2023-11-12: Gestation of a Witch

• Log: 2023-11-12: Gestation of a Witch
• Cast: Teletha Testarossa, Teletha "Tessa" Testarossa, Teletha Mantissa
• Where: Goragon
• Date: During the Events of Mazinger Infinity's Finale UC 0097
• Date: U.C. 0097 11 12
• Summary: A girl reflects. A girl wonders. A girl weeps. A girl tries to make sense of herself. She doesn't succeed, but she isn't failing.

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The horizon glimmers. It flashes, it rips through, it swallows the TDD-1. A submarine swept in, the gateway accepting all in its grasp. A Captain raising an arm to block out the sudden shine of light, falling into the deep strangeness of an engine far beyond mortal means, to find herse-

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Ḯ̸̩̠͋ ̵̨͍͝c̶͗̓ͅa̶̧̞̿n̵͔̬̐'̸̘̾̆ͅt̷̟̎ ̶̢̥͝g̵̠̓o̵̢̪̿͂ ̵̞̿b̴̹̯̐͠ą̸̫̓͘c̷̃̆ͅk̶͈͋͝.̷̢̟̄ ̶̹̋͘N̸̺̅o̸̙͆͠ ̴̢͖̈́m̸̫̃͠a̶̳͆̋͜ẗ̷̹́̈́t̸̜̀e̴͖͘r̵̫͔͘̚ ̶̯̦̔ḧ̸̤͈͘ơ̵̤w̷̰̽̕ ̶̡͎̐̇h̴̳̾̔ȧ̸̝̰͊ṟ̶̎ḍ̵͆ ̶̲̞̉Ì̶͈͛ ̵̧͆t̸͙͉͝r̵͕͐̐y̶͓͊,̵̱͠ ̶̞͉́I̴̢̝͛̈́'̴̢́l̴̰̮̐ĺ̵̮ ̸̘̔͊n̵̞̤̿̌e̵͚̽̎v̴͖̰̀e̷͖̻̿̓r̷̢̼̒̾ ̵̰͠h̷̢̬̐͝ȧ̶͓̳ṿ̴̱̀̚e̸͈͆̓ ̶̖̏t̴̼͌h̷̢͌̒o̴͖̕s̷̺̽e̵̝̾͌ ̸̟̄̇d̷̤̃͑a̶̧͘͝y̶̢͑̊s̵̰͘ ̴̤̺̒ã̷̺̬̅g̵̫̋͘a̶̮̓̕i̶͑̋ͅn̶̼̓.̸̠̤͋̆

[无]

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BGM: https://youtu.be/PxxAmlmVvQ4?si=OsTYGR7ZqXB6oWKQ - Apathy - zts

Idyllic.

At the end of the road, there is a house. At the sides of the road, maple trees are in full bloom. At the start of the road, there is a bustling city. At the front of the house, stands Teletha Testarossa.

A cap, emblazoned with the logo of Mithril. A jacket, to stifle the cool breeze wafting in from the coastline. Skirt and leggings, to also brace herself from the cold. Her hair, tied back.

She has never seen this place. She has inhabited this place all her life. She doesn't know where this place is. She knows the coordinates on instinctual recall. As she glances around, there is a tree in the distance, oddly out of focus, oddly colored, shaped, twisted, gnarled, forcefully snapping into curves and back.

She does not give it a second thought. It only takes a few steps for the door to open, the aged wood, the rusty hinges creaking as it opens for her and her alone.

Teletha steps in. There is nothing signaling someone lived here. Bare hardwood flooring. White walls. A floor plan of a family house, meant for a pair. It only takes one walkaround. There's nothing. Nothing to show that life was here, clean, sterile, empty.

Her footsteps follow a familiar path. The porch. The foyer. The dining room. The great room. The bedroom. The master bedroom. The closets, dual. The master bathroom. The kitchen. The breakfast room. The utility room. The garage. The bedroom. The second bedroom. The bathroom. The porch behind. The shed in the back. The door.

There is no hesitation in her steps. The rooms are bare. The rooms are wiped clean. There are no memories etched here. There are no signs of habitation here. There is nothing but a fascmile of a house, waiting for people who will never come, for life to decorate these halls.

There is a door in the great room. Teletha stands in front of it, a face maintaining a mask of apathy. This door. This door wasn't here.

[When wasn't it here?]

