Viora lay on her bed, the orbs of plasma floating gently in the air around the room, as if waiting for her to wake up. Slowly, she opened the curtains, only to shut her eyes against the sudden flood of bright light streaming in.
"Silly sun…" she muttered softly under her breath.
With a stretch and a quiet sigh, she lifted the blanket and got out of bed. Today was a very special day. It was her birthday—her eleventh birthday, to be exact. April 1st. The date itself felt comical, almost like a joke, though there was nothing funny about how far she had come.
It had been one year since Mama Ipoh had adopted her.
In that time, she'd grown tall enough to reach the door hook by standing on her tiptoes instead of needing to jump straight up.
It had also been a year since she first heard about Sylvanara—a mysterious country made entirely of shamans, located on a different planet somewhere far, far away in the vast universe. Mama Ipoh had never brought up Sylvanara again after that fateful day, and neither had Viora.
She had learned many things over the past year, but the most important—and most troubling—was about Mama Ipoh's sickness. It was something connected to her superflux. Viora still remembered the voice of the man she couldn't see, the one who said Mama Ipoh would die if she kept summoning her spirits.
The morning after she overheard that conversation, Viora had tried to bring it up to Mama Ipoh. She wanted to ask—wanted to know—but in the end, she chose not to. She wasn't even sure why she held back. Maybe it was fear, or maybe it was hope that it wouldn't come to pass.
Luckily for her, Mama Ipoh hadn't summoned her spirits once since then—not in an entire year.
She walked to the center of the room and stood in front of her mirror. Her black hair was a tangled mess.
Letting out a small sigh, she muttered, "Well, I'll deal with that later…"
Turning away, she opened the drawer. Inside, resting delicately, was a beautiful moon talisman. She picked it up, admiring it for a moment, before gently placing it around her neck.
She took a few steps forward, the spirits gently floating behind her, and opened the door to her room. Stepping outside, she made her way to the stairs and began walking down.
At the bottom, an older Black woman with a voluminous afro sat sipping tea. She wore a beautiful blue dress adorned with multiple talismans hanging from her neck and wrists. Despite being indoors, she had on a pair of sleek black sunglasses.
Noticing Viora descending the stairs, she greeted her warmly, "Good morning, sugar."
Viora smiled brightly and replied, "Good morning, Mama Ipoh."
Viora walked into the kitchen, grabbed her favorite cereal, and opened the fridge to take out the milk. She sat down at the table, opposite Mama Ipoh, poured cereal into a bowl, followed by milk, and began eating.
Mama Ipoh sipped her tea while watching her for a moment before breaking the silence.
"Oh, and happy birthday, Viora. Since it's your special day, I thought we could do something special. It's your choice."
Viora paused mid-bite, lingering on the thought before replying, "I still don't know yet... How about we go to a bunch of nice places in the city?"
Mama Ipoh raised an eyebrow, her expression mildly surprised. "What exactly is your definition of 'nice places'?"
Viora, still chewing her cereal, shrugged and said, "I don't know... just fun places."
Mama Ipoh finished her tea, quietly repeating Viora's words in her mind.
Just fun places…
A gentle smile crossed her face as she said, "Alright. You tell me where you want to go, and we'll go there. Do you need a few hours to think?"
Viora finished her cereal and drank the milk, then wiped her face with the back of her hand. She smiled and said, "Nope, I already have a couple of ideas in mind, so I made a list!"
She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and showed it to Mama Ipoh.
Mama Ipoh looked at her with a soft smile and said, "How clever of you."
Mama Ipoh got up and said, "Well, I know it's still morning, but how about we begin now?"
Viora picked up her bowl from the table, but before putting it in the sink, she said, "Yeah, that sounds great. I'm going to shower, and after I'm done getting ready, we can go."
Mama Ipoh walked to the living room and sat on one of the couches, smiling. "Alright, sugar, I'll be patient."
Viora began walking up the stairs toward the shower, but with each step, her heart started beating faster and harder, as though she were about to have a heart attack. She paused for a moment, clutching her chest.
Why is my heart beating so fast? It hurts...
Suddenly, she thought she heard voices echoing behind her. She couldn't make out most of it, but she clearly heard:
"Don't go... don't go outside... stay home... if you go... she will..."
Then, just as suddenly, the voices stopped. Her heart continued to race, growing louder and harder with each beat. She wanted to scream, but her body wouldn't obey.
