Avery sat in the dimly lit room, the flickering candlelight casting long shadows on the walls. The quiet was suffocating, and the stillness around him was a sharp contrast to the storm swirling inside his mind. He'd been sitting there for what felt like hours, trying to organize his thoughts, but they refused to be contained. The words in his head felt like they were moving faster than he could keep up with.
He reached for the parchment and quill, his hand shaking slightly as he set the pen to paper. Maybe, just maybe, writing it down would help him make sense of everything.
Day 1 (Or maybe it's day 3? I'm losing track.)
I woke up today. Or maybe I didn't. I'm not sure anymore. The first thing I felt when I woke up was the weight of this... body. It wasn't mine. It's like waking up in someone else's dream, knowing that you don't belong, but there's no way to escape. The room—no, the whole world—felt wrong. Everything was unfamiliar, but also… oddly familiar? Elias, that's the name they keep calling me. I don't know who he is, but I know I'm not him. And yet... it's my name now. It's my body.
The worst part is, I can feel him—Elias. It's like he's still here, inside me, his presence clinging to every corner of my mind. I've felt him before. There's a pressure in my skull, a pulse of something that isn't mine. His thoughts—they're not mine, but they're right there, trying to push their way into my own. Trying to take control.
I woke up in this strange bed, in a strange room, with strange clothes on my body. I don't remember how I got here, or what happened before this. But the moment I opened my eyes, I knew—this life isn't mine. It's his. Or maybe it's ours? Are we sharing this body now? I don't know. I'm trying to make sense of it, but I'm lost. This isn't me. It's a cage, a prison, and I don't know how to escape.
And then they—they—came. The figure at the door, calling me "Elias." I froze. My mind screamed that I wasn't Elias, but my body moved. I couldn't stop it. I don't know if it was Elias's will or mine, but I couldn't stop it. The way the name slipped out of my mouth—like it was my name. But it isn't. It shouldn't be.
The worst part is… the worst part is, I think I'm losing myself.
Every time Elias pushes against me, every time I hear his voice in my head, I feel something slipping away. I don't even know what's real anymore. His memories are fragments—broken pieces of a life I never lived. The feeling of his presence—it's overwhelming. He's not gone. Not really. And sometimes, when I get a moment of clarity, I hear his thoughts, his emotions, seeping through, like shadows that blur the edges of my own. It's suffocating. I want to scream, but I can't. I don't even know who I'm screaming for.
How much longer can I hold onto myself before I lose it all?
I don't even know who I am anymore. Is my name even real? Am I still Avery Donovan? Or am I just Elias's shell now, a puppet controlled by a soul that won't let me go? The worst part is, I don't know if I'm strong enough to fight it.
And now—now—they want me to prove myself.
My family... I barely know them, but I'm expected to be Elias. Armand, my father, looks at me with cold eyes, expecting something from me I can't give. Thane, my brother, smirks at me like I'm some sort of joke. Arabelle, my sister, watches me like a hawk, always calculating, always waiting for me to slip up. The pressure... it's unbearable. I don't know how long I can pretend to be him.
They say that memory loss doesn't erase power. That's what Armand told me. But how do you prove something you can't even remember? I barely know how to summon a spell. It's like trying to catch smoke with bare hands. But I did it. I made something happen. I don't know how, but I did it.
But it wasn't enough. It'll never be enough.
The fear in Armand's eyes when I failed... the disappointment. I've seen that look before, and I'm terrified I'll see it again. I can't fail. I can't fail them. But what if I do? What if I fail at everything—my magic, my family, myself?
I think I'm losing more than my memories. I think I'm losing me.
Avery pauses, staring at the words on the page for a long moment. His hand trembles as he grips the paper, the quill still poised above it. The words blur, merging into a sea of confusion and frustration. He inhales deeply, then tears the paper in half. The sound is harsh, final. He rips it again, and again, until it's nothing but shredded fragments of thought.
Avery: "I can't do this. Not like this."
He stands, the pieces of his writing scattered on the floor like remnants of his sanity. He walks away from the pile of shredded paper, not knowing where he's going, but knowing he can't stay here. Not in this head, not in this body.