Theoretically, this door leads to the master bedroom. There was never a door here.

[Of who?]

Her face twists. Interrogating herself like this, in this world. It's so obvious. There's a glance outside. More things are glitching. Warping. Of course. Of course.

[Who lived in this place?]

It twists. Her mouth twists, pursing into a thin line, a sniffle escaping her lips. Grabbing the brim of her hat, pulling it down. Trying. Trying to contain the dam inside, the restraint, the mask, the everything.

Her fist thumps on that door, that that door that wasn't in her memories, that door that was the only abberation in this place that she knew, that she loved, that she cherished, of the parents she could never see again, of the brother she despises, of the life she only knew a deacde and some ago.

[I'll always miss them. Remember when I visited their graves? The same speech. The same flowers.]

There's no stopping her tears, the open-wailing agony of an orphan that walked through a house that she'll never step foot in again, of the mother she'll never run up to with the bright-eyed curiosity of what she has in her arms, of a father who loved talking with his comrades in the porch. The unceasing flood of sorrow, of pain that has no physicality, of a world that was wantonly cruel due to a singular coincidence. Three minutes. Three minutes of probability in the infinite timespan to sentence her to this in one moment.

Seconds pass. Minutes pass. Hours pass. Maybe they do. Maybe they don't. Teletha sits across from that door, light shining in from outside. The hat is crumpled, used as a makeshift tissue as she sniffles, wiping her reddened eyes. How long has it been? Even in the confines of her own mind, to have this crack so?

"...I can't stop here." Rational. Tamp it back down. It hurts. Every day, it digs into her soul. Even pushing it back down, the palpable feeling of the azure black gouging that bit deeper into her being, the painful shave and paint to disguise the infesting emotional spike growing into her body, ravaging everything. A final sniffle, looking up from the floor.

The door is open. There are stairs with no handrail.

"...Mom. Dad." A whisper. "Thank you for everything." ...One day, she'll have to say that to their graves. When everything is over. Even after visitng their graves, year after year, the things she still hadn't said to them...

[How long will that take?] {If I knew, I wouldn't be like this.} [I know. But how long?] {Don't give me that.} [You know you don't have to repent.] {I can, I will, and you have no say in it.} "Two out of three, overruled." {See? Agreement.}

A deep breath in. A deep breath out. Slowly standing up, gazing at the snot-filled, tear-saturated TDD-1 hat. There's a failed attempt to brush it clean, before standing up to wash off the majority with the pure, clear water from the kitchen sink.

It eventually sits on the front porch, on the chair where Carl Testarossa used to sit. There's a moment to stare at it, to imagine herself seeing that memory of her father's laughter as he slings back a beer, pulling her in for a bearhug.

['Look at her! Growing up just like her older brother.' like he used to say.] {He's too far gone.} "Quiet."

The hat is left there, a false garment on a chair of a house that exists only in memories and all realities except this one, glitching in and out.

Her jacket needs no deep cleaning, only a minor brush of the reminder of her permanently ingrained grief here and there. To lay it in the great room, on a couch that wasn't there before.

['My little girl is growing up big and strong!' like she used to say.] {At least we got her good looks, didn't we?} "QUIET."

---

Ì̴̧̱̹̫̫̆̍̈́'̸̢͚̯̈́̋̃͝m̴̫̦̈́̕ ̴̥̖̱̟̓̍͗̀̐a̷̙̱͂̔͋̏̈t̸̗̣͒́ ̶̹̘͛̽w̴̡̝̭̓́̏̕͝ä̸̛͍͚̲ř̶̢̯̟̭̰͋͘ ̵̠̝̾͒̈̚ẃ̵̢͔̞͕͋̕į̶̡͖̤̻̿̈́̑́͊ẗ̵̻̗́͆h̶͙͔͉̼̚ ̴̺̎̏́̅m̵̠̺̹̜̖̈̀̿́̈́ẏ̴̢͇̙͌ș̵̨̪͝ȩ̷̢̺͉͐͛ḷ̸̓́̆͝͝f̷̪̞̘̥̊̓̿͐.̵̢͎̾͒̾͋ ̸̻̑̎Ņ̶̹̥̬̈̏̂͝ǫ̷͌ ̶̢̪̼̀m̸̤̞̰̒̊͜a̶̜̒̉t̴̡̛̬͉͋ṱ̶̗̹͎̓ȇ̷̢͎̜̀̏̚͝r̵̙̖͘͝͠ ̵̗̞̈́̀͜͝͠w̷̛͈̉͝ͅh̴͓͂́͆͐ǎ̵̝̼̃t̴̥͋͒̍,̸͎̎̿̍̆̋ ̶̢͝I̵̱̠̍͑̀'̵̘̲͚̜̈́̒l̷̟̗̖̫̈́͑̂̚l̷̡̼̿͠ ̴̟͎͉͙̉͜l̸̫̎̀ṏ̷̼́̑͐͠s̸̫͇͇͚̟͛͒͐ḙ̵̀̾̇͐͝.̷̺́́̚̚

