Pouring and pouring down, the drops are a lullaby. The little prophet is still sleeping in, embracing the big soft pillow in her arms. And quickly she is awake by the sound of the annoying alarm clock. Her hand slams on it and it still doesn’t stop. So she just picks it up and throws it against the wall of her bedroom, a piece is chipped off and shoots across the room, she yawns.
“Good morning Henry, you ate quite too much lately,“ says the girl as she pets the round bird on the table, it purrs, even though it’s a bird, and she smiles at it. She gives it some seeds from the jar which is already half empty, and the bird bobs its head in her watch.
She gets up and walks to the bathroom, looking at herself in the mirror. She combs her messy white hair, which stretches and flows down her back, the curvature and the soothing feel to the touch, light like cotton. She got through A bit of morning chores and preparing herself for the day, it’s always chilling in the morning, so she has this red sweater on her all the time.
Walking out of the room, she ventures down the long gloomy hall. The lightbulbs hang loose, swinging around above her head, and she remembers the days when they crash down and the whole place is blinded. Well, at least they are more careful since then with the reinforcement and maintenance. One of the bulbs blink to her, and she waves back, greeting it. Though, it doesn’t have a mouth to speak to her. What a pity.
“Skavia,” says the man with a mask. The young girl sits down in a chair too big for her size, at one end of a long table. The man is on her right, his dark clothes emit an aura that makes her frown, he never shows himself through those thick fabric, and who knows what he is putting up behind that mask of his. The thought stirs her curiosity, one that is raging inside, but she keeps it at bay. His ceramic mask doesn’t even have any holes through it, why is he always sitting at the diner table when he doesn’t even eat? “You’re late again, that is so cruel of a little girl.“ Says the man, as she leans to the side of the chair, with her cheek resting on her hand.
“Cruelty would have been prevented if you didn’t make even breakfast a ritual,” she says.
“Don’t say that to your family,” he says. The man rings a small bell next to him, it echoes through the hall, till the very other end of the table. Skavia lets out a sigh, and grabs the silver utensils to cut the odd colored meal in front of her. The food looks gross, but the smell is always the same, like how it always used to be. Rest assured, she takes a bite and a sip of the fresh water. She looks up, to find others enjoying their meal in silence, it puts an odd smile on her face.
“Sector Zero has some news, well, it was heavily damaged and rampaged by the creatures. Some researchers made it out alive, now getting treatment in the emergency rooms, looks like you have a lot to do today.“ The man says.
“Sir Lonia, please don’t bring that up in my meal.“ she says. She never enjoyed the sight of those, the nauseous smells of medical chemicals and those ungodly needles and tubes. And then, the patients.
“No can do, we are in a rush now.“
After her meal being ruined by this guy, she stands up and pardons everyone to leave. The notebook and files he has been holding for the whole meal is handed over to her, they are always filled with walls of text and sophisticated terms that she doesn’t bother to understand. And they look nothing like the photos in here, well, actually, they used to look like these photos. To be honest, she is conflicted about this whole deal, she is afraid but also fascinated, yet all the prolonged exposure makes her question the world and her reality like everyone else. It’s getting worse, and doctors don’t seem to be able to do much other than talking to her, it’s what they call “therapy” if she remembers right. The doctor gave her all the fluffy plushies, and she has a mountain of them in her room.
She has been messing around on the way, and she has poked Lonia many times despite him stopping her. Still, she continues poking until they stop by the white doors, walking inside, the smell of alcohol fills the air, mixed with the metallic scent that she wishes she didn’t get used to. Each time she goes here it has another flavor to it, not that she tastes it, but it feels different for each person who came here.
There gather tall figures, covered in their white coats. The metronome - beeping noise from the machines - are sometimes overwhelmed by the occasional inhuman groans. They are not a person, at least, on the outside. The doctors stand aside when they notice Lonia’s presence, he is towering over them, a hulking shape, his hands touching the erect scales of the strange creature.
It whimpers, and screeches quietly, a big lizard of some sort, with its limbs twisted and torn, and its throat, to its abdomen, has been crushed by what man can only imagine. Its bleeding has been stopped, luckily, and she lays her hand on its head.
“I must admit, this form is cute. If only I could do more for them…” Skavia says.
“You did. A lot for us. They fell down for the living to thrive, and it’s our duty not to let their sacrifices go to waste.“
“How are their conditions?“
“No more immediate danger.“ One doctor answers.
“That’s…good. I need some time alone with them.“
The curtain closes behind her, silence sinks in. But the continual beep goes on, as if it is watching her carrying out the mission. She looks at the curtain, Lonia must be staring at her, and his look would be piercing through these fragile covers. It’s all good, she has been doing this for a while.
She listens, and searches. Searching inside this creature for who it once was, and nothing comes. But the shards of what it saw, and what it felt seeps into her mind and body. Cold, and burning, a mixture of chaotic sensations crashes into her like waves of the relentless ocean. But it is not what she needs, pushing on, and reaching out for the rain, those droplets that cut her fingers carve deep inside her flesh. Surrounding her is a mist full of roars and alien shapes, water floods her feet, yet she stands still for the words to show themselves.
She gasps, and reality is restored to what the present is. Her arms itch and sting, with writing on them, carved on her arm, lines of prose. There is no blood. It hurts, but only water drips down her sleeves, and now it’s soaked wet, she frowns. Very quickly Lonia the unholy comes to break her peaceful space.
“So it has gotten to this stage it seems.“ He says.
“I’m not dying so soon, old man.“ Skavia stands up, holding her arm as she looks at it closely. “Just, write it down. I’ll read it out.“
Restless words, chaos thoughts
Till the eye storm, convergence
Humanity, dawn be caught
Tomorrow without vision
Still strange as always, sometimes the words are gibberish even, maybe the rain really likes giving them puzzles, or it’s just messing with them. She flips through the pages of the previous “prophecies”, there was indeed some connection between the words and what happened afterward according to what she had heard. However, they never really succeeded in understanding the prophecies fully, all they could do was pure guesswork.
“I wonder, who started the prophecies?“ Skavia says.
“It’s been a long time, my memory is bad, dear.“
“If it was anyone else it would have been much worse than just bad memory.“
“We are coming to Sector Zero now,” Lonia says as he closes his notebook and grabs her hand. His gloves are soft, and his grab is tender, yet it’s also tight, she is practically cuffed to him.
“Do I really have to go?“
“There is more than one in ‘we’.”