View source for 2022-10-18: Reality is a prison to be broken (Chapter 2)

*'''Log: Reality is a prison to be broken (Chapter 2)'''
*'''Cast:''' [[Character :: Yuliana Dispersal]], [[Character :: Elisa Kafim]]
*'''Where: Side 1, Londenion -- Nameless Hotel Room''' 
*'''Date: 2022-10-18''' 
*'''Summary''': ''Yuliana has another vision of the void; Elisa is there to protect her from harm, and explore just what it means. Elisa will take care of the next step. Meanwhile, Yuliana resolves to investigate bringing the void into the world through the wounds of Newtypes. (CW: body horror)''
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[[Category:Logs]]
[[Category:Phase 1, Turn 2]]


 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        Black. Black. Black. A thousand times written this way, without variation, bereft of landmark or signature. Black. Black.

        The emptiness is deep and dark and it is present, present, PRESENT, pressing down, pushing in. The emptiness isn't, in a very real way, impossibly textured, impossibly informed. There's nothing here, no old footprints in the sand. No words are written. Black. The words unwritten clutter the page and fall to the ground. Black. Black. Black.

        Walk for seven days and seven nights and it is so; run for seven days and seven nights and it is so. There are no walls to beat against. No ending. No one is here -- no one was here. The bones are old to dust, now.

        There is no ground to collapse onto. Fall, and fall forever. Falling is so like a lover, the world slipping by as air embraces her. But there is no air, here. It's something else.

        The words which were not written now spill from her lungs and pour, stream away, sinister, listing. ''Ou, nilj lloufia! Lliath'wll th'ou ni:a.'' Yuliana -- she's Yuliana, her name is Yuliana, she IS -- she sobs against the burning, tears at her ears, tears at her throat. Her fingers come back red. She understands no more than a moment ago, an hour, a week.

        Her fingers come back, and back, and back. To the side of her, extended. She hangs there, in the middle of eternity, a mannequin on strings. Her fingers curl. The redness drips, and falls, and impacts on nothing at all like a ripple on a pond.

        Nothing opens up, and stares, with gaping, grievous eyes.

        ''I want, I want, I want,'' the meaning of her gaze, avaricious, jealous, grasping. ''I want, I want, I want...''

        From her strings she is unmade, all made of cracks, all broken. She falls, and does not fall for long, gathered in a pool of black.

        She looks at the gaps in herself and sees a gaze, green as jealousy, staring back. Tears well in her eyes, and she sinks into the darkness.

        "Created," the word comes back to her, and her words feel deranged just the same, unleashed from human existence. "But... what of you..?"

        ''I WANT.''

        "I know," Yuliana closes her eyes and her eyes and her eyes and her eyes as the darkness seeps into her, through her, pressing deep to her heart. Don't think of fingers; they're not. All split down the middle she blooms like a horrific flower, opened up, guttered out, and still that unfathomable woman grasps yet deeper, as if she could reach through her, reach out and grasp --

        ''Mine'' is her intent, and Yuliana knows it, feels it through the fillet of her bones, spreading out, spreading thin, with no need to stand and flee. Something slithers.

        "Yes," she murmurs, and distantly she is aware there is no pain in her voice, though she hears the horror still. Hers is not only the incomprehension of her wounds, with no choice but submission to her inevitable end. She is...

        ... grateful.

        "You, who always is with me... they will know silence... and then they will know you."

        ''What is mine is mine is mine,'' she grasps, she grasps, she grasps, so close, oh! SO CLOSE TO --

        Yuliana's myriad eyelids flutter, and away, sharp gossamer wings as the locusts scramble out. Her agony is numb and distant to her, but she is too, too mortal, and the pain is more than her body knows. "I know... you're so hungry... but, I-I can't..." Her back arches in her agony, and forgets how it was shaped before, grafted orchid blooming dark.

        It's all right. It's too late, or perhaps it hasn't happened yet.

        That thing which isn't a hand falls away, and so does Yuliana's mind.

        ...---...

