, as if it wants to break free and prostrate itself before him with breathless whispers of offering itself up to him. A pulse between her thighs impossible to ignore calls for him, begs him to touch her more.
His voice is deep and its reverberations off the bathroom tile and porcelain shake her spine into shivering. She doesn't know what he said. Her mind is hazy with imagination; images of what she wants him to do next flashing through her mind too quickly for her to comprehend, but making her cheeks flush rosier all the same. His hand slides down over her ribs and belly, and her breath hitches, the muscles in her stomach jumping back reflexively. He presses his index and middle fingers to that pulse and she exhales a sound somewhere between a sigh of relief and a moan of desire. He chuckles and she has enough wits about her to feel somewhat embarrassed. In the next moment, however, any embarrassment is forgotten, completely flushed out by the wave of excitement that runs through her when he climbs into the tub with her, covering her body with his.
She looks on expectantly as he watches the quick, pronounced rise and fall of her chest for a long moment, before looking up at her face again. His look is calculating, as if debating if he really wants to do this, and she panics, afraid he will leave her. Her thighs part for him to show him as much as she's denied it to him and to herself, she wants him. Her small hands grip his biceps gently, a silent plea for him to stay. She worries it isn't enough, because the look hasn't left his face yet, so she whispers, "Please."
The look fades away almost instantly. She wonders if he'd been thinking over whether this would complicate their living situation. She should be considering the same, but she can't think properly. Every part of her is fixated completely on him. His fingers press closer against that pulse, and she bites her bottom lip as it throbs against them in response. She can feel that he's beginning to crook his fingers. The tips of them are just barely probing a part of her she's aware of but has never explored in this way. She's ready. Her breath lies still in her lungs.
Her eyes close and there's darkness. She has no idea if he took the plunge. In fact, the memory of him and the bathtub fades away. The heat she felt intensifies. A dread grips her heart. She still can't see anything but there is the sense that something is very wrong; doom is approaching or already here.
When her eyes open, the left stings, and she grunts in pain as she squeezes her eyes closed again in reaction, quickly pushing herself up into a sitting position. She rubs a fist against her shut, smarting eye, and when the moment of pain finally passes, she pulls her fist away to open both eyes again. She doesn't even notice her fist is covered in blood. Her jaw hangs open at the sight of something much more devastating.
Between bodies of fallen brethren, the familiar red grasses of her home glisten, and she realizes it's with blood, not dew. Fire eats away at village homes in the foreground, and off in the background, flames engulfing the palace reflect off the rock of the mountain behind it, casting golden glow over the entire area. It's like looking into the sun, and her eyes water and sting as if she were.
The darkness comes on instantaneously this time. She's breathing hard and she feels hot and wet--a coat of sweat clinging to her skin, and something else entirely smeared between the insides of her upper thighs. As she tries to roll onto her back, she realizes there's a solidness pressed up against her, and she then becomes aware of the tan, strong arm curled around her waist. Om's breath is against the crook of her neck where it begins to curve into the slope of her shoulder, and it's scorching to her overheated body and she thinks he may have even drooled on her. With complete disregard as to whether it wakes him or not, her hand wraps around his wrist and she throws it off her body with a hint of irritation before quickly scrambling out from underneath the blanket. She doesn't even look at him as she leaves their home, making her way outdoors and into the darkness of the very early morning.
She lifts herself up to the rooftop and sits, knees bent and feet pressing against the shingles. She lies back to stare up at the sky, letting the chill of winter wash over her. The short night dress with its ribbon straps does nothing to protect her from the cold, but she prefers it this way for now, even as her body shudders periodically.
Usually, Vartouhi can remember her dreams. This time, she woke too distressed, and her thoughts were drawn away from the dream so abruptly, she can't recall a thing. There are vague images or feelings floating around aimlessly in her head. Heat. Ocean. Dying. Warmth. Desire. Touch. Blood. Fire. Ruin. In her mind's eye she can see the glinting of sunlight off of waves, and of fire in wide-open, dead eyes. She can remember rock digging into her skin, and her thighs brushing against someone's hips. She blushes, and cuts off her thought process. She sighs, because the last time she had a nightmare, she woke in her large bed in the palace, and she had a balmy breeze to envelop her as she strolled through the gardens to calm her mind.
Vartouhi stares up at the sky. She feels small under the starlight.
There's silence and stillness, and then she curls onto her side, and weeps quietly.