Tears welled up in her eyes as fear and confusion overwhelmed her. And then, a voice filled with malice sliced through the silence, breaking the world around her. She looked toward the window on the wall of the staircase, where a bird hung suspended in mid-air, as though time itself had stopped.
The voice echoed, "How will your soul withstand the unrelenting hell of your own forgotten torment?"
And then, she saw her. A woman standing before her, a figure she didn't recognize, but something deep within her screamed that she should know this woman. No, that she should fear her.
The woman was impossibly beautiful, clad in a black dress, with pale skin and black hair. Her eyes—dark as the void of outer space—seemed to pierce through Viora's very soul.
The woman's smile stretched too wide, far too wide for any human to manage. It was a grin full of malice, of something ancient and insidious, as she spoke:
"To be honest, little bug, I'm impressed…"
Viora couldn't move, couldn't blink. Her body was paralyzed, her soul trapped in a void of helplessness.
"Your subconscious fears those past events so much that they almost overpowered the canvas of your world... Just being close to reliving your worst memories was enough to make your heart beat right out of your chest."
The woman's hand gently touched Viora's chest, but it didn't feel like an instant touch—it was as if she had always been there, a constant, haunting presence.
"How long has it been?" The woman mused, her voice soft but filled with cruel amusement. "How long has it been for you? From your perspective, it's been a year since you started reliving all those memories with that woman called Ipoh. You're not as worthless as I thought. I was surprised to learn that you have meet trashbag Hephaestus... a country of shamans, huh? I've learned so much from your memories; it's overwhelming."
Her fingers slowly withdrew from Viora's chest as she stared at her, her gaze unwavering.
"Every second, every memory you spent with that woman... I made her resurface for you. My ability is so precise that I've made you relive an entire year's worth of memories. But the painting... the painting will soon finish its masterpiece when you leave this house."
The woman's eyes softened, almost tenderly. It was as if she found some dark amusement in the horror she was about to unleash.
"It's funny," she continued, stepping closer. "Hundreds of deaths, and a year's worth of memories... yet it wasn't enough to break you."
Then, she reached out, her fingers brushing gently over Viora's face, her voice a whisper as she continued:
"And yet, just the thought of you having to relive the terrible fate awaiting that woman, Ipoh—your mother—is enough to make your subconscious stop your heart."
Her hand twisted, morphing into a blade of twisted, root-like energy, the malice in her eyes growing sharper.
"There's nothing worse than reliving forgotten torment—sins you wish to forget. You can experience hell over and over, but in the end, you will believe that you're being recompensed, that you will never have to relive those memories again. But that's the purpose of memory, isn't it? To make you never forget hell."
In an instant, she swung her root-blade, beheading Viora with a single swift motion. There was no blood, no pain, no scream. Only a profound, empty silence.
And then, the voice echoed in Viora's fading consciousness:
"How will your soul withstand the unrelenting hell of your own forgotten torment?"
"Viora… Viora… sugar, are you listening?"
Viora's eyes snapped open, her mind disoriented as she suddenly found herself standing in a coat, facing the door. A feeling of confusion flooded her, as though she had just woken from a long, dark dream.
What… what just happened? I can't remember… oh right, she's talking to me…
She looked at Mama Ipoh and offered a gentle smile.
"Sorry, I guess I was lost in thought for a moment…"
Mama Ipoh gave her a warm pat on the head, her voice soft and understanding.
"Well, I'm glad you're back. Are you ready to go to our first destination?"
Viora hesitated for a moment, an unsettling feeling growing in her chest. She couldn't place it, but something didn't feel right.
What is this bad feeling…? Why does my heart feel so heavy?
She took a deep breath, trying to push the unease away, and forced a smile.
"I'm ready!"
Mama Ipoh opened the door, and together, they stepped out of the house. Little did they know, this moment would mark the beginning of something that would change everything.
{After Chapter Poem}
You can die, and yet memory will follow you to the grave.
They say death is the most inevitable thing in the world, yet memory clings to your soul, holding on even when death cannot.
It doesn't matter if it's an hour of endless agony, a minute, or a single second—memory is like a shadow. It reflects your soul, just as a shadow forms because of the sun.
Isn't it funny? You can survive a rain of hellfire and decades in paradise, but the memory of it will never fade. Like sins that are imprinted on the soul, they will never wash away.
So, I have one question left, for both you and me:
How will we withstand the unrelenting hell of our own forgotten torment?