The abyss stared back, bottomless and swirling. Black clouds hovered within the endless pit, rising like the steaming of dry ice. It was a sight horrifying as much as it was captivating, the very face of infinity. To feel so tiny, so powerless. It hummed and it vibrated, yet at the same time remained so eerily still. Absolutely silent.
Celysiel stood at the edge, balancing on a piece of barren land. She could feel it hard beneath her bare feet, dust rising from below to flutter with the white fabric of her night gown, a reminder of innocent days. Yet somehow, there was no wind. Objects moved without its force, defying the laws of nature. The very land seemed to defy the laws of nature, for it was unbearably cold, yet somehow the temperature could not be felt. Thick darkness spread across the horizon, concealing all from view. There was only the abyss.
Still, somehow this vast emptiness seemed quite familiar.
After all, it was not entirely without light. It took a while to realise this. There was a source of light somewhere in the back, reaching out to the wretched corner of land where she stood. The rays did not pierce past the abyss, but it was close and that was comforting enough. All she needed to do was to turn and-
Do not look behind.
The young elf froze, wide eyes still locked in the abyss. It kept humming with the echo of absent wings swirling in the nothingness below. Was it the dark speaking, commanding? Was its desire to captivate her so dire? No, it could not have her. Curiosity could not possibly be resisted.
Do not look behind.
No, she knew that voice. Or better yet, she once had. Just as well as she could think. Just as well as she could breathe. Ancient, deep certain. Celysiel remained still. For the voice was now pleading. Aching.
Do not look behind.
Yet with every word uttered, that name born on her lips, the name she so longed to call out and beckon, claim the voice for herself, would not come. For with every word uttered, the mist was coiling around her mind, a blurr of forgetfulness. Whose was that voice? Oh, she had once known, she had once known all too well. Someone important? ... No. A stranger. An imprisoned stranger.
Do not look behind.
Celysiel spinned on her toes, the white of her gown dancing with her to for once more flutter behind her. She turned.
Behind her stood a brilliant city.
It was radiant, yet somehow not blinding. Warm, but its temperature remained elusive for the skin. Golden structures rose beyond and above its walls, glittering and shining softly, but brilliantly. Elegant domes and piercing rooftops reached for the sky, putting its dull black to shame. So clear was the light that it appeared to be made out of glass, crystalized. A frail, rare beauty in the midst of bleakness.
The City of Lights.
That Celysiel recognized in a heartbeat. But it was not faraway and distant as the tale claimed. Here it was, at best three steps away. All hers for the taking. Even so, the apprentice did not make an approach. Her green eyes sought the gilded gates, those which the story would have to be shut, but now were wide open. As if to oppose to the story's accuracy for once more, a figure stood by them. Awful. Chilling.
She was just like Celysiel remembered her to be, but also different in so many aspects. The woman still wore that same white dress, torn at the shoulders and the hips which revealed so much skin, pale like that of the frozen dead. Her lips and the area around her discoloured, thin eyes was still black, bruised. But her disheveled alabaster locks were longer, reaching well past the ground to sweep the dust beside her. Cracks emiting amethyst smoke were not now only located at the chest; they encompassed the woman almost entirely, as if she were a porcelain doll who had known little love, or care. Shards of glass were lodged between the crevices of the skin, though they did not appear like stabbing wounds. This was something broken.
But the biggest of all differences was that this time, the woman was holding something. A silver cage, oval shaped with ornamental vines born from the bottom to reach upwards. An avian creature was trapped within, of black flesh and oozing amethyst essence. Celysiel's heart skipped a beat. No, it was no proud eagle - why had she thought it would be? The little sparrow barely moved, its wings folded over its frail form. It appeared wounded, ill. Yet any sympathy born for the being, any desperate, inexplicable desire to protect it, rescue it faded from memory, just like that voice... But wait. What voice?
Yet the woman was not so easily forgotten. The Other, the Twisted Reflection still possessed the very same grin of mockery and radiated the same darkness. Yet somehow, it did not seem to contest the light of the brilliant city, neither erasing it, nor being smothered by it. The two co-existed wonderfully. Grimly. Naturally, yet so unnaturally.
"It is done." the Twisted Reflection spoke. Her voice did not echo shrilly, as had been expected. It was surprisingly soft, kind. Yet always with an underlying sense of wrongness. "You have crossed the abyss."
Celysiel hesitated, her hand beginning to rise to her chest... But why? Its fist was left lingering somewhere near the midriff as she looked at the one who so eagerly haunted her. "What is this?" she asked. "Why am I here?"
"You have crossed the abyss." the Twisted Reflection repeated. "You have reached the City of Lights. This is the end of the path. The end of this story. Is this not what you always wanted?"
Slowly, the apprentice shook her head. She tried to step back, yet her leg would not obey. Curious. It was not numb, nor was an inexplicable force pinning her. Was it reluctance? Perhaps it was. Maybe this was not how the story was meant to go.
The Other watched with her piercing stare. "I will not harm you." she assured, tilting her head to the side, the angle unworldly. "You need not fear me anymore. Those days are long gone. You are where you are meant to be."
"I am not-" Celysiel uttered, stammering, pausing. Oblivion was sweet, a warm blanket above the abyss. She could barely remember the sentence she wished to push forth. "Afraid. Of you."
Her false reflection looked at her, the constant smirk almost knowing, ever so mocking. "Is this not what you always wanted?" she repeated. Her hand reached out, palm facing upwards and slender digits lightly curling. "Come."
It felt like the offer of salvation, the offer of damnation. Celysiel did not run. One pale hand met the other, fingers interlocked as if they had met their perfect match. Very gently, the Void-broken woman pulled the one of a true reality, now ever so distant, close to herself. And if from the cage came a single whisper, it was drowned by the howling silence.
Together they crossed the crystal arch, surrendering to light more blinding than any manner of shadow.
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