Completed [The Unnayme] Smoke and Mirrors

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

It had been a long while since Aislyn had last set eyes on that building.
An old, broken building, with a door the colour of grass and the texture of broken glass. A building that, as far as Aislyn could remember, had gone missing several years before. A building that was rather inconspicuous, all things considered. But purposely inconspicuous. There was nothing eye catching, nothing amazing or fantastic as many Alvad houses were. All that pulled the eye was the emerald door that christened the entryway and the sign that dubbed the place,


The Unnayme.


Perhaps it was just due to Aislyn’s memories, but there was most definitely something distinctly suspicious about the appearance. There wasn’t any proof of this, persay, but it just felt off. It shouldn’t have been there. Yet there it was, sitting on the street as any other building did, like it had been there for all of time.
But it hadn’t.

The last time Aislyn had seen the Trapped House, she had been, what, twelve years old? Thirteen, maybe? It didn't matter, she couldn't remember her age clearly. What she did remember was the place itself. Warm and hazy, with a very, very particular scent. She didn't remember a lot from her visits, but the smell was one thing she couldn't forget. Strong, pungent odor that invaded every pore it could. Not only the nose but everywhere else as well, an irritating substance that turned the whites of eyes red and made everything seem surreal. She remembered a burning throat and a persistent cough. An atmosphere that was so different from the outside, from the troubles and the worries.
Atmosphere, of course, in both senses of the word. The feeling of the room and the air of the room had quite the same feel. Intoxicating, and vaguely immoral.

Or, at least, that was how Aislyn had remembered it.

Seeing it in person once again was a very different feeling.

Stopped in the middle of the walking path, Aislyn had stared blankly at the peculiar establishment for a good chime or so, weighing her options in her mind. She had her notebook and charcoals at the ready, her plan for the day meant to be an exciting combination of work and more work. But this was a rather large wrench in her plans. She wasn’t exactly going to pass the building up- oh no, she had made her decision the very tick she laid eyes upon the aged green door- but she still stood to the side, as if she were debating against herself. In the end, of course, curiosity won, and with a creak the heavy wooden door was pushed open by curious hands.

The sights and smells of the inside of the house came rushing up to meet the woman, subdued chattered enveloped by the warm, hazy light of candles laced with something pungent. Drawn curtains with leaves of various plants giving the room an air of privacy. The place was decorated passionately, coves of fabric creating makeshift walls that had silhouettes of various shapes illuminated just behind them. Couches in deep reds and purples with the occasional figure just as hazy as the smoke around them laying upon them. The place was fairly barren, with the only other patron being the woman stretched out upon the couch, a small bottle of shimmering liquid clutched between her palms. Her hands visibly shook, her eyes wider than what Aislyn had previously assumed to be possible. Smears of the same liquid danced upon her lips in the dim light, her mouth slightly parted in a strangely content smile.

At least she appeared to be having a good time.

Crossing her fingers over each other, Aislyn had just begun to believe she’d begun to understand what the Trapped House had turned into when a smooth voice came suddenly from her side, ”Welcome to the Unnayme. What do you want to feel?”

[661]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

She wouldn’t lie, the voice most definitely made Aislyn jump. She had presumed the place to be rather empty apart from the woman on the couch, though evidently she was wrong. The illusionist turned to meet the voice, finding a man of maybe twenty, thirty years of age addressing her. Presumably he worked at the house, the stereotypical how may I serve you greeting signaling her out with an unfortunately friendly smile that made Aislyn oddly uncomfortable. Really, it wasn’t all that odd. Plenty of things were unfortunately friendly, and people had never been Aislyn’s strong point.

For a moment, she found herself caught off guard. She’d been asked the same question before, though by a different man and with different words in a building that actually wasn’t all that much different. She had stayed quiet then, and had eventually been handed a small cake that made her hear colours. Granted, she had also been of an age that only just barely passed as a teenager, and silence would probably work a lot less well in present time, Aislyn being twenty years old and perfectly capable of normal conversation. Occasionally.

Observing the man, Aislyn kept her voice resigned, “I believe I’m just curious for now.” She had never been very fond of speaking with strangers, or at very least ones that were quite obviously trying to sell her something. Unfortunately, the man was persistent,
”Of course, of course. I do think I know what you would like, though.” For a moment, the woman regarded the man. She never did enjoy strangers assuming things of her, especially in a situation such as the one she found herself in at present. There was something familiar about the way he spoke though, or perhaps his gait. The tone of his voice- or maybe his appearance? His countenance drew her curiosity as much as the house did, and it was only after Aislyn realized she was staring did the familiarity make sense. A fellow illusionist, of the first mark.