[无]

zero

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BGM: https://youtu.be/T9T17pdMhrY?si=6uOyg4FzTaMhCwjy - far (flat) - zts

Teletha Testarossa starts stepping down those stairs after a final sniffle. One foot in front of the other, like always. There is no basement. There is no door behind her. The stairs lead down, down, down, down, down. Opening out into the endless chasm, the endless void, a dull, muted purple twinkling with white cubes spinning in the back.

[Come on, don't keep us waiting.] {As usual, you're the third that can't leap in.} [Theatrical to the end. Have you looked at the others?] {Of course not, this is her show.} [Figures.]

Teletha remains silent, stepping down with calm. Walking, watching each cube pass by. There's disparate glimpses at the cubes that pass by, walking, descending.

-*-

A normal highschool girl. Celebrating her latest test scores. 75. 61. 59. 84. 90. There's a cheer from the silvernette girl, her hair flowing down. Bright. Cheerful. She passed, it's Friday night, there's summer vacation, there's a cute boy she's keeping her eye on. There's also this girl. Both of them are cute in their own ways, but maybe she should go for one? The other? No, both! Maybe she should ask them both out, there's still the bunnysuit to pull on them! Maybe. Maybe not after what happened with the bodysuits and how she went commando for that, BUT IT'S FINE, the teachers looooove her! There's a few reports of Zeon afoot, a few rumblings here and there, but she doesn't have to worry about that other than the usual evac orders when they come in! Jindai High School has weathered worse, and it'll weather better! Ei, ei, oooooohhhhhhh!

[If you'd hurry up, I'd love to keep reading that on my own time.] "You'll have all the time after I leave." [Bastard.]

-*-

Teletha keeps walking. Watching that cube fade away into the distance, walking downwards. There's something at the end of these stairs. She knows, but she can't say why. Stepping down, step by step.

{So? Why are we here anyways?} [You don't see it? It's because of her.] {Of course I see it, I'm making conversation.} [I know.] {You're terrible at it.} [You're terrible at questioning the obvious.] {Bitch.} [Skank.] "You two..." [Then hurry up. People are waiting for you.] {I could start this right now.} [Don't. You. Dare.]

Another cube passes by. Another glimpse.

-**-

There's the clink of booze, the sound of a job well done. Aaaah, there's nothing like the cold taste of alcohol to wash down a successful deal! Booze, girls, boys, happiness, and a replacement for this singed suit! The jacket's a total loss, completely riddled with bullets and a bit of blood besides. Though, that's what you get when you try to doublecross her! Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug! Another beer stein down! Drinks are on me, food is on me, just push the bodies outta the way! We got ourselves an arms deal, and we're going to make a KILLING! Ha, see what I did there!? I guess this is the sorta job you can only get as an only child with military connections, but it's /goooooood/!

{When did your life turn into a thriller?} [Don't question the obvious.] {That's not even obvious.} {...} [...] "...Yes?" {You're checking yourself out, aren't you.} "...Should I not be?" {She sure hasn't grown, either...} [Quiet.]

