The darkness beyond swallowed her, and she stepped into the unknown. But her emotions were a tempest: shame churned in her gut, embarrassment clung to her skin, and fear knotted her muscles. She felt broken, like a porcelain doll shattered by their taunts.
She let out a shaky breath. Her hands, let lose, fell on her sides.
She was alone now. She closed her eyes at the thought.
'But is s this what I desired?' Silence kissed her ears, murk burnt her eyes.
'No.'
She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She longed for a way to erase this vulnerable moment from existence.
Lyraea slowly staggered towards the sink. her steps faltering....
Leaning on the sink, her trembling hands grasped the edges for support. She kept her head down, her eyes fixed on the floor, her tremulous lips quivering with emotions. She struggled to compose herself.
Her mind wandered back to the blood on her answer papers.
The ink of her unraveling sanity....
Her thoughts were jumbled, mix of fear and anxiety. Lyraea's breaths came in pants, each one a struggle against the weight of her secrets.
No one but only she had seen it....
She had witnessed it—the way the blood smeared into symbols, letters blurred, the numbers danced. She pressed her palm against her chest, as if that could still the chaos within.
"They knew I was lying..." Her voice cracked.
There was no blood coming from her nose. It was as if the blood was coming from an unknown source, a dark and sinister force.
"They must have thought I'm crazy.... pretending... Oh god!"
"No one would have believed me if I said I saw blood. They didn't see it... They couldn't."
She was scared of them not believing her because it would mean facing their judgment and ridicule. The fear of being seen as crazy had overwhelmed her.
So, she lied....
The easiest way to get away...
She wanted to escape… even if it meant lying. She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of her decision pressing down on her.
"I had to get away… I had to."
She was already grappling with her own sanity. She wasn't prepared for the questions about what she saw... how could they not see it? She had been dealing with this for the past nine months, and nothing had changed; they still saw her as a psycho.
The memory flooded back—the heated argument with Aunt Elowen.
The way her aunt's eyes had widened, concern etching lines into her face after she banged her neighbor head on the wall.
'Why?'
...Because she scared her.
"Lyraea,..... sweetheart, you need help. You're not well." She had said.
"Mad? Is that what you think? That I'm mad?" She had recoiled, her anger flaring.
The words had echoed in her mind, a jagged shard of fear. She had seen the way people looked at her, the hushed whispers when she walked by. "Strange," they said. "Troubled." But never the truth.
"I won't be labeled." She vowed silently.
The word hung heavy in the air, suffocating her. She dreaded the psychologist's probing questions, the diagnosis that would strip away her fragile veneer.
What if they find out? What if they uncover everything I've tried to hide?
Lyraea's grip tightened on the sink's edge. She could almost taste the bitterness of her own desperation. The blood, the lie, the fear—it all swirled together, threatening to drown her. She had to keep pretending, keep smiling, keep denying the truth.
She stood there, staring blankly at the sink, her mind a chaotic storm.
The past nine months had been a relentless nightmare. She had been seeing things that no one else could, things that made her question her own sanity. She had tried to tell her aunt, her teachers, her friends-no one believed her.
They all looked at her with pity, with concern...with doubt...
For her grades had plummeted. She used to be a top student, but now she could barely concentrate on her studies. They believed she was pretending.
Her friendships shattered. Her friends didn't understand what she was going through, they were tired of her 'stories', rather scared that she would harm them, and she couldn't blame them. Her family relationships had worn out. Her aunt tried to help, but she didn't know how.
Lyraea felt like a burden, a problem that no one could solve. She was unable to do anything to stop it. She felt useless, helpless, and so alone. Everyone said she was mentally ill, but she knew she wasn't.
Or was she?
She needed someone to understand what was happening to her!!!
Reality and hallucination had blurred together for her. Sometimes she was convinced that what she saw was real, but other times she doubted herself-her sanity. She felt trapped in a never-ending cycle of confusion and fear.
"No!" Her voice broke in desperation. "I'm not hallucinating. Why can't anyone believe?"
"May be...may be I need help...."
"Help? How? By telling I'm mad? By making me doubt myself?"
She wanted to make everything normal again, but she didn't know how. She wanted to stop seeing things, to stop feeling like she was losing her mind. She wanted to be herself again, but she didn't know if that was possible.