        Yuliana sleeps light, and wakes from slumber often. At times it's nothing more than a reaction to some noise or movement, and it is so, so easy to tell her to go back to sleep, even under a watchful gaze. At others it is surfacing from the torments of her mind, heart rate climbing in response to some unseen threat, and she's rather more hungry for comfort. In all cases she does not wake obviously or with announcement; the best clues are earliest, before she realises she's conscious, before she stills to inventory her environment for threats.

        But some nightmares are not ''just'' nightmares, in the manner of old fear or trauma. Sometimes, the horror is a message, and she the messenger.

        Not tonight; it shouldn't be tonight. The crystals laid on the bedside table are bright and new, as yet undarkened; it will be some time before there is too much of Yuliana, pressing into her psyche. Even so, her pulse races too, too quickly for a nightmare, breaths shallow and quick. There is a little movement from her, tensing up, a grunt pressed through her lips. Her fingers grasp, at the fabric nearest Elisa. She asked her to hold her, before she fell asleep; she has to remind her of physical gestures like that, but she doesn't mind. And oh, right now she is ''of'' no mind, all trapped between sleep and waking.

        (She, herself, is in a silken emerald nightgown, closer to Elisa's shade of green than her own. She's the one who bought it.)


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

It would be inaccurate to say that Elisa sleeps light; suffused with power as she is these days, she rarely sleeps at all.  But she retires, and rests, and she is attuned to Yuliana's sleep in this way.  She is watching, she is waiting... And there--

It is unusual, what Elisa sees.  Oh, she sees her have the dreams.  This is normal.  But Elisa's too-green eyes settle on the crystals on the table, then on Yuliana again.

Naturally she holds her.  It is easy, once she is reminded of such trivialities as physicality.  Elisa is also in green.  And now...

"Shhh," Elisa vocalizes.  But not 'go back to sleep'.  She is... concerned, with this change.  Interested, in this change.

"What is wrong, darling?  I am here."

Always.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        OST: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Gopg80VXwc The Crane Wives - Curses

        There is the stillness, as Yuliana shifts from the sleeping world to the waking, testing the world for new information. It speaks so much to the lack of safety in her life, that she wakes so quietly, so expectantly, giving so little and taking so much. It lasts no more than an eyeblink, as Elisa's voice registers to her, Elisa's presence -- not Elisa's warmth, not so much, it's always been Yuliana warming them.

        As soon as she has registered her security does Yuliana grasp tighter, burying her face beneath Elisa's chin, curling into her. Her voice is achingly vulnerable, her diminutive almost ''embarrassingly'' intimate: "Elyula, protect me... I'll be ripped into peace!"

        It is not so strange for her voice to tremble, in the dead of night; but when her words hinge so loosely to meaning and sense, it can only mean one thing.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

But of course Yuliana is safe ''now''.  She is with Elisa.  Elisa will not allow anyone to <span style="color:#008700;">{{Ruby|harm|take}}</span> her.  She is not warm, but she is here, and Yuliana curls into her.  That vulnerability... Yes, there is something.  The way she speaks, the way...

Ripped into 'peace'.  The peace of...?

"I will protect you," she says.  "I am here, and there is nothing."  Nothing to...?

No, nothing.

"Tell me.  What do you see?"

And why...?


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        Tell me, tell me, tell me, two words which say so much about Yuliana's roots, her shaped existence, a demand which can speak so softly. There's something comforting to the direction, though so few seem to comprehend the kindness.

        And Elisa is here; Elisa is here, and Yuliana sinks into her, surrounded by her, deep to drowning. She takes a breath, and sighs, murmuring into dark skin.

        "Nothing... with no other... none to hear the words, but oh, Elya, I cannot hear, it tears through my ears, I'm consumed! I... I..." Her breath quickens, heart beating a wardrum against her chest; her fingers tighten in Elisa's green, and she quiets, for a moment.

        "I... am, I know, myself. I've name and voice... now..." As if she didn't, before, a vehicle for her visions with no choice but to scream. "And I know, I know... she wants, hungry, she, grasps ''claims'' me, into me, what I lead to, to this, I'm here... stranded, in this world, apart from reality, and through me..." She can reach this world; what lies in this world.