-**-

T̵̡͓̬̪̭̰̬͔͎̬̤̹͖̖̮̋̏̔͒̽̑̾̄̏̒͋̾͛̈́̍̚͝h̴̘̜͚͈̺̗̞̘̩̬͔̹̯̭̖͐ī̵͎͚̻̆̓͑̊̏͜͝͝s̷̡̡̻̩͕͖̭̖͓̲̱̦̭̫̮͛̈̃͜͝͝ ̶͔̳̫̲̝̳͊́͘̚͠p̷̛̛̛̩̪̞̊̑̀̿͛̅̔͐̈́̄̌̑͘͘a̸̢͚̫̲̰͕̼̰͍̳̱̼̙̩̹̐̔ț̶̬̝͚̮̈̿͒́́̚͜͠͝ḧ̷̡̛͓͈͖̜̼͎̣͇͉͇̤͚̺̣͚́́̾̀̆̓̈̈́̓̉̿͠ͅ ̴͇͉̲̠͖̝͍̯̖̜͉̞̫̹̠̉̓̊̍̿i̸̢̛̙͍̼͈͙̙͙̖̼̻̘̙̞̪̓͌͗̃̿̈́̈͌̀̑̕͘͜ͅs̶͖̘̊͛̇̐̂͌̽͊̏̈́͆̓n̴̪̱͚̩̰̗͉̱̯̬̣͙͘ͅ'̴̢̝̝̲̰͙̺̣̞̙̠̠̑̂̾͐͌̌͛̍̈́̿͌̓̕͘͝t̶̨̩̊̿͗̈̀̏̈́ ̵̨̽̿̔́̂̅͝f̸̧͕̪̰͌́͐͊̀͝a̶̛̮̅̈̊̈́̈͒̆̀̎̑̉̂̐͝ţ̶͍̟͈̟͕̩͓̠̠̭͔͈̱͈͙̻̂̇̍̀̋̇͛̏̈́̐̒̌͐̕ȩ̶̧̙͖̖̙̯̫̺̲͚͔̫̯̟̜̲͆͋̈́̾͑͐̒̌̈́̔̒̋͆͂̕͠͠,̷̡͍̬͓̣̜͌̃̀͑͆ ̶̛̣̪̫̞̪̦͚͈̰͔̽̀́̃̓̄̽̑̽̽͆͒̍̌͝j̷̨̛͇̗͍̜̮̮̱̮͎̬͍̹̯̮̥͑̆̽́̈́͐̂̋̀͒̽̈̏̎̎̌ụ̷̘̱͖̻͕̱̣̙̮̹͔͕̹̇̈́͛͜s̶͓̯̣̖̱̯̟̟̦̻͕̈́̓̈́̈́͆͝ͅt̶̡̼̹͔͇̳͈̻̼͓̞̩̲̘͋̓͑͗̂͗̉̒̊̇̈́̆̈́̍̆̂ ̶̠̪̳̓̾̄̃̌̊̏̓̂̕̚͝a̴̡̢̨̱̦̖̗͉̮̗̘̟̦̤͉̻͆̐̎͊͌̅͒̎̍͝ͅ ̴̨̨̟̤͖̙͈̫̮͖̪́ç̵̝̯̘̩̜̤̱̠̰͈̘̟̝̩̏̃̈́͌́͑̍̓͐͝ǫ̶̬͎̗͍͚͓̠̦̓̌͂̅͑͑̿̃̃́͋̓̕ͅi̶̧̲̯̬̝̬̟͕͎̞̤̲̬͔͊̃̓́̔̌͌͋̿͠͠͝n̵͍̠̋͑̄͗̎̈́́c̷̢͇̳̮̬̘̻̪̳̝̩̳̝̗̾̆́͆͊́̑̍́̋į̷̨͎̼̬͉̮̮̻͓̦̙̱͈̩̈́̈́̾͑͑̋͗̀͜͝ḑ̸̧͙̬̻̱̩̝̖̼͓̥̰̥̏̄̇̐̏͆e̴̱̭͒̊̕͘ń̸͉̙̼̻̝̞̹̤̥͇͇̪̰̿́̎̇͠ͅc̶̡̛̛̼̝̯̱͕̰̱̮̻̻̤̮͍͈͑͋̽͊͒̎̀̓͜͠ͅê̴̡̝̜̓̋̊̇̊̂̆́͊̀̍.