Immediately, his statement made sense. For a moment, Aislyn hesitated on her next course of action. She should have expected it really- an illusionist- after all, he was working in a house full of man-made dreams. There was nothing Ionu seemed to approve of more than mind-altering substances, and simply by the intoxicating smell Aislyn knew that the business the Unnayme had made itself in was no different than the Trapped House before it.

”No, no. I believe I’ll be fine choosing myself.” Aislyn sensed a bit of disappointment in the man, though his welcoming act never faded. Though she was sure he was trying his best, everything about the man made Aislyn uneasy. His greeting, his happiness, and especially his mark. She could sense him, and that meant he could most likely sense her. Instantaneously, as soon as she had walked through the door she was a target.
And there was no better way to make Aislyn nervous than to have the possibility of being seen through hanging over her head. But for the moment, he knew nothing. An illusionist could sense the mark, not the illusion. Nothing was wrong. Nothing could go wrong. Everything was brilliant, perfectly fine and dandy. She didn’t panic, and she didn’t give anything away; it was that simple.
She was fine.

She just had to remember that.

[566]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

When the man turned on his heels and headed off towards a door in the back, Aislyn found herself awkwardly in the center of the room, hands fidgeting with agitation. Life had been simpler when she was a child. There was no worry of constant unveiling, no possibility of certain doom. All there had been was a single-minded goal of finding some way to get her hands on what she wanted. Which had been narcotics, at the time.
Now, she was hesitant.

Aislyn had sworn off anything mind-altering since she had first created ‘Maya’. First of all, she had neither the mizas nor confidence to find the means to obtain such things when her life simultaneously fell apart and fell into place. Second, the Trapped House disappeared off the face of the earth, leaving a desperate thirteen year old with an appreciation for illusions in a position of being forced to curb her addiction. And finally, she had always been wary of losing concentration; the threat of her illusions flickering was always an underlying concern. But she was no longer a novice illusionist. Her power had quite exponentially grown, and now flickers were very, very rare occurrences. The clenched fist she had always felt keeping her illusions in place was now more of an occasional thought, her mind newly accustomed to the ease at which illusions came to her. She could balance her gnosis with distractions, now, even impromptu interruptions.
All she had to do was trust herself.

Soon enough the man returned, a platter containing everything from a pot of tea to what seemed to be loose seeds rolling about the metal surface, coming dangerously close to tipping over the edge. Leaning towards her, he tipped the metal to display its wares, causing the unnecessary amount of small black circles to roll aggressively towards her. He appeared to be offering the selection for her to choose from, as if she knew which would end her night in a state of death and despair. Or end her life. It was all a game of chance.

”I do recommend the ones on the end there, the little gold pill.” His smile grew bigger, almost impossibly so. Within the candy-like oval appeared to be a slightly less appetizing candy-like oval, neither of which provided any insight as to what it was actually meant to do. ”You know, something easy.” With a wink, the man turned around like he was pulled on strings to meet the next customer at the door.

The only way the situation could be any more suspicious would be if the pills had tiny signs reading ‘eat me’ decorating their plates. Yet somehow, the golden circle was in her palm by the time the platter had been whisked away. Something easy, he said. Asking questions would probably have been a good plan of action, but somehow the avoidance of all social contact with any person Aislyn did not know the name of wasn’t seeming all that appealing anymore. So she stayed quiet, instead finding the darkest corner she could to sit in and pick out her notebook from her bag. Her eyes adjusted quickly, her aptitude for the dark giving her an advantage in the fact that she could see rather decently whilst also being fairly incognito. Perfect.

Rolling the pill between fingers, the illusionist contemplated her options. The place was nearly empty; whoever had distracted the greeter man from offering Aislyn a platter of mistakes had also taken him out of the room for the moment, whether through the front of back door she didn’t know. Perhaps up the stairs, which appeared to be more decorative than functional considering the copious amount of fabrics strewn across them. The woman that had earlier seemed to be filled with more energy than what was healthy was now strung out on the couch, half-closed eyes clearly unfocused, even from the distance Aislyn was at. Overall, it seemed as close to privacy as the woman was going to get.
More than that, though, she was curious. It had been many years- at very least six- since she had paid tribute to her deity of illusions through the worship of perhaps his most famous blessings. After all, she had always regarded him as privy to the domain of all mind-altering substances, not just the illusionary kind. Her gnosis power was strong, her faith stronger, and Ionu would surely never lead her astray.

What was the worst that could happen?

[753]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

As soon as the pill touched her tongue, Aislyn was reminded of precisely what the worst that could happen was. The outside was sweet, but the honey soon dissolved, leaving a taste as foul as the inner circle had seemed to be in her mouth. Evidently, it seemed that the drug was meant to be swallowed, not chewed.
Obviously, her experience with these sorts of things had faded over time.

