Time Lapse.
Grimwraith Mire.
Uncharted, Critic-Ishire.
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Lydia's breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to keep Helena afloat. The water was filthy, a putrid mix of mud, sludge, and who-knew-what-else, clinging to their bodies and making every movement a laborious effort. Her arms ached, muscles screaming from the strain, but she didn't dare stop. Helena's body was limp, her eyes half-closed, as if she teetered on the edge of consciousness. Her once vibrant energy had been sapped, leaving her weak and barely able to keep her head above the water.
But through the haze of exhaustion, Helena felt a strange sense of familiarity. Her mind, foggy and exhausted, tried to grasp at the slippery threads of memory. Hadn't they done this before? The murky water, Lydia's desperate voice, the same aching fatigue in her limbs—why did it all feel like a fading dream she couldn't quite recall?
"Helena, stay with me!" Lydia panted, her voice strained, half pleading, half commanding. She hooked an arm around her sister's waist, her other arm cutting through the thick, oily water. Her dress, heavy and sodden, wrapped around her legs, dragging her down with every stroke. It was a fight against the water and gravity, both pulling her down into the depths. Still, Lydia pushed forward, refusing to give in to the exhaustion threatening to overwhelm her.
Helena's head bobbed weakly above the water, her mind struggling to stay focused. The sound of Lydia's voice, the feel of her sister's arm around her waist—it was all so painfully familiar. A memory tugged at her consciousness, a shadowy recollection of mud and water, of dragging themselves to the shore, of running with soaked gowns clinging to their skin. But how could that be? Was it a dream, or had they truly been here before?
With each stroke, the edge of the water drew closer. The bank was a slick slope of mud and moss, rising like a promise of salvation. Lydia's fingers scraped the bottom, her feet found purchase on the uneven stones beneath the water. She gritted her teeth, forcing her legs to move, to lift Helena's body even as her own threatened to collapse. Inch by inch, they dragged themselves out of the mire, until at last, they lay on solid ground, chests heaving, mud streaking their faces and clothes.
As they lay there, Helena's mind struggled to make sense of the sensations overwhelming her. The cold mud against her skin, the sound of their laboured breaths, Lydia's frantic movements—it all blended with a feeling of déjà vu so strong it made her dizzy. She turned her head, looking at Lydia's determined face, and tried to speak, but the words tangled in her throat.
Lydia glanced over at Helena, her heart twisting at the sight of her sister's pale, drawn face. Helena's breathing was shallow, her eyes closed, and for a moment, Lydia feared she had passed out. But then, Helena's eyes fluttered open, a flicker of determination shining through the fatigue. Lydia nodded, knowing they couldn't rest for long.
"Come on," Lydia urged, struggling to her feet. She reached down, pulling Helena up with her. Their gowns, once elegant and pristine, now hung in heavy, soiled clumps, sticking to their skin. The fabric was so heavy it made running nearly impossible, yet run they must. The memory of the troll's roar, of the scallywags' laughter, spurred them on. They couldn't stay near the water; it was a death trap.
Helena stumbled after Lydia, her feet dragging. The ground was slick, every step a struggle. She blinked, trying to clear the fog from her mind, to shake off the overwhelming sense of having done this before. The forest closed in around them, the shadows lengthening as the sun dipped lower in the sky. They moved through the trees, their feet slipping on the damp earth, the cold biting through their wet clothes.
They reached a deeper, clearer part of the river, the water glistening with a silvery sheen in the twilight. It flowed gently, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Without thinking, Lydia made a decision. "We have to get clean," she said, her voice trembling. "I can't stand this—this filth."
Helena hesitated, a sense of dread washing over her. This was too familiar. They had stood by this river before, Lydia saying those same words, the same tone of frustration and desperation. She looked at Lydia, her mouth opening to protest, to ask if Lydia remembered, too, but the words wouldn't come.
Before Helena could protest, Lydia plunged into the water, the coldness shocking her system, momentarily numbing the exhaustion that gripped her. She scrubbed at her arms, her face, her hair, desperate to wash away the grime, the smell, the sense of violation that clung to her. The water was cold, biting into her skin, but it was clean. It was a relief after the stench of the troll's pit, after the grime of the polluted water.
"Lydia, this might not be safe," Helena called, her voice weak, but concern etched in her tone. She hesitated at the water's edge, watching her sister with weary eyes.
"I don't care," Lydia hissed, her voice breaking. "I need to get clean. I need to feel—alive." She ducked under the water, her hands working furiously as if scrubbing away the memories along with the dirt. "I need to feel like myself again." Her words echoed with frustration, her hands moving frantically over her skin, trying to erase the nightmare of the last day and night.