"I feel like I'm drowning, and there is no one....no one to save me." Lyraea's voice trembled. She bit her lips in exasperation.
Suddenly, she felt a presence starting from her feet, a chill creeping up her body. It clung to her legs, then her arms, and finally her shoulders. She felt a slight pressure there, as if someone was standing right behind her.
Her body quivered with terror...
She couldn't see or touch whatever it was, but she could feel it.... Like she always did.
Lyraea closed her eyes, hoping it would go away, but the sensation only intensified. Her breaths became shallow, her heart pounding in her chest.
Then, she felt it....
A slight choking sensation, just enough to make her aware of the presence. Her hands flew to her throat, but there was nothing. Slowly, she opened her eyes and looked up. What she saw made her blood run cold.
Handprints...bloodied handprints, smeared on the mirror. Fresh blood dripped, running down.
Her body froze, her eyes wide with terror. She stumbled back, her legs weak, almost giving out beneath her. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, and she could feel the cold sweat trickling down her back. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
"How… how is this happening?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. She felt utterly helpless.
She had been thinking about making everything normal, but how could she when the thing tormenting her was beyond anything she knew?
Panic surged through her. She turned hastily towards the door, needing to escape. She grabbed the handle and yanked it, but it didn't budge. She gave it a few desperate jerks, but to no avail. The door was firmly shut, trapping her in the room with her terror.
Then she felt it .... again....
A soft wind brushed against her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. She abruptly turned back, her back hitting the door with a 'thud', eyes wide with fear and there she got another shock of her dear life.
The mirror was blank. The blood...it was all gone.
Her heart stopped, her breath hitched, her mind numbed, her stare blank.
Lyraea's eyes remained fixed on the mirror, her vacant gaze slowly gaining focus. As her vision cleared, she saw her own reflection staring back at her. She barely recognized herself.
Her hair was a tangled mess, strands sticking out in all directions. Dark circles framed her eyes, evidence of countless sleepless nights. Her cheeks streaked with tears.
Her skin was pale, almost ghostly, and her lips were dry and cracked. Her clothes were wrinkled and disheveled, hanging loosely on her thin frame.
She looked like a shadow of her former self, a girl lost in the chaos of her own mind. Her eyes, once bright and full of life, now seemed hollow and haunted.
She could see the fear etched into her features, the desperation that clung to her like a second skin.
"Is this really you, Lyraea?... You are a mess..." She touched her face. Her skin was rough and dry.
"I was so sure, so sure that you are ok.... that it would get better...but it's worsening." She dragged her palm roughly across her face, fingers digging into her skin.
"I'm losing myself...No! I''ve....I I've fallen apart." Her breathing become erratic, each inhale and exhale jagged and uneven.
"I can't trust myself anymore.... Wh ...What if I'm not real?'' She trailed off, overwhelmed. Her gaze drifting away as uncertainty etched itself deeper into her soul.
"Please Lyraea, please, please make it stop. Please!!!" She let out a sob, a sudden, wrenching sound that echoed softly in the stillness of the room.
Lyraea clutched her head. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, hugging herself tightly. She rocked back and forth, tears streaming down her face, unchecked.
She put a hand over her mouth, trying to stifle her anguish. The fear was overwhelming, suffocating her. She felt like a prisoner in her own mind, unable to escape the horrors that plagued her.
Lyraea's entire frame was shaking, her fingers digging into her arms as if trying to anchor herself to reality. But her reflection on the mirror was a cruel reminder that her reality was slipping away, and she was powerless to stop it.
The small, enclosed space was a barrier against the outside world and her.
'What awaited her there?'
The only response was a haunting iciness that filled the space like a lingering ghost of doubt.
She pitied herself, but she also felt a deep anger.
Why was this happening to her? Why wouldn't it stop like her nightmares?
She knew she was doomed. The darkness that clawed at her insides was relentless, and she didn't know how to fight it and it would not end until she was consumed by the darkness that had taken over her.
The blood might have vanished, but the struggle remained-a silent scream that etched into the soul.
The path ahead was a twisted labyrinth, fraught with unseen wounds that cut deeper than any blade. Every ounce of strength would be needed to navigate the suffocating darkness that lay ahead.
For the true horror was far from over, lurking in the shadows, waiting to consume...
Only to be felt .... When The Chills Run Down....