The Veil of Despair

 “I’m not sure I understand. I feel awake. I’ve been experiencing everything as if I’m fully conscious.”

Khiyan’s gaze remains steady, a hint of mystery in his eyes. “Sometimes, reality and dreams intermingle in ways we don’t fully grasp. But you cannot stay here, Amaya. We have to leave.”

“Leave? What are you talking about? You said I’m safe here. Why would I leave?” I ask, my voice trembling slightly. The serene atmosphere now feels unsettling.

“Your soul does not belong in this place, Amaya. Your body has been left unattended for too long,” Khiyan explains, his tone gentle yet firm.

“My soul?! I see now, you’re crazy,” I reply, a surge of panic rising within me. The calm I had felt moments ago seems to evaporate, replaced by a growing sense of dread.

Khiyan’s eyes soften with sympathy. “I understand your fear. But this sanctuary, while it can offer solace, is not your true home. You must return to your body before it is too late.”

“I am in my body right now!” I snap, my face flushed with anger. I gesture wildly at myself, my hands flailing to emphasise my point. “I’m here, aren’t I? How can you say I’m not?”

“Amaya, I understand this is difficult to grasp. This sanctuary exists between worlds, a space where your spirit has found temporary refuge. Your physical body lies unconscious outside, and if you do not return soon, it may suffer irreversible harm.”

“So, you’re saying I’m just... dreaming? My body is in danger?” My voice wavers, the reality of Khiyan’s words beginning to penetrate my fear. My anger gives way to confusion, and I clutch at the edges of my dress, trying to steady myself.

“We must act quickly, Amaya. I need you to trust me.”

“But where will we go?”

“Home.”

The word lands like a spark in dry tinder.

I nod slowly.

He holds my hands in his, eyes locked on mine. “Nothing will hurt you, Amaya. I promise.”

Khiyan begins to speak in a soft, rhythmic chant that resonates with a power I can’t quite understand. The air around us turns cool and sharp, brushing against my skin like a warning, as though the sanctuary itself is encouraging us to depart.

A thick grey mist forms around us, swirling with a gentle but insistent force. I glance back at the serene beauty of the garden, now fading into a haze. The sensation of movement grows stronger, and I feel a gentle tug drawing me away.

My mind spins, grappling with the jarring transition from the sanctuary to this place. I blink rapidly, the shift too abrupt to fully grasp. My gaze darts around, trying to anchor itself in the endless expanse of shelves. “Where am I?’ I mutter, my voice trembling slightly as it echoes softly in the vast, quiet space.

I sit up slowly, feeling the soft cushion of the bench beneath me. A dull ache flares in my abdomen, like a memory that keeps resurfacing despite my attempts to ignore it. “Ouch! Gosh! How does this feel worse now?” I exclaim, my voice trembling with a mix of frustration and confusion. I place a hand over the area, trying to soothe the annoying discomfort.

“I should have asked Khiyan for some painkillers before we left,” I murmur, wincing as the dull ache in my abdomen pulses with irritation.

“Khiyan…” His name escapes my lips, a faint beacon in the fog of confusion.

Is this another dream? He promised to take me home…Home.

I blink, squinting as shapes come into focus. My surroundings come into focus, and the musty scent of old paper seeps into my senses. “Old paper… smells like old paper,” I whisper, trying to piece it all together. 

Slowly, I rise from the bench. My legs sway beneath me, unsure, unsteady, but I push myself up. The dim light filters through the cracks of my consciousness, and I can see it all clearly now. Directly in front of me sits a desk—aged, wooden, with stacks of books scattered across its surface. Further ahead, a grand staircase curves upward, leading to floors I can’t yet see.

“Books…so many books.” I murmur, my eyes catching the gold-embossed spines stacked high on the shelves that line the room. The smell of parchment and ink is stronger now, filling the space.

I take a shaky step forward, turning to the side. There’s a grand fireplace, its stone structure looming at the edge of the room. I stare at it for a long moment, the embers long cold, though it feels like the room itself is waiting, watching.

My heart hammers against my ribs, as though trying to escape. “This isn’t home,” I stammer, the realisation hitting me like a Conor McGregor left hand - swift, unexpected, and devastating. 

The shelves, the desk, the fireplace—it all begins to blur as the room begins to shift and warp. The shelves move as though alive, creaking and groaning, their shapes contorting. They start to blur, the spines of the books blending together in a dizzying whirl. The lights above flicker and tremble on their chains, casting erratic shadows that make the walls feel like they’re closing in.

My legs give out, and I drop to the floor, curling into myself, knees pressed tightly to my chest. “No, no, no, no…This isn’t home. I know what home is, and this isn’t it.” My arms wrap around my legs, pulling me into a foetal position as I rock back and forth. “This is a dream…It has to be a dream. I’m not home yet. Why am I back in the library?”

I grip my legs tighter, my knuckles white. “This is a dream. A nightmare. A fucked-up dream!”

Tears stream down my face as my voice breaks. “He lied to me. Khiyan lied to me. This isn’t home.”

“Of course he lied,” a voice slithers into my mind, soft but sharp, like a whisper cutting through the air. It’s not loud, yet it drowns out everything else. It coils around my thoughts, relentless and cold. “Why would he help you, Maya?” it hisses, seeping into the cracks of my panic.

My throat constricts, and I struggle to breathe. “Not you again”, my voice shakes as the all too familiar voice wraps around me. “I already escaped you and your beast in the sanctuary. Leave me alone!”

His laughter drifts through the air, low and menacing, like the calculated silence of a predator waiting to strike. It’s cold and devoid of warmth, wrapping around my senses with a chilling precision. “Why cling to this yearning for home?” he taunts, his voice a predatory whisper that seems to sink into the very marrow of my panic. “You spent your life fleeing from it, from the truth of your emptiness. Remember? You annihilated your own family.”

The weight of his words sink into my chest like a leaden weight. The ground seems to waver, as though the library itself is shifting and warping to engulf me.

A lone whisper pierces the air, “You are a murderer Maya.” The accusation hangs, then echoes, as a second whisper joins in: “Murdererrrrr…” A third, a fourth, and soon a cacophony of whispers surrounds me, each one a dagger of disdain. The voices close in, circling me like predators, their words dripping with malice: “Murdererrrrr…”

“Stop! I’m not a murderer!” I slam my hands against my ears, desperately trying to drown out the voices. “I won’t give in to your twisted accusations.”

The whispers constrict, tightening around me like a noose. Fingers of sound point accusingly, each voice a condemning finger: “Murdererrrr…murdererrrrr…murdererrrrr” The chorus grows, a maelstrom of mockery and scorn, with me at its centre. The target of their venomous refrain.

“I can’t escape this, can I?” I whisper to myself, voice cracking. I ease myself down to the floor, shoulders sagging, and my body surrendering to the weight of my guilt. “No matter where I go, I can’t escape what I’ve done.”