Opening her notebook to a fresh page, Aislyn resisted the urge to spit out what remained of the taste. Inspiration. That was what she needed; something to draw, and something that was unrelated to her current circumstances. That was all she had wanted all season, really. A change. Plenty of change had happened, of course, as things always did in Alvadas, but this was different. She wanted change in the way that things had been- always been. There was nothing pleasurable about the way she failed to find sleep at night, or sick feeling in her stomach her usual relaxing walks had been giving her. Even once the shadows in the corner of her eyes had faded, the paranoia hadn’t; yet now she was looking for the monsters not in the shadows, but in the faces of every person she met on the street. Anyone could be hiding ulterior motives. It was shocking she hadn’t realized it before; trust was fool’s work, and it was something she had recently begun to avoid at all costs.
Unfortunately, the irony of the situation became clear as soon as she thought of such a thing.

She’d put trust in the suspicious rendition of a childhood place she could only haphazardly remember, in the greeter man that had offered her a selection of substances that might very well be deadly, and perhaps most offensively, she had trusted in herself. She couldn’t be trusted to do this- to choose the right direction, to pick the right poison, to keep her illusions intact. Her mind was playing as many tricks on her as Ionu on a near-daily basis, and there was really no reason for her to wait around expecting some sort of epiphany to save her from the failure that was her art process. Just sit around, waiting for inspiration to strike. No wonder she’d been having trouble creating anything deemable to be decent in recent days. She had been lazy, useless. An utter fool.
And what had she gotten herself into now?
What was she thinking, that just by walking into someplace vaguely reminiscent of her childhood she could somehow relive those times? That some pill that would more readily kill her than give any sort of desirable effect would miraculously bring her back to before? Before, when she didn’t have to hide, when she didn’t have nightmares, when she didn’t go into a panic over the touch of a stranger’s hand, or perhaps a misplaced word. When trust was something that came as naturally as sleep, instead of something dangerous and misplaced. But nothing could change what had already transpired, and nothing could repair what had been done.

To believe something like that was insanity, and there was a fine line between wistful thinking and delusion.

Putting a palm to her forehead, Aislyn tried to comprehend her stupidity. This was all just as much an illusion as anything else in the damned city; it was more than likely that she’d just willingly drugged herself with something that would probably have consequences, but it was also more than likely that she couldn’t do anything about that now. All she could do was leave this place and hopefully make it back home before anything went horribly awry. Which, her living in Alvadas, was entirely possible. Ionu was, after all, infamous for making things go horribly awry. Even- or perhaps especially- to their followers.

Standing up, Aislyn had just turned her back on the majority of the room to repack her backpack when yet another starling voice came from behind her. Except this time, it didn’t sound like the friendly greeter man at the door.

”Lyn?”

[687]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

So that was what the pill was. A hallucinatory drug that-
”Aislyn?”
-that caused auditory hallucinations most likely based around the mental state of the user-
”Don’t you recognize an old friend?”
-and prayed upon poor hapless souls in need of some wretched entertainment or masochism or otherwise rather disturbing way of getting a rise out of memories that really should never be relived. That was all it was. It wasn’t real. She could leave. She could just get up and go, and hope she left the voices behind her. Yet her hands wouldn’t grasp her backpack, wouldn’t slip her notebook back into the pocket it came from and put the charcoal back in its pouch. Her hands, evidently, were too busy shaking.

Nobody called her Aislyn. No one was allowed to. It was something she rarely thought about anymore; something that she had almost come to expect. She barely responded to the word in the rare case that her mother decided to use her full name, and even then it was rare. Usually it was darling, or my flower, or something equally typical. There had been a period of time where her mother had simply referred to her as daughter, to which she had no qualms. Really, it was rare that she was called anything at all. If her mother said anything aloud, Aislyn heard it. She didn’t need to be addressed.
Beyond her mother, no one had the ability to refer to her as ‘Aislyn’. Nobody knew, and it was perhaps her best kept secret. After all, no one could force her to reveal her name, force her to tell them anything she didn’t want to say. Every name was just more assurance, more confidence in herself. Every name was a well-pulled-off lie, and no one had caught her yet. While illusions may be fickle, her names were always solid.
But it hadn’t always been that way.

Of course Aislyn recognized the voice. There was no way for her not to. Her mind may have aged him from the last time they had met, but the voice was still the same. A cruel joke that was, too. Her own mind betraying her in trying to make her believe he was real.
But he wasn’t.

Abandoning her attempt at putting away her possessions, Aislyn turned to meet her illusion. That’s all he was after all, an illusion. And he couldn’t hurt her. He wasn’t like other illusions- stronger ones, ones with the ability to actually touch and feel- he was simply a figment of her imagination, something her mind had come up with to play tricks on her. She was fine.
Nothing was wrong.

