Stage 70: Fight the Dying Light
You fight the impending slumber. The dreamscape that had started to set out before you faded into nothingness. You did not drift into sleep, even if a force near impossible to deny tried to hold your lids closed.
And then you would feel it. This sense that you were falling. Not gently, not like slipping into a dream, but rather like plunging through still water, soundless, depthless, cold. And then...
Your eyes opened.
The world swayed with motion, you were moving but not of your own accord. You were looking upward, and from this disorienting vantage point you could see shadows dancing across stone walls lit by flickering torches. The corridor was familiar, but wrong. Stretched. Too tall. The ceiling higher than it should be. The torches hung impossibly far above.
That was the tea stubbornly trying to take you away.
If you tried to speak, your voice would catch in your throat. Lips would move sluggishly, as if stitched closed with silk. Your head would roll to the side, resting against soft fabric. You did not move your head, you were still too weak to move but you would realize that someone was carrying her.
It was Canbrey.
Their expression was calm. Gentle. Smiling faintly as though they were cradling something fragile… and beloved.
“You woke sooner than expected,” Canbrey murmured, voice low and soothing, like someone singing to a fussy infant. “Shhh, don’t worry. It’s just the beginning. You’ll feel better once you settle in.”
Their arms tightened slightly, not with malice, but with ownership.
Ahead, the corridor narrowed. The stone took on a different hue—older, darker, veined with silver. It would be hard to keep your eyes open, they were so incredibly heavy.
Do You?
Try to Scream - Step 72
Let sleep take you - Step 71
And then you would feel it. This sense that you were falling. Not gently, not like slipping into a dream, but rather like plunging through still water, soundless, depthless, cold. And then...
Your eyes opened.
The world swayed with motion, you were moving but not of your own accord. You were looking upward, and from this disorienting vantage point you could see shadows dancing across stone walls lit by flickering torches. The corridor was familiar, but wrong. Stretched. Too tall. The ceiling higher than it should be. The torches hung impossibly far above.
That was the tea stubbornly trying to take you away.
If you tried to speak, your voice would catch in your throat. Lips would move sluggishly, as if stitched closed with silk. Your head would roll to the side, resting against soft fabric. You did not move your head, you were still too weak to move but you would realize that someone was carrying her.
It was Canbrey.
Their expression was calm. Gentle. Smiling faintly as though they were cradling something fragile… and beloved.
“You woke sooner than expected,” Canbrey murmured, voice low and soothing, like someone singing to a fussy infant. “Shhh, don’t worry. It’s just the beginning. You’ll feel better once you settle in.”
Their arms tightened slightly, not with malice, but with ownership.
Ahead, the corridor narrowed. The stone took on a different hue—older, darker, veined with silver. It would be hard to keep your eyes open, they were so incredibly heavy.
Do You?
Try to Scream - Step 72
Let sleep take you - Step 71
There is something about ambition, how it not only propels you but also defines you.