The feeling of being completely outmatched invoked an all-consuming terror.
Her instincts screamed at her to run, to flee from the malevolent presence that seemed to dominate the very air she breathed.
It was a deeply human reaction, the mind's way of shielding itself from a fear too great to face.
Retreat wasn't a choice. It was a split-second decision, a surrender to the overwhelming power he wielded over her.
Lyraea's eyes remained fixed on the door with sheer terror. She was unable to tear them away from the door, the barrier between her and the abyss of uncertainty.
She questioned her own actions, the why and how of her retreat.
The storm outside seemed to rage in tandem with her inner turmoil. Each rumble a feral symphony that made the very walls tremble.
Another sharp deafening thunderclap exploded making her step back in terror.
Suddenly, the door stilled halfway. Her chest ceased its frantic rise and fall in the vey instant.
Lyraea's gaze inexorably drew to the chair, to him. Her mind scummed to emptiness. Cluttered thoughts, worries and doubts evaporated.
The discordant melodies, thunder's rumble, rain's relentless patter, wind's mournful sighs and her own racing heartbeat were imprisoned in a suffocating cage, fused into eerie harmony.
And then, in the flickering darkness, he vanished. The seat was empty like an abandoned nest.
The sudden disappearance sent a wave of raw panic that tightened its grip around her heart. The empty room was now as if calling her to pass the boundary and enter.
She fell backward on the floor, its cold unforgiving hardness slamming against her.
'Dab...' She heard her beat drop.
'Hh-haah...' A shaky breath exhaled.
'Bam!' And the door slammed shut.
Then.... chaos erupted.
Before Lyraea could breathe again, the door swung open, then closed.
"CHISSSS—KA-CHUNK. CHISSSS—KA-CHUNK.'
With deafening repetition, it swung open, slammed shut, then reopened, its hinges shrieking protest. The relentless pounding assaulted her eardrums.
'CHISSSS—GHHRRRR-KUNNNK. CHISSSS—GHHRRRR-KUNNNK.'
Each cycle intensified, accelerating into chaotic rhythm. The maddening cadence reverberated through the room, echoing off walls.
Lyraea's world shrunk to torturous note. Her mind shattered as the sound drilled into her brain, assailing her senses.
Her heartbeats thundered, each pulse hammering in her temples.
She clutched her head, neck cord strained, jaw clenched trying to block out the noise. Her body convulsed, writhing, her face contorting. Agony wracked her soul, every fiber screaming in torment.
"Stop!"
The sound unleashed its shrill tendrils that crawled under her skin–a festering parasite slithering through her veins, razoring her nerves into shards–flaying her screaming soul from flesh.
'GRRRRRKKK!'
She wanted to get up and run away as far as she could, but her body refused to move. The same fear that had compelled her to slam the door shut now imprisoned her.
Her vision blurred. Tears streamed down her face, scalding hot rivers of despair.
She was hurting, she was breaking, she was crumbling, she was falling apart.
''Make it stop! Make it STOP!!!''
Her pleas were faint, filled with desperation. But to whom? The slamming door? The whispering wind? The relentless rain tapping against the windows? The distant roll of thunder? The occasional flash of lightning? The empty hallway? The lurking shadows? The silent night?
The slamming intensified with a medley of mix unrecognizable sounds.
She knew nothing was going to save.
Escape was imperative...
Summoning every ounce of strength, she forced herself to move.
She had just taken a shaky step forward when something tightened around her foot, tripping her.
Lyraea stumbled forward, crashing onto her chest, and with that, the slamming came to an abrupt halt.
Silence hit. Just as jarring as the noise, chilling her to the marrow.
Pain shot through her ribs, knocking the wind out of her momentarily. The room spun slightly as a wave of dizziness washing over her.
She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows. As she lifted her gaze, her eyes fell on the source of her downfall.
There, tangled around her ankles, was the familiar strap of her bag. The bag lay sprawled beside her, its contents spilling out.
Her hands trembled as she tried to free herself from the strap. The leather creaking softly as it released its hold.
She looked towards the door, but her gaze faltered, hesitant, unsure, an abyss of uncertainty.
Instinctively, Lyraea backed away, her movements slow and cautious.
Gathering her fragmented thoughts, Lyraea turned around and gripped the strap of her bag tightly. She bent down to her knees, palms pressed against the floor, trying to steady herself as she tried to rise.
She focused on the sensation of her palms against the floor, the pressure a tangible reminder that she was still in control.
As she stood, facing the hallway, her senses slowly returned. The haze lifted, making her hyper-aware of her surroundings.
Lyraea's eyes adjusted to the dim light. She clutched the bag closer to her chest.
Time seemed to warp and slow, as if the very fabric of reality had grown thick and heavy.
Palpitations wracked her chest threatening to shatter her ribcage.
She glanced around nervously. The air around her felt heavy, pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe.
Doors lined the corridor. Each one seemed to harbor a lurking presence, watching her from the darkened corners. The hall behind her seemed to stretch infinitely.
Her stomach churned in revolt, nausea clawing its way up her throat.
The tension was almost unbearable, a constant, gnawing anxiety that kept her on edge.
Without a second thought, she ran along the corridor, her movements frantic and unsteady. Her feet pounded against the floor, echoing through the empty halls.
Sweat drenched her, slicking her skin with a cold, clammy film.
The world around her blurred as she sprinted, her breath coming in ragged gasps, every muscle in her body screaming for her to stop. But she didn't listen—she couldn't.
She pushed herself harder, her legs burning with the effort.
Lyraea burst out of the building, the cool night air hitting her like a splash of cold water. She didn't stop, not even as she heard Mr. Pauli calling her name from a distance.
"Ms. Pastorio, wait! What's wrong? Please, stop!"
His voice barely registered in her mind, drowned out by the adrenaline-fueled panic that gripped her.
She kept running, away from the university, into the darkness, driven by the relentless fear that refused to let her rest.
It wasn't just the fear of the unknown. It was the fear of being powerless, of confronting something that defied comprehension.