The man stood tall, a good few inches above her now. They had been the same height as children, but with her Zith blood and him being human, he had an advantage. His hair fell in the same chopped white waves it always had, his skin still shades of colour above hers. His brow was creased, reflective of the way it had been in a permanent frown since they had met, regardless of his mood. She had learned to read when he was actually angry, or when it was just his face playing tricks on her quite quickly. But now that skill had faded with time, and he was once again a mystery. But now she was facing him, and that had given him power.
”It’s been so long. We’ve both changed.” His gaze wandered from him to the room around him, and then back to her. He regarded her closely, Maya still strongly in place of the woman below the illusion. He couldn't see her, yet he knew who she was. ”Some more than others.”
There were aspects about him that were unreal; things that Aislyn could convince herself were further proof of his nonexistence. His hand was wrapped in bandage, presumably to cover a wound Aislyn had inflicted over six years prior. By all means, it would have healed by now. Except there was no now. His gait was also much more threatening; smooth and intimidating, than the carefree friend Aislyn had remembered. Of course, they hadn’t ended friends. And that was the problem.

”You’re not real.” It was almost an assurance to herself, as if it would somehow reverse her mistakes and force the poison that she had consumed out of her stomach. After all, whatever it was that she had taken must have been some sort of poison. Poison of the mind. Ionu save her, she was such a fool. ”You don’t belong here, Markis. You’re not real.”

[777]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

”Ah, but what is real, really?” He took a step closer. Aislyn took a step back. Unfortunately, she was the one with her back to the wall. She was hallucinating. None of this was real. She could just walk right past him, leave the building and never look back. ”Illusions aren’t real, yet they’re still important. Ideas aren’t real, yet they’re important too. Everything’s just in your head, really.” He tapped his skull, mocking her. ”Including me. And how’d I get in here?”

Aislyn’s hand wrapped around her wrist, nails digging into her skin until she swore she’d bleed if her grip tightened any more. For a moment, she stood silent. She was having a conversation with herself. She was still in the Trapped House- rather, the Unnayme- and she was still sitting there, or standing there, or something. She was real. He was not. If she just closed her eyes and took a deep breath, she could push past this. She could just convince herself none of this mattered, that everything was alright, and she’d be fine. It was just an illusion.
Pushing her fingers into her eyes, she massaged her eyelids, letting swirls of colour dance about her vision until she was sure he was gone. It was quiet again. She was free. Yes, that was all she needed. To clear her mind and just tell herself to get over it. Nothing was wrong.

Yet when she opened her eyes, it appeared things had gotten worse. She was in an alleyway, now. There was nothing familiar about it, either. It was just barren, and cold. She could feel the nighttime air, the chill of the breeze playing across her skin. That was something most dreams lacked- touch. Things could be seen and things could be heard, but somehow nothing was ever touched. And this was most definitely not a dream.
Aislyn couldn’t say she’d never had dreams like this before. Nightmares, rather. But she’d always been immersed in those, and something had always been off. The time of day was always changing, details always fudged and destroyed. But there was none of this now. It was almost like she was in a dream, except the dream wasn’t being viewed through a usual, dirtied lens. It was clear, unclouded. It was real. And Aislyn knew she wasn’t dreaming.

That somehow made it worse.

From somewhere ahead of her, a child’s laughter could be heard. Walking towards it, her footsteps echoed impossibly, though not unrealistically. That was the problem. There was nothing disturbing or monstrous about the situation. She wasn’t helpless or at the mercy of a nightmare, she was just there. Everything about her was the same, she was just a spectator in a series of events she knew the ending to. And somehow, she got the impression she wasn’t going to like the next story.

Moving farther forward she came to a clearing, where a small figure stood next to one several heads taller. In front of them was a magnificent display of Ionu’s power- a pod of floating fish, in all colours and sizes. They gave off a soft glow that, together, illuminated the surroundings like Leth himself had come down to Mizahar, bringing his light with him.
The smaller figure pulled the larger one forward, pointing towards the illusions. She was saying something Aislyn couldn’t hear, yet knew every word. After all, she had been the one to say them. Look, look, I’ll show you something. Don’t be afraid, they won’t bite…

”...after all, they’re just illusions.” As Aislyn came into earshot, she heard more of the conversation.

”L, you know how I feel about these sorts o’ things. Let’s go back home, lass. It’s gettin’ late.”

”Oh please, just a few more chimes! I’ve got something to show you...”