̵̧̎͐͋͐̋̉̍ ̴̯͎̺̜͔͐̈́́͂̈́̈̈̇̓̀͜I̴̜̹̮̍̓̒̀͒̔͒̏͒̓̆̀́͋̚͠͠ ̴̨͉̈́̃̒̽̇̀͂̅̆͐̇̈́͊͋͝k̵͕̝̃̌͐n̷̨̤͚̩̬̽̿̉͑̉o̶̩͚̼͙̗͙̝̝͓͕̞̯͕̰̝͒̆̓̋̔͊͆̎͛̓̚w̷̙̲̦̘̦̤̳̥̬̞̯̹͕̰̠̜̐̏̅̀͛̇͌͒̈́̽̂̋͛̅ ̵̨͕̼̪̳̭͓̫͉͙̌͌̓̿̒͗̈́̊͂̚t̷̨̼̱͉͑̓̓̅̊͛͒͐̈́̅̚̕͝͝h̸̯͉̙̬̹̻̥̍̇̓͝į̵̨̖̮̠̤͎͚͔́̈͗̂͊̾̒̏͛̒̋͌̊̂̚s̷͉͎͈̭͉̖͍͍̥͓̯͍͚̼̹̋͌͌̍͜ͅ.̵̧̢͉̪͗́̄̉̇̍̆͂͌̏̚͝͠ ̴̫̗͓̤̻̗͙̣̩̱̺̻̻̄̓̑̿́̒̀̍͗͑͛̾̓́̄͝Ĭ̴̧̝̺́'̴̗̤̦̩͈͛͑̒͝͝m̸̯̩̘͚͖̤͚̥͓̟̗͂͐̆̐̓̾̒̑̒̃͝ͅ ̷̡͓̤̼̞̺̙̱̹̪̥͍̥͓͑̐̇̽͑̾̀̒̇̈̀̚̚͘͝͠d̶̢̫̘̝̫̬̖̥̪̙͍̥͓̜̼̙̳̑͛̅̈́̿̾ò̴̢̙͉͍̖̹̹͙̣̝̲͕́̈́̍̍̑̓́͝i̴̮͇̬͍̥̗͕̻̟̬͎͊̆͐̾̓̅̓͂̊͌͋͒͜͝͝ͅͅn̶̨̧̢̛̺̥̗̲̞͈̮͉̮͓͉̾́̀̈́̃̉̔̔̅̽͒͝ͅḡ̷̤̣̣̥͎̺̟̪̥̙͈̯̬͓̗͈͋͝ ̵̨̡̟͈̰̺̜̦̳̝̩̟̬̹̱̻̒̌̈́̈́͝ͅt̵̪̩̭̆͐̔̿̆̿̃͋͑̕h̷̡͉͈̳̘̜̘̲̉̄̓̓̍ͅͅi̴̧̱͇̖͎͉̻̞͓̓̂̈́͆̇̏́̑̍̀͘̕͠s̵̖̙̞͂͂̌̿͌̏͋̿̆̊̊͊ ̷̨̡̛̹͍͕̪̼͎̘̗͔͔͕̲͉̂͆̎́̀̓̾̀͗̕b̷̤̜̠͗̈́̾̏͗̅̑̐̅̚̚͠e̷͍̥̲̳͈͑͆̈̈́̌̑̌͒̽̐c̵͎̱̭̠̍̈́͊̂̈́̓͝͝͠ą̵̡̻̖̙̩͔͓͔̫͓̜̯̅̄̾͒̌͘̚ͅǘ̸͉̻͖͌̅̎̅͊͒̓͋͒͐̎̏̚͝s̸̨̳̼͕̐̊̑̃̏̈́̀͝ě̵̡̧̧̧̦͍͇͕̦̖̮̰̲͔̟͎̉̉̂́͑̋͒̉̐̈́͜͝ ̷̯̱̪̩̝̽̈́̕Į̴̢̜͓̭̥̺͓̹̯̜͇̥̼̽͂̀̄̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅ ̴̧̢̛̳̯̫̱͙͈̲̲̭̮̳̺͖͚̺̇̎̉͐̋̒̀͂͐̕͝w̵̺͔̬̼̻͓̤̰͓̃̂͗̍̀̓̈̔̔͒̄a̶̢̮̺͔̤͉̲̓̋̂̓̕͘̕͘ñ̶̨̨͍͉̰̟̗̞̜̤̠̅̓͛̈́̌́̊̎̚͝͝͝͝t̴̠̦̃̾́̔̍̑̒ ̶̜̗̘͍̭͖̖͔̟̙͙͌͛͌͗̽̈́̒̎͗̓͘͠t̴̨̡̨͈͖̞͓͎̟͓̦̦̤͓̪̱͈̀͐õ̴̢̢͖̮̦̭̺͚͈̮̳͛̅̀͊̈̃̉̀̈́̍.̶̱͇͙̜̜̩͖̱͋̎͂̒̌̒̾͐̕