        Her voice trembles: "I am unmade. I am remade. Oh, Elya, I'm so frightened."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

Elisa must parse these words; she must take the time to understand each, examining them from all angles as Yuliana speaks.  She is here, and she is present, but she is always a little of somewhere else, when she is thinking.  Her hands continue to hold, however.  That is well.

Nothing, and nothing, and nothing.

"...Yes," Elisa says.  "This world is a prison to which we are now condemned, but not always."  'She'.  Yes... Something there, something on the edge of awareness--

"I am here.  No matter what 'world' we traverse, I am with you.  Remember that."  It is something like comforting, maybe.  Her voice is gentle as she says it, anyway.

"...Your name, your voice; I recall them, Yuliana."

"But what of... 'her'?" she wonders.  "Another?  Or...?"


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        And Yuliana is held, and feels herself a precious thing, sheltered beneath her arms. Elisa bids her to remember, and Yuliana nods, tension sinking into her. (It's all for her.) That Elisa is as ever her faithful shadow, always beside her... it could be something other than comforting, but it isn't, not to her.

        She aches with her loneliness; she ''needs'' Elisa to be here, with her, hearing her voice, hearing her name. "Darling," she murmurs, and she is grateful.

        But Elisa wonders, and Yuliana lifts her head from the nest of her, tilting her gaze up to look to her, green on jealous green. "The woman in the void," she says, quietly, and it's a complex emotion, in her eyes.

        "Ever since I learned the truth has she been behind me... in what is... real. She loves me, I think," and ''this'' she's not sure of, a little wobble to her throat, "but I am as nothing beside her. I can scarcely comprehend her desire... as if I were, incomplete..." There are tears, in her eyes; she blinks, and doesn't look away. "But I am made by man, and she, she is unknown, unknowable. I don't... understand."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

Precious indeed.  It could be something besides comforting... But that would be a tragedy, wouldn't it?  A terrible thing indeed.

Elisa knows Yuliana is grateful, but it is not why she does it.  Not exactly.  It is in her nature to care for Yuliana, isn't it? So.... she mentions the woman in the void, and... Hmm.

"A woman in the void..."  Something, in the void.  That means...

"Perhaps she does," Elisa says.  "Perhaps the void does.  The void is our destination... is our place.  Is what we bring."

Nothing... incomplete.  Hmmm...

"We are still mired in this world.  Perhaps that is why?  You are greater than what you were 'made', my Yuliana.  You know this."

"...But it is strange," she says, "That she calls to you ''now''..."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        It's in Elisa's nature to care for Yuliana, and Yuliana ''so'' needs care, shattered against herself, a tragedy in motion. Left to her own devices, would she not tear the sky down to reach the stars?

        Would she not tear the sky down, right onto herself?

        Yuliana admitted she knew better, when she was healing her from her own hubris. Perhaps...

        She listens, she accepts, as Elisa tells her what it means, what they mean for the world. "Yes," she murmurs, gaze lidding.

        "Yes," she repeats, she echoes, she takes into herself. "I know." One of her hands is trapped, between them; the other slips free to reach up, gently cupping Elisa's cheek with her fingers. "And I am yours," she agrees, she affirms, she asserts, in the face of her earthly creation and her cosmic possession.

        Her own head tilts into the rich bedding they've borrowed. "My visions have grown... so much starker, since we made that attempt on Frontier," Yuliana ventures, unsure. "More and more and more... even waking I am more labile, more attuned to the hollow space. Back then, I felt her... her overwhelming intent." Her eyes scrunch shut, for a moment, as if she could block it out; but it's behind her eyelids, inside her mind. "Her hunger."

        It registered on every console...

        ... and Yuliana's voice.


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

There is so ''much'' to mean and to tear.

So very much to tear.

"Good," Elisa says first.  She is hers, and that is the first key.  But the explanation Yuliana gives makes Elisa thoughtful.  Since that day, since they touched the Void, ever so slightly... Perhaps it was not so much of a failure as Elisa had imagined.  Perhaps...