[644]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

The girl ran forward, towards the illusions, and Aislyn remembered her every move. The concentration it had taken to manipulate such a big illusion so soon after her marking. She hadn’t been used to it. But she had done it, and she had been proud. Yet from her current standing- just a few yards away from the man, who was turned away from her- she could hear something she hadn’t heard that night. A soft murmuring, of her name, a pleading murmuring, almost desperate. Then it grew louder.

”Lass, get back here. T’ats dangerous, get back!”

”Oh, but Taji! Isn’t it wonderful? Look, I can change their colours, oh and so much more! I can even do it to myself!”

This was the part she remembered most potently. She’d created her first illusion- her first mask- and modelled it after someone she’d thought her mentor would have loved. His daughter. Darker skin, darker hair. A blue dress; the one he’d said she’d been wearing the night she disappeared. Dark brown eyes and freckles, all over her face. She’d thought it was perfect. But it had been a mistake. She remembered the shocked look in his eye, the shaking in his shoulders and the hand over his mouth. She remembered the sudden, inexplicable sense of dread that she’d done something wrong.
And oh, she most definitely had.

Next his hand had raised, and-

Aislyn took a step, half a tick of hesitation before she ran forward, stepping in between the man and the girl. She caught his wrist, the blow that would have hit the girl stopped still in the air. The blow that would have struck her face, breaking her nose in an instant with no warning whatsoever. The blow that would have stung for much more than the time it took for the injury to heal, his open palm more ingrained in her mind than on her skin. The blow that would have knocked her to the ground, her hands flown up to her face and her illusions dissipated as the ringing in her ears was accompanied by a screaming- a horrible screaming- about what she had done.

And what had she done?

It had been years since these events had transpired, yet she had never forgotten. Markis had forced her into hiding, Taji had forced her into hiding how she was hiding. From that point on, her mark had been shown to no one, her illusions never faltered, and her name...

”Aislyn?”

Her teeth gritted, her shaking fingers were suddenly tightening around a wrist other than her own. She remembered his hands grasping her wrist, pulling her up off the ground. Telling her to never, never do that again. Then he had gone. Her mentor, her adoptive father, up and leaving like everyone else had.

This isn’t real.

All of sudden the thought came back. She was hallucinating. None of this was real- she couldn’t change the past. Nothing could go back and repair what was broken. Nothing could go back and repair what was broken. Closing her eyes, she tried to force the image away. She was in the Unnayme, in the hazy warmth of the fabric-clothed room. There was a woman laying in the corner, half-asleep or perhaps half-dead. There were faint voices in the next room, discussing purchase, or perhaps business. Every once in awhile there was laughter, drunken laughter. That was where she was. Not “here”, not anywhere.

But yet, the scene had changed again. Another alley. An awful lot of things seemed to happen in alleys, but nothing ever good. This time it was dark. Strangely dark, actually. Usually her eyes had saved her from blindness at night, but that particular rotation had been a moonless one, Zintila’s lights hidden behind clouds. And then there was a soft-spoken voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The voice of someone that had caught her stealing one too many times. ”You know what you’ve done.”

She was terrified, had been terrified. No longer was she watching from an outside position, now she was in her own eyes. She had heard the quiet unsheathing of a knife, a knife that had been rather unnecessarily sharp. It slid across the side of her face, the flat edge cold against her skin. She had grasped for it, and then it had moved quickly, flashing silver just beside her eye. After that, it was gone, and it had taken the top of her ear with it.
You wouldn’t think an ear would bleed much, but it did. The knife matched the deed- the blade was unnecessarily sharp with the effect of an unnecessary amount of blood.
”There are consequences, child. There are always consequences.”

Now, she knew that voice to have been the voice of a Speaker. Not a popular one, either, not one she could put a face to. She had regularly stolen mizas to buy soup and bread, occasionally something sweet. By then her mother's mind had all but left her, and she barely had the right to sleep at night, never mind eat. So she had turned to theft; and, like a thief, she had been caught. All her punishment had been was another declaration of the city, convincing her nothing she could do would be right. It was meant to scare her. No guidance, no help. No one to turn to as even her mother slipped further and further into insanity. She was left in yet another alleyway, yet again alone, nursing yet more wounds someone else had inflicted upon her.

She had been seventeen.

OOCHappy 500 posts

[941]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

Now, she was changing things. She didn’t sit in a state of shock on the cold ground, the dampness from the recent rain seeping into her clothes to mix with the growing red stain on her shoulder. She had never really washed all the blood out of her hair. After that, she hadn’t really done much of anything. After all, it was hard to find things to do when you didn’t leave the house for three years.

There had been a lot of drawing.