[无]

nothingness

---

BGM: https://youtu.be/fZi1g9m2in4?si=Hx9cOlB07cbi5DV0 - One - Pre-holder

There's something at the end of the stairs. A door, the exact same as the front door of the place she grew up in. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. A grasp of the doorknob, turning on instinct and stepping inside.

"[About time.]" "{Even you can't help but keep yourself waiting!}"

There's a circular table in the middle. The walls lined with books. Books about WMDs, about politics, about guns, about superweapons, the schlocky insanity dreamnt by authors and catalogued into TTRPG books, the conspiracies about massive weapons in self-published zines, the documentation on the public and private intricacies of weapons man had invented and thought of.

Teletha "Tessa" Testarossa, a girl thumbing through a teen magazine, laid back and relaxed, sucking on a lollipop. An Rk-92 Savage keychain dangles from a belt loop. "{I thought you'd never show, at this rate.}" The magazine is flipped to talk about a Gundam sighting at Torrington.

Teletha Mantissa, an adult sitting on another side of the table. A gaze of slight worldweariness, but a spark of something that refused to die down. The smallest crick of her neck, passing her eye over on the ledgers for S-300VM Antey-2500s bound for the Middle East. "[The times I miss a meeting is when I'm being shot at. Glad you could make it.]" There's a smile.

"I assume you two know why you're here." She takes a seat; There's files in front of her. The outsplayed files and papers detailing the Tuatha de Dannan, various notes and numbers hand-written. Pages upon pages of formulas and calculations, pushing for one particular goal.

"{Course, course. You know it, I know it, she knows it, we all know it. We? I? Me.}" "[Curious that out of everything, it's this word.]" "I had no choice in the matter." "{Bzzzzt. Wrong. Even /if/ Goragon isn't Omnisphere related, it's still part of it.}" "[That's another twenty k on the consultation.]" "Even if that were true, would I go there?"

Silence.

"{You would.}" "[You would.]" "{I would, too.}" "[I also would.]" "...We all would."

Yes, I would've touched this block even if there was a choice of another. To see what it was like. To see what it would be with specific blocks of nothing.

"[Sixty k for the obvious.]" "{Has anyone told you how much you charge?}" "[Only to pay up.]" "...How long are you two going to bicker?" "[Bicker?]" "{We're waiting on you.}"

There's a jolt of understanding, eyes flicking up from those plans she already memorized, to the walls and two alternate possibilities before her. Whether from the imagination, from the conjuration of this space that she mentally carved out to make this make /sense/, or something else altogether...

"{["There's no need to try and dig it out, right?"]}

---

She's alone in the room. Teletha leans back, staring at the ceiling for a few moments, muttering to herself. This place, this mental construct, this understanding of the cube that she brushed on would vanish, leaving only her memories as the sole thing to mark her time here.

"Goragon..." A reality like no other. Multiple realities, multiple divergences out there. Two, whether real or not, imagined or not, phantasms, ghosts, ideals, or just her own wishes manifested... "I wonder what sort of reality I'd impose." A question asked to no one, answered by deafening silence.

There's a sense of the walls of this room blossoming, fluttering away. Eaten by the edges of another reality asserting itself: The physical one. Was she awake? Asleep? A coma? A dream? A fantasy made real? "...If Leonard had this, would he...?" For what he wanted, this was perfect...A shame that Dr. Hell got to it first.

A prick of shameful wonder. Taking it for herself. Impossibility. The attacks from the Ruin General put it on the knife's edge, and they needed to make it out first. Everyone else is there, out of these confines of the mind. A surge of adrenaline. It's palpable, the sensations of her ship, the weight of her crew, the battle outside, the way she wants to say something and just have Dr. Hell's head be pierced through, dismembered, burned, disembowled, eradicated forever more....

A deep breath in, a deep breath out. By the time she sits up, the room is already falling apart. The walls crumbling into vast nothingness, the muted purple of nothingness beyond it all.

BGM: https://youtu.be/szNUd-oj2dE?si=OcknO92twcI4JD8f - Answer - dai

Despite it all, she's calm. The outside is turbulent. It's scary. It's something she has to push herself through. Questioning herself, day by day, working through everything bit by bit.

But I'll do it.

One foot in front of the other, the silver-braided Colonel casting herself off that crumbling facade of safety.

Falling. Falling. Falling. The world falling away, fading into black.

In that time she gained something.

In that place lies nothing.