Helena, seeing the desperation in Lydia's movements, reluctantly waded in, the water closing over her legs, soaking her gown. The cold bit into her, a sharp contrast to the dull ache of her fatigue. She moved slowly, her hands mimicking Lydia's motions, cleansing herself of the filth, the fear, the hopelessness. They scrubbed and scrubbed, until their skin was raw, their bodies trembling from the cold and exertion.
For a few moments, they just stood in the water, the silence of the forest wrapping around them, the only sound the gentle babble of the river. The cool water soothed their skin, washing away the dirt, the mud, and the stench, but it couldn't wash away the exhaustion that clung to their souls. Lydia looked up, her gaze travelling to the sky, where the first stars were beginning to appear. They needed to find shelter before night fell completely.
Reluctantly, they dragged themselves out of the river, their gowns clinging to them, dripping wet. The water had done little to improve their situation—only made them colder, more aware of their vulnerability. Lydia shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, her teeth chattering. Helena, too, was trembling, her steps unsteady as they moved away from the riverbank.
As they looked around, Helena's sense of unease grew. The waterfall roared in the distance, a familiar sound that seemed to echo in her mind. She glanced around, recognizing the landscape, the curve of the river, the way the rocks jutted out near the water's edge. They had been here before, she was sure of it. But how? And why couldn't she remember?
The realization that they were back where they started hit Lydia like a blow. Her shoulders slumped, and for a moment, she felt a wave of despair wash over her. They were lost, exhausted, with no idea how to find their way home. The sun was sinking, casting long shadows across the ground, and soon darkness would fall. They couldn't risk travelling through the forest at night, not when they were already so weak and vulnerable.
"We need to find a place to rest," Helena said quietly, her voice carrying the weight of their predicament. She looked at Lydia, her eyes filled with worry. "I'm too weak to use magic right now, and we're both too tired to go any further. We need to sleep, to eat—"
Lydia nodded, her throat tight. The thought of staying in the open, vulnerable to any creature that might come their way, was terrifying. But they had no choice. "Perhaps… we can find some shelter near the waterfall," she suggested, her voice hollow. "At least it will be near water. We can try to find something to eat in the morning."
They walked along the riverbank, their eyes scanning the terrain for any sign of shelter. The forest was growing darker, and the sounds of the night beginning to stir around them. Every rustle of leaves, and every crack of a branch made Lydia jump, her heart racing with fear. She kept a tight hold on Helena's arm, guiding her sister as best she could, though her own legs were shaking with exhaustion.
Eventually, they found a small alcove near the base of the waterfall, a natural hollow in the rocks, sheltered by a curtain of vines. It was far from ideal, but it would provide some protection from the elements, and it was well-hidden. They crawled inside, their bodies huddled together for warmth, their clothes still damp and cold. Lydia's stomach growled, a painful reminder of how long it had been since they had last eaten.
Helena's eyes were already closing, her head nodding as sleep began to claim her. But as she drifted off, the uneasy feeling returned. Her dreams were filled with muddy waters, of struggling against a current, of Lydia's voice calling her name, of waking up in the same place over and over again. A sense of helplessness settled over her as if no matter how hard they tried, they would never escape this nightmare.
Lydia, too, found her sleep disturbed. Her dreams were haunted by the troll, by the scallywags, by the feeling of drowning. She tossed and turned, her body never truly relaxing, her mind never finding peace. The night passed slowly, the darkness pressing in around them, the sound of the waterfall a constant, lulling presence.
As dawn broke, Helena awoke with a start, her heart pounding. The alcove was still dark, the light of the new day barely penetrating the thick canopy of leaves above. Lydia lay beside her, her breathing slow and steady, her face pale and drawn. Helena stared at her sister, her mind racing. Why did it feel like they were trapped in a loop, reliving the same nightmare over and over again?
She pushed herself up, her body aching from the cold and damp. The waterfall roared in the distance, its sound echoing in her mind. Slowly, she crawled out of the alcove, her eyes scanning the forest, the river, the rocks. She couldn't shake the feeling that they were going in circles, that no matter how far they ran, they would always end up back here, by the river, by the waterfall.
Helena turned back to look at Lydia, still sleeping, and a shiver ran down her spine. This wasn't the first time they had escaped the troll, had scrubbed themselves clean in the river, had found this very spot to rest. The memories were hazy, and fragmented, but the sense of repetition was undeniable.
Then she heard Lydia shuffle awake, without waiting for greetings she called, "Lydia?"