There was a certain emptiness to not be followed by the other illusions anymore. Then again, to be once again alone was Aislyn’s normal state of being, so in a way it was also comforting. Not to mention the fact that she was no longer illusioned, meaning alone was the only state of being she would allow herself to be in.
Through the door was something familiar, yet strange all the same.
Startled by the door flying closed behind her, Aislyn turned her back as she began to regret her decision to go through the door at all. The handle was gone, of course, and Aislyn’s fingers came away coated in smudges, as if she had touched one of her drawings. Turning to face the room, Aislyn took a moment to gather her bearings. It was certainly her home. Worn wooden cupboards that had lay untouched for the season. A window with a parchment drawing permanently hung. Accurate down to the last mark of ink on the doorframe, marking Aislyn’s growth as a child. Except for a few minor details.
Such as the walls being alive.
It took a few moments to sink in, but after the artist’s eye caught the gaze of a lumbering, burdened drawing of a fish, it became very apparent that the drawings were no longer confined to their pages. The parchment was merely a wallpaper now, and the charcoal sketches two-dimensional insects crawling up the walls. Some moved like ink dripped into water, silky and graceful. It appeared that such drawings were much more recent than the lumbering giants. Aislyn began to recognize them, remembering every stroke that went into the now apparently living sketches. It was unsettling to see such creations so independent.
Not as unsettling, though, as the much more obvious changes to the room. First, the fact that the old, time-worn bed that had previously been in poor condition was now eloquently carved and seemed much more inviting than before. It came as a sort of pointed finger to the fact that Aislyn could quite easily afford a much nicer bed for her mother, yet it had completely slipped her mind. Maria hadn’t complained, of course, but she didn’t complain much about anything anymore.
The second change was slightly more disturbing than living drawings or higher quality beds. The second change appeared to be a living, higher quality Aislyn.
The illusionist was surprisingly unsurprised to see her.
She had already seen four other Aislyns that day, what was another? This one was just another illusion. Just like everything else in her beloved city was. Her damned, beloved city.
The other Aislyn spoke with a demeanor the woman couldn’t attribute to Maya, Thief, or any illusion she’d ever used before. She wasn’t cautious in the way Maya was shy; she was elegant. She wasn’t bold in the way Thief was brash; she was confident. Her eyes weren’t dark with foreboding, black with mystery. They were bright, blood red.
Danger. Danger, danger.
Her smile was not false, but knowing. And the way she said that name. Her name. Or perhaps not. Aislyn Leavold.
Again, Aislyn cringed. Her first name was one thing, but last was another. There were few who knew the name Aislyn, fewer who knew Leavold. That meant that this had to be piloted by someone. Something. Illusions didn’t stare into your soul and find every piece that it had been broken into. There had been only two instances in her life in which an illusion had tailored itself to reflect Aislyn’s experiences. One, was in the House of Broken Mirrors, which had been left behind in circular-Alvadas. Two had been five chimes before, when her mind had been broken into five pieces that could walk, talk, and distrust her. It was flattering, in a way, but also very worrying. What being in Alvadas had the same power as a mirror?
For one, Ionu. Or a speaker. Or Almos.
At the thought that the horned man might fancy her, Aislyn dropped her eyes. It was certainly not something she had expected herself, of all people, to say. Handsome was not something you called someone who toyed with your mind, forcing decisions with unknown ends upon you. Handsome was not something you called a man that tried to force her to choose, every time. Sometime there wasn’t an A or a B to choose between. Colouring outside the lines was an Alvad’s specialty, after all.
Slowly, Aislyn moved over to where other-Aislyn motioned, cautiously accepting her proposal to sit on the bed. The second she sat down, however, the other-Aislyn got up, hunched over in a fit of coughs.
A deep red liquid the same colour as her eyes left other-Aislyn’s lips, splattering across the polished wooden floor. A mixture of shock, surprise, and horror spread quickly across the illusionist’s face before returning to an unnerved stare at the remaining smears of blood that circled her clone’s mouth. It was like looking into a mirror. A mirror image that was bleeding like some foretelling omen. What kind of ‘difficult year’ led someone to cough up blood?
