Even the slightest déjà vu are supernatural incidents.
Sushmita Sen:
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The boy smirked, intrigued. "Truly fascinating," he muttered, tilting his head slightly as he observed the peculiar creatures before him.
This time, instead of resorting to brute force, he opted for a different approach. With a subtle shift in focus, he altered their perception of him. To the monkeys, he was no longer an outsider or a potential threat, but a natural part of the forest—a seamless, harmless presence. It was an odd ability, bending reality to manipulate how others saw him.
Weird? Absolutely.
Useful? Without a doubt.
The effect was immediate. The grotesque monkeys, with their shifting, color-changing eyes and clawed hands, cast fleeting glances his way but quickly dismissed him. To them, he was no more remarkable than a swaying branch or a patch of moss. They saw him, acknowledged his existence, and then promptly ignored him.
Satisfied, he surveyed the area. "I don't like using this ability," he muttered under his breath. "But sometimes, it's just easier to get what I want without a fight."
Turning his attention back to the forest, he took a moment to gather his thoughts. Figure out what's going on first, he reminded himself. His gaze swept across the trees and the tangled undergrowth. "I'll head to the next forest," he murmured, his tone thoughtful. "But before that…"
His eyes caught on a cluster of strange flowers growing nearby. They pulsed faintly, their stems connected by those same bizarre tendrils he had encountered before.
Cautiously, he approached, plucking one of the flowers. As expected, the tendrils reacted instantly, recoiling and attempting to retreat into the ground.
He was faster. Gripping the tendrils tightly, he channeled a surge of energy through them, forcing them to remain rooted in place.
The response was immediate—a faint tremor rippled through the earth, a distant echo of something far larger. Closing his eyes, he focused, letting his power trace the tendrils back to their source.
When he opened his eyes, a faint smirk curved his lips. "Same direction as before," he muttered, his voice low and confident. "Guess I was right."
He released the tendrils, and they vanished, and he stood, brushing his hands together. "Time to figure out what's really happening," he said, his tone sharpening with determination. He cast one final glance at the pulsing flowers before turning away.
"And get out of this déjà vu Shit once and for all."
So I got up. This time, I didn't run. Instead, I jumped.
For the first time since arriving in this strange place, I truly saw the spectacle of the forest from above.
How the fuck does it manage to blend itself into two completely different ecosystems? Winter and spring, side by side, seamlessly shifting into one another. Truly a unique place, this one.
When I landed, the same eerie forest greeted me, silent and still. I glanced around, and as expected, the eagle-spiders didn't even flinch. Not a flicker of acknowledgment. They moved about their business like I was invisible.
I jumped again, and the landscape warped around me. This time, I emerged in a hellish lava land. Massive spires of molten rock jutted out of the scorched ground, their jagged tips oozing fire and magma. The heat hit me immediately, radiating upward like a living, breathing thing. But it didn't bother me.
I landed on one of the spires and took a moment to survey the land. Everything was exactly as I remembered it—unchanged, undisturbed. There were no scars from the battle I'd fought here, no remnants of destruction. Nothing.
My eyes drifted toward the open plain where it had all happened, and still nothing.
And her. She wasn't there.
The girl was gone. The grave was gone. It was as if neither had ever existed.
"Maybe she's at the cathedral," I muttered, the thought coming unbidden.
With that, I turned toward the towering structure in the distance.
The cathedral loomed against the twilight sky, its dark spires clawing upward like skeletal fingers. Shadows stretched across the overgrown courtyard, curling and twisting as if alive, shifting with a rhythm I couldn't quite understand.
I moved toward the entrance, each step deliberate. My boots crunched against the cracked stones beneath me, the sound unnervingly loud in the oppressive stillness of this world.
Though only fifteen, there was something about the boy's presence—a quiet, commanding power that the world itself seemed to acknowledge.
He pushed the massive wooden doors open with ease, their weight offering no challenge to his strength. The grand hall stretched out before him, vast and hauntingly silent. The air carried the heavy scent of aged stone, mingled with a faint, almost imperceptible floral undertone. Dust motes drifted lazily in the dim shafts of light that pierced through fractured stained-glass windows, scattering fragmented rainbows across the cold stone floor.