"I see.  So you are more attuned now than you were..."

She is more thoughtful still.  "I will think on this," she says.  "Perhaps there is more to understand.  Perhaps we can yet see and understand more of what we see."

"Leave it all to me, darling.  Remember I am with you.  And I will see us through the light into the true dark."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        Good, Elisa says, and Yuliana smiles. Not for nothing does she bear her colours, wear her ring, even where others might seek to use it against her. Of all the people who have claimed Yuliana for their own, it is Elisa she offered herself to, Elisa who accepted her. She is Elisa's, and it brings her peace, in a heart so plagued by war.

        Perhaps it was not so much of a failure, when Yuliana's connection is a thing of the mind more than the body, unlike everything in this wretched, unreal world.

        (Yuliana's hand curls, at Elisa's neck, all held too, too close.)

        But Elisa is thinking; Elisa evaluates the situation, analyses it in a way Yuliana couldn't possibly, all lost in her feelings and an eldritch heart. "Yes," she murmurs, again, and no witch's tricks were necessary to make her so, ''so'' agreeable. It is a monument of Elisa's reasoning that Yuliana cedes all responsibility to her, with light in her eyes. "Oh, Elya... oh, I'm so glad you are with me." She is so relieved, so affectionate; it's so much ''easier,'' Yuliana thinks, when Elisa's here.

        "I'm in your hands," she smiles, and it is true and it is true.

        And that green-eyed monster in her arms blinks, teal lashes coming down, coming away. "Darling... I learned something interesting, in fact, which may see us well." She offers, she invites, fingers curling by Elisa's pointed ear. "It seems the Awakened can be injured to know silence... it is not ''our'' nothing, I think, but if they all were isolated... if they were made to know... I wonder how many it would take, to break their backs and bring the emptiness forth." Her vulnerability hasn't changed, her neediness; her malice is just as much a part of her, assonant with her fragility.

        And this, at least, is a lesson Yuliana has absorbed through witch's tricks: "They may yet be useful... I'll learn more, Elya, that we might claim what is ours."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Elisa Kafim has posed.
<poem>

Elisa is aware of her position in the world, through Yuliana.  She is aware of arms, and hands, and neck, as she thinks and thinks and considers this important matter now.  Her analysis is not completely cold; it is ''different'' from that.  No witch's trick is necessary for this.  She is glad...

"Yes," Elisa says again.  "I am with you."  And you are glad, she does not have to say.  She is in her hands...

"And I shall catch you."

But?  Interesting learning; Elisa smiles at Yuliana.  "Ah, my brilliant darling Yuliana.  Yes... Yes, that could well be very useful.  That they might bring forth what we require... It would give them use, at least once."

"That would be nice."

"...yes.  Learn what you can.  For now, however, rest my darling.  Rest."


</poem>
 <Pose Tracker> Yuliana Dispersal has posed.
<poem>

        Yuliana has always been more cognisant of physical existence; she doesn't mind, that Elisa doesn't always think of it. She thinks Elisa aware enough. Her mind must be so, so busy, after all, and Yuliana knows just how much she must calculate.

        Yuliana is calculating herself, after all... but not so much here, not beside her. Because Elisa is with her, Elisa will catch her, and she is glad.

        She is glad.

        Elisa doesn't have to tell her.

        Elisa praises her, anyway, and Yuliana's eyes shine, cheeks all coloured with affection. "It would," she agrees, and she, at least, is warm.

        And Elisa tells her what to do, and Yuliana blinks, slowly, sleepily, smiling to her. "Yes," she agrees, again, without argument, without protest. She cried out for Elisa's protection; why would she struggle, now, against her advice?

        Rather she nestles against her, tucking her head beneath her chin, curling in towards her, all tangled up and caught together. "Elya," she murmurs, softly, against her, all felt in her voice, her slowing heartbeat, her relaxation. "I love you..."

        She is so gentle, gentle, gentle, here in her arms as she drifts off to slumber; it's almost possible to forget she's a carefully-crafted predator, venomous, dangerous. Almost...
</poem>