Before she could ask, however, a question was asked of her. Why are you here? Followed by, of course, the name again. But that was telling. The second woman didn’t know. And the fact that she was asking anything at all led to the conclusion that she wasn’t the same kind of illusion as the others. She wasn’t built off Aislyn’s knowledge. She was different.
She might not be Aislyn at all.
Perhaps everything but her was an illusion. Maybe Aislyn had stumbled into some blank room, with some blank woman with a past to tell within it. Perhaps everything was tailored to her purely because of the blankness of the room. If she was anyone else, the strange woman would appear as ‘anyone else’. She just appeared as Aislyn, in Aislyn’s house, because Aislyn was Aislyn.
The illusionist shuffled a few inches towards the opposite end of the bed to the woman. It made sense. Too much sense. Her headache was making a comeback.
”I… I truthfully don’t know.” Was this some sort of test? If the woman wasn’t Aislyn, who was she? Ionu was always a possibility, in Alvadas, but Ionu didn’t spit up blood and tell of a difficult year. But if it was a test from Ionu, it was a test Aislyn had to pass.
”I stepped through the door, in the center of the city, as many others have. But I stepped out somewhere different. I suppose I expected you to know.”
She shifted, so she didn’t have to meet her reflection’s eye.
”Do you know?”
Then there was the mention of others. That was a bit harder. Aislyn had stepped through quite a few doors that day. She had stepped through the first one, where supposedly Phobius was supposed to be waiting. But other-Aislyn had said others. More than one.
”The… Illusion door?” The one that had led her there? ”I chose to go with- to find-”
It had seemed like they had been in some sort of danger. The silent screams of the illusions in the door had been unnerving, to say the least. And they certainly said danger. She had thought choosing the door would save them. But there were no illusions to save on other side of the door.
Then who was she saving?
”I chose the illusions. I suppose they could have been waiting for me… But they weren’t. You were.”
Going through the door with herself on it should have led her to a room with another Aislyn in it. But it hadn’t. The door with the illusions had led her to herself.
”Does that make you an illusion, as well?”
Through the door was something familiar, yet strange all the same.
Startled by the door flying closed behind her, Aislyn turned her back as she began to regret her decision to go through the door at all. The handle was gone, of course, and Aislyn’s fingers came away coated in smudges, as if she had touched one of her drawings. Turning to face the room, Aislyn took a moment to gather her bearings. It was certainly her home. Worn wooden cupboards that had lay untouched for the season. A window with a parchment drawing permanently hung. Accurate down to the last mark of ink on the doorframe, marking Aislyn’s growth as a child. Except for a few minor details.
Such as the walls being alive.
It took a few moments to sink in, but after the artist’s eye caught the gaze of a lumbering, burdened drawing of a fish, it became very apparent that the drawings were no longer confined to their pages. The parchment was merely a wallpaper now, and the charcoal sketches two-dimensional insects crawling up the walls. Some moved like ink dripped into water, silky and graceful. It appeared that such drawings were much more recent than the lumbering giants. Aislyn began to recognize them, remembering every stroke that went into the now apparently living sketches. It was unsettling to see such creations so independent.
Not as unsettling, though, as the much more obvious changes to the room. First, the fact that the old, time-worn bed that had previously been in poor condition was now eloquently carved and seemed much more inviting than before. It came as a sort of pointed finger to the fact that Aislyn could quite easily afford a much nicer bed for her mother, yet it had completely slipped her mind. Maria hadn’t complained, of course, but she didn’t complain much about anything anymore.
The second change was slightly more disturbing than living drawings or higher quality beds. The second change appeared to be a living, higher quality Aislyn.
The illusionist was surprisingly unsurprised to see her.
She had already seen four other Aislyns that day, what was another? This one was just another illusion. Just like everything else in her beloved city was. Her damned, beloved city.