His sharp eyes swept the room, narrowing as they darted to every shadowed corner. He could feel her presence—faint but unmistakable. She was here. Somewhere.
"Maybe in that girly room," he muttered, his lips curling into a smirk tinged with sarcasm.
The echo of his boots filled the cavernous space as he strode forward, his movements deliberate, his demeanor calm but charged with tension. At the far end of the hall, an arched doorway caught his attention. The pull in his chest intensified, drawing him closer.
Without hesitation, he reached out, the door creaking open beneath his touch.
Inside was a room starkly different from the rest of the cathedral, a jarring contrast to the somber gloom outside.
It was just as he remembered it—untouched, frozen in time.
Soft pink curtains framed the room, glowing faintly in the pale, filtered light. At its center stood a frilly canopy bed, the delicate lace and pastel tones radiating an almost otherworldly charm. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with porcelain dolls and fragile trinkets, each so delicate they seemed like they'd shatter under the weight of a breath. The faint, bittersweet scent of roses hung in the air, threading through the room like a memory that refused to fade.
And then his gaze fell on her.
She lay there, perfectly still on the bed, her pink hair cascading across the pillows in soft waves. Her hands rested gently on her chest, and her nightgown—a pale pink silk—flowed over her form like liquid moonlight.
"Ooo, I guess they were average after all," he muttered, his smirk deepening. His tone carried its usual edge of mockery, but beneath it was something quieter, something he wouldn't acknowledge.
As he stood there, staring at her, a strange blend of emotions washed over him—familiarity, curiosity, and an uninvited flicker of something else he couldn't quite name.
He clenched his fists, trying to ground himself. How is this possible?
He'd buried her after their battle. After her death. He remembered it vividly: the ashes, the cold earth, the hollow stillness of that moment.
Yet here she was. Breathing. Sleeping.
Alive.
Her breathing was soft and steady, the rise and fall of her chest creating a hypnotic rhythm. She looked exactly as she had the last time he saw her—untouched by time, her features as flawless and delicate as a porcelain doll. The room's ethereal glow seemed to magnify the surreal quality of the moment, casting an otherworldly light over her.
The boy exhaled slowly, stepping closer with deliberate care. He didn't want to disturb the fragile stillness of this place, but his questions wouldn't wait.
Answers lay with her. Answers, he wants to know if she even knows.
Her eyes remained closed, her expression serene, as though caught in some peaceful slumber.
His hand hovered above her shoulder, the faintest hesitation lingering. For the first time in what felt like forever, doubt flickered. He wasn't one to wake people from their sleep; it simply wasn't in his nature. But this time, the situation demanded action.
"Don't make me regret this," he muttered.
His fingers brushed against her shoulder. In an instant, the air shifted—almost imperceptibly at first, but it was there. A subtle spark ignited, rippling through the room like a silent warning.
Her eyelids fluttered, her lips parted slightly, as though on the cusp of speaking. The boy straightened, his body tensing as his resolve solidified.
"Bitch, just don't attack me." he muttered under his breath.
As her eyes fluttered open, they scanned the room briefly before settling on the boy. For a fleeting moment, her expression was one of calm indifference, as if it were the most natural thing in the world for someone to be standing in her private sanctuary.
Of course, that made sense—his weird ability was still active. She had no reason to see him as anything out of the ordinary.
Without a second thought, she turned her head, let out a quiet sigh, and closed her eyes again, clearly deciding he wasn't worth the effort.
The boy blinked, realization dawning. Oops… forgot to turn off the ability.
He sighed, raising a hand and making a quick, dismissive swiping motion to cancel the altered perception.
The air shifted subtly, as though reality itself was snapping back into place.
Her calm demeanor vanished in an instant.
Before he could even process the shift, her fist was already rocketing toward his face.
I mean, what did I expect? he thought dryly
A hug?
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