The streets drew on, empty and barren, not a single distinguishable building in sight. Would this stretch on infinitely, just as the streets seemed to do? The woman hoped not. Being trapped in her own mind temporarily was bad enough; being trapped in it permanently was a hell she didn’t plan on experiencing anytime soon. But yet there she was, walking on. Turning a corner, Aislyn dragged a hand across a building, admiring the quiet. It was obvious this couldn’t be real, because Alvadas was never so serene. Pulling her hand away, the woman felt something rather peculiar coming away as her touch left the wall. Dust. On the side of a building. A peculiar place for dust to settle, really.
Looking around, Aislyn attempted to place herself again. Not dust, but ash was covering the walls of the buildings, giving them a monotone, grey hue. This one was very much familiar to the illusionist, and far more recent. Of course she’d be brought here. Because what else could go wrong?

Dragging her hands along the fabric of her shirt to clean them, the grey streaks left marks on the white cloth. Above her, the sun seemed to pass by at a much quicker pace than what seemed natural, as if Syna was in a rush to let Leth take over. Voices- her introduction to many of these memories, it seemed- came from ahead.

”Miss Maya, Miss Maya, Miss Maya! It's Phobius! We need your help!”

Phobius had shown up on her doorstep that day with a panic in his eyes she’d never really seen before with the boy. Of course, she knew why. That morning an explosion had shattered Alvadas, turning all it touched to stone. Aislyn’s own home- and her inside it- was missed by mere feet, the crumbling walls of the buildings neighboring it nearly crushing her when everything came tumbling down. Then Phobius had come along, and had brought unfortunate company. From her position, she could see his face clearly as he studied her home, studied her.
Her teeth gritted, but she reminded herself. None of this was real.
Forcing herself to look away, she found the light dancing across the street, shadows moving much more rapidly than they really should have. Above her, Syna skipped across the sky. Time had jumped ahead, and the scene had changed. Now, in places of voices, there was yelling. The group had moved, and she remembered the walk well. Through the destruction, a land of black and grey that no one but them three seemed to know had happened at all. People had died, and nothing had been said. Not a shout, not a whisper.

From a distance, she observed herself. Her other self turned the corner into a clearing, growing closer to where Aislyn watched her from. Knowing full well where this was going, the illusionist turned her eyes anywhere but the clearing. Instead, she looked across the distance that separated one sidewalk from the other. The buildings were hazy; obviously, she couldn’t see more than what she remembered, and she hadn’t exactly inspected each house carefully as she had rushed to the aid someone she had considered to be a friend.
A friend who Aislyn knew would soon be discovered, in the center of the clearing, facing dead. Or, at least, very close to being so.

Keeping herself distracted, Aislyn followed the movement of the wind, brushing ash off buildings. Then, across the clearing, something bigger moved. A cloak, the same ash grey as the surroundings, almost invisible in the light. Someone else had been in the clearing.

A scream shrieked across the street- the body had been found- and when Aislyn regained her concentration, the figure was gone. The real question was whether or not she was remembering it, or if she was just falling folly to yet another one of her mind’s tricks.

”Wanda? Wanda, are you awake? What happened here?”

She couldn’t keep watching this. She knew what would happen. Nevertheless, the string continued to unravel. One moment, Wanda was in her arms, and then she lay limp in the arms of the Speaker that had taken her away. The scene skipped along like a stone on a pond, until eventually sinking to the bottom. Leaving her hiding place, Aislyn walked towards the exchange.
The movement slowed again; right before Wanda was taken away, never to return. The Speaker’s hand was extended from the man that held Wanda, first to the snake, then to Phobius, and then to the caricature that was meant to be herself. Unnoticed, she grew closer to the pair until she was close enough to touch them.
Now, things slowed down. The sun no longer flew past, and every motion made was like it was being forced through water. But Aislyn was not slowed, and just as the object passed from the Speaker to her other self, the woman grabbed for it. The damned thing- a “gift”, they’d been told- that was meant to decide the fate of one woman Aislyn might have called a friend.

Stepping through, Aislyn took matters- and the “choice”- into her own hands, throwing it as hard as she could as far away as she could manage. A coin, with good and evil sides, some sort of cryptic message to make them content. To make them think everything was alright, to give them a pat on the head and say don’t worry, little people. We’ll figure everything out for you.

She was no fool. Wanda was dead.

Wanda was dead.

Even as she knew Wanda was held behind her, it had never carried weight in her mind. She’d never accepted it before, but as the coin hit the ashy brick of the wall, shattering into pieces, she knew she accepted it now. Wanda was dead, and they- herself, an enemy, a friend, and the man that had never come back had killed her. Kuvarakh had killed her, the moment he left them all and never returned. Aislyn and the other had killed her with their apathy, with their selfishness. Every breath they had taken that day had sucked the life out of her, every step closer to her demise. It was their fault. It was her fault. She could look behind her now, see the face of the woman she might as well have killed herself. But she didn’t. The woman was gone.