The other Aislyn spoke with a demeanor the woman couldn’t attribute to Maya, Thief, or any illusion she’d ever used before. She wasn’t cautious in the way Maya was shy; she was elegant. She wasn’t bold in the way Thief was brash; she was confident. Her eyes weren’t dark with foreboding, black with mystery. They were bright, blood red.
Danger. Danger, danger.
Her smile was not false, but knowing. And the way she said that name. Her name. Or perhaps not. Aislyn Leavold.
Again, Aislyn cringed. Her first name was one thing, but last was another. There were few who knew the name Aislyn, fewer who knew Leavold. That meant that this had to be piloted by someone. Something. Illusions didn’t stare into your soul and find every piece that it had been broken into. There had been only two instances in her life in which an illusion had tailored itself to reflect Aislyn’s experiences. One, was in the House of Broken Mirrors, which had been left behind in circular-Alvadas. Two had been five chimes before, when her mind had been broken into five pieces that could walk, talk, and distrust her. It was flattering, in a way, but also very worrying. What being in Alvadas had the same power as a mirror?
For one, Ionu. Or a speaker. Or Almos.
At the thought that the horned man might fancy her, Aislyn dropped her eyes. It was certainly not something she had expected herself, of all people, to say. Handsome was not something you called someone who toyed with your mind, forcing decisions with unknown ends upon you. Handsome was not something you called a man that tried to force her to choose, every time. Sometime there wasn’t an A or a B to choose between. Colouring outside the lines was an Alvad’s specialty, after all.
Slowly, Aislyn moved over to where other-Aislyn motioned, cautiously accepting her proposal to sit on the bed. The second she sat down, however, the other-Aislyn got up, hunched over in a fit of coughs.
A deep red liquid the same colour as her eyes left other-Aislyn’s lips, splattering across the polished wooden floor. A mixture of shock, surprise, and horror spread quickly across the illusionist’s face before returning to an unnerved stare at the remaining smears of blood that circled her clone’s mouth. It was like looking into a mirror. A mirror image that was bleeding like some foretelling omen. What kind of ‘difficult year’ led someone to cough up blood?
Before she could ask, however, a question was asked of her. Why are you here? Followed by, of course, the name again. But that was telling. The second woman didn’t know. And the fact that she was asking anything at all led to the conclusion that she wasn’t the same kind of illusion as the others. She wasn’t built off Aislyn’s knowledge. She was different.
She might not be Aislyn at all.
Perhaps everything but her was an illusion. Maybe Aislyn had stumbled into some blank room, with some blank woman with a past to tell within it. Perhaps everything was tailored to her purely because of the blankness of the room. If she was anyone else, the strange woman would appear as ‘anyone else’. She just appeared as Aislyn, in Aislyn’s house, because Aislyn was Aislyn.
The illusionist shuffled a few inches towards the opposite end of the bed to the woman. It made sense. Too much sense. Her headache was making a comeback.
”I… I truthfully don’t know.” Was this some sort of test? If the woman wasn’t Aislyn, who was she? Ionu was always a possibility, in Alvadas, but Ionu didn’t spit up blood and tell of a difficult year. But if it was a test from Ionu, it was a test Aislyn had to pass.
”I stepped through the door, in the center of the city, as many others have. But I stepped out somewhere different. I suppose I expected you to know.”
She shifted, so she didn’t have to meet her reflection’s eye.
”Do you know?”
Then there was the mention of others. That was a bit harder. Aislyn had stepped through quite a few doors that day. She had stepped through the first one, where supposedly Phobius was supposed to be waiting. But other-Aislyn had said others. More than one.
”The… Illusion door?” The one that had led her there? ”I chose to go with- to find-”
It had seemed like they had been in some sort of danger. The silent screams of the illusions in the door had been unnerving, to say the least. And they certainly said danger. She had thought choosing the door would save them. But there were no illusions to save on other side of the door.
Then who was she saving?
”I chose the illusions. I suppose they could have been waiting for me… But they weren’t. You were.”
Going through the door with herself on it should have led her to a room with another Aislyn in it. But it hadn’t. The door with the illusions had led her to herself.
”Does that make you an illusion, as well?”
