idolpro | PPP; S.2, T.2

PPP; S.2, T.2

The clock strikes twelve and everyone will find themselves inexorably drawn to a seat; the once-empty place marking now bears their name on it. The place settings and food items all vanish in a spray of glitter, and the In the middle of the tables what appears in their stead are--two fancy gold chests, one inlaid with red jewels and the other inlaid with blue jewels (neither of which can be opened yet) as well as what looks to be a game board and, of course, a single dice. The long, billowing curtains draw down around each table and--you'll find yourself unable to leave your table, or see or hear anything beyond it other than the background music which continues to play.

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[ rolled a 5, er... ]

Ah, Hellfire, can I get that necklace, er—

...or if you don't mind handing it to me.

[ —on account of being covered in girls. ]

Um. Can you lean down a little? I'm supposed to be under the table.

Oh, sorry, er...

[ well, she bends sideways as much as she can, with her hand held out. ]

[ She scooches over to the edge of her babyjail, then passes the necklace up. ]

Ah, thanks—

[ she fastens it around her neck, and... hm. ]

[ i don't think any of you have actually experienced this one. good luck have fun ]

You descend seemingly endless stairs—down, down, down, into the endless dark. You don’t know the way, but you do, actually, even though you can feel presences falling into step behind you to guide you, if you need it. Perhaps to stop you, should you turn and run, but you won’t.

Outlines of something in the darkness come into focus as you descend—immeasurably large, edifices jutting out of the dark. High archways, heavy doors, engravings in no language you’ve ever known. They’re larger than the descent you’ve made, but still in the dark it seems they go on forever, up into the now-distant sky of the living world that you’ve left behind.

It feels like a dream. A nightmare, maybe, but you’