Now, at least, she was content with that.

[1,170]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

Aislyn didn’t look back at the scene again. Staring up at the sky, she watched as Syna’s light marched onwards, until hesitating just as her rays hit the edge of the sky. The sun stalled at its set, just before dark. Dusk. It was dusk. What happened at dusk?

Walking along the ashy streets, Aislyn was struck with a sudden thought. These streets weren’t real- just as Taji and Markis and Wanda weren’t real- yet she was walking along them. This wasn’t a dream; she wasn’t trapped inside her own head. It was very possible she was up and walking around, yet not seeing or hearing anything she was actually doing. What if she walked into something- or someone? When would this end?

”How’s it been?” Apparently, it wasn’t ending soon. ”You know, without me.”

Pushing her hair back with her hands, Aislyn began to pace. Moving was a bad idea, but she needs to know. Location. Check surroundings. A grounding technique she had used for panic attacks. She was losing herself. None of this was real. Not one bit of it. Stay still and think clearly. Stay still and think clearly. A good motto, really. She just needed to focus on that, and nothing could hurt her. Not even herself.

”I would’ve thought you’d have more to say.”

Catching the gaze of the illusion-hallucination, she found that a look of almost dismay at her lack of response. Ionu save her, her mind was possibly the worst possible adversary she could have faced. She hated fighting herself. It was unfortunate she did it so often.
Moving with a purpose, Aislyn pretending everything was alright. She was growing used to this- this hallucination land. It was just one big illusion. And she had power; this wasn’t a dream where she was powerless to the actions around her. It was just like real life. Except, of course, not.
Up the street, Aislyn caught sight of yet another hazy figure. The woman recognized it as herself, though her hair still fell heavily over her shoulders, meaning it couldn’t have been recent. Pulling at the loose strands on the side of her head, Aislyn sighed. It was slightly longer now, but the jaggedness of the knife-inflicted cut hadn’t faded. She had never liked short hair.

Now only a few yards behind the figure, Aislyn investigated further. Her hair was long, yes, but something else was off. The hair was dark, nowhere near Maya’s blonde. The Aislyn she was seeing harbored no illusions, meaning this was easily many, many years ago. Still, she didn’t recognize the situation. What happened at dusk?

Several more figures came into the picture, a group of teenaged boys, it seemed. It was then Aislyn knew where she was. An empty feeling of dread filled her chest, like something rather heavy had sat atop her. Once again, her eyes drew back to the figure she stood just a leap away from. She wore a blue dress, the back low and the front high. She couldn’t see the front of the garment, of course, but she knew it already. It had been beautiful, a perfect summer’s dress, especially in Alvadas. It shimmered blue-green in the light, tiny beads of colour sewn into the design. Her mother had given it to her as a birthday present. Thirteenth birthday. It was hot, and she’d gone on a walk in the heat. She’d been so happy.
And then, like a lot of things, that happiness had been violently extinguished.

They had been new to the city- she had known it the moment she laid eyes on them. Their whispers had begun almost the moment she had come into their view; she had been tempted to cross the street to escape their gaze. They were all older than her, of course, and she was alone. Danger, danger, she had thought. But she had stood her ground.
Of course, standing one’s ground had never been a good idea. Not then, and not now. She moved out of the way on the sidewalk to the group, her back now towards them. It was then that someone pointed, someone shouted, and then something sharp caught her back.

The first rock had just been thrown when Aislyn stepped in.

Their accents were unclear, though Aislyn recognized at least one as the same place Taji had hailed from. Syliran, armed with hatred and the righteous anger that many young men had. And her crime- in their eyes- was revealing a trait she hadn’t revealed since. Her shoulders, and, by extent, her back. Her back, where bones stuck out prominently against skin stretched tightly that easily tore when sharp rocks were dragged along it. Bones that, to any eye familiar with the concept, were much alike to the beginning of the wings that characterized the Zith. She had never known the hatred of the race that the majority of the world held, until that day. That day, she had learned that there was a world outside of Alvadas, and it was a world that was very much unkind. The rocks had been thrown in the beginning, then as their numbers grew they turned to more direct methods, jagged stones and even street glass weapons in mutilation. Not thrown, but dragged. That had been the worst part. Even though she knew it wasn't real, the woman found some innate need to stop the scene from progressing.

Against all common sense, the Aislyn of the now somehow took some wicked pleasure in saving the Aislyn of the then, and it was no sooner that she had remembered the feeling of the slow crawl of agonizing pain of something keen drawn across her back that she had thrown herself into the midst.
What was past might stay past, but that didn't stop her from taking satisfaction in changing it.

[984]

[Aislyn Leavold]

Smoke and Mirrors
30th of Fall, 516 AV
Twentieth Bell

This isn’t real. Why do you care? Nothing here is real, nothing here will matter. Nothing could go back and repair what was broken. Nothing could repair what was broken.

Yet there she was, fumbling for her sheathed knife to draw against four or five men- albeit young, cocky men- that were nothing but figments of her imagination. Or rather, her memories. She remembered each and every one of them clearly. The loudest one had bright red hair and freckles that hid eyebrows that met in the middle, the one that had edged the others on. There was the one that never picked up a rock- though not out of kindness- with long brown hair and a malicious smile. Zith bitch, he had called her. A lot of times, too. There was the one that threw the first rock, with cracked spectacles and a crooked nose. There was the one that had found the glass shard, had carved stripes into the skin of her shoulderblades in a way that never fully healed.
And then there was him.

He stood heads taller above the others, though he hadn’t at the time. He was the same one that had been following her around, hallucination to hallucination, story to story. This was how she had met him. This was how she thought she’d met her first real friend. He’d picked her up when the others had left, her back in bloody tatters and her face red for more reasons than one. Blood had seeped into her hair, had drawn stripes along her shoulders and neck. He’d said he was sorry, that he didn’t know why his friends had done that. He’d said he was different.
Now, she stared him in the eyes and knew he was not.

This time, she wouldn’t need picking up. This time Aislyn was fending them off herself, saving herself. She didn’t need anyone. She didn’t need him, or Taji, or Wanda or Kuvarakh, or anyone. All she needed was herself, and perhaps the good graces of Ionu on her side. He stood still, staring at her, as she swung the knife threateningly at the crowd. Their jeers didn’t cease. Little whore. Zith waste. Cowardly bitch. They weren’t meant for her, of course, but the cowering girl on the ground behind her, gasping at a welt that had begun to emerge on the back of her shoulder. But the recipient of the cries didn’t matter. Nothing had changed.
The question was whether or not nothing ever would.

The crooked nose one came forward, and she swung at him. She caught his shoulder as he turned to try and dodge her, tearing the thread in his shirt. Blindly, she slashed again, and this time her wrist was caught by a hand, pushing her off balance. And suddenly, the figures were gone, and she was on the darkened streets of Alvadas. She fell backwards into brambles, swallowed up by the bushes.

Unlike before, it was clear where she was.

She was fifteen years old, crouched back behind leaves and branches of a bush that glowed an illusionary green in the night. One of Alvadas’ many tricks, of course, but no less real. She had held up her crossbow, edged on by a boy she’d believed to be her friend. Her fingers had wrapped tightly around the trigger, threatening to release if she so much as sucked in a breath too quickly. She’d never meant to hurt anyone, of course. She’d never raised a weapon in an attack in her life- all the arrow was meant to do was scare some poor sod enough to give her something to laugh about. But it had done more than that, hadn't it? Landing itself right in the center of the chest of a man Aislyn had never known, and never would know.
Of course, every move had been planned by him- the man that Aislyn would never know turned out to be his father, a murder Markis had plotted for seasons, until just the right circumstance presented itself. She had been just another piece in his game, a puppet for him to control. Now, as she looked back upon it, the death of the man didn’t sting anymore. She had killed since then; perhaps not so unintentionally so, but she had. She had wielded a crossbow since then, shot a target since then. But it hadn’t been the same. She had been young. She had been betrayed. She had sat above the body of the man she had murdered and looked up to see the man that had made her kill him. He had offered her a hand- a red, blood-stained hand- and what had he said?

”Come with me, Lyn.” All of a sudden she was in the same place she had been seven years before, down to the crooked smile that played across his mouth. ”We were partners. We could still be partners.”

Her response then had been to drive a crossbow bolt through his palm, severing the skin and muscle with a force she didn’t know she had within her. She’d hit him so hard she had caught a glimpse of the shining crimson glint of the arrowhead emerging out of the other side of his hand. She’d thought she could banish him through that one move, like it would get rid of him without killing him.
She couldn’t have killed him, not then. Now was a different story.
Reaching towards his hand just as she had before, something occurred to her. Everything was the same, apart from one small detail. His hand was already bandaged from the wound she hadn’t yet inflicted, the same way it had been when she’d first seen him when the drug had taken hold. And then, with that hint, reality came calling. She’d forgotten again. None of this was real.

A younger Aislyn had needed him, had taken his hand, and a younger Markis had smiled at her. She’d let herself fall into his trap once and paid for it, so she’d thought by escaping she’d stop herself from ever falling into anyones trap ever again.
Oh, how wrong she had been.

Her palm hovered above the bandaged hand. She hadn’t finished anything that night. All she’d done was put off the inevitable.

”I knew you’d understand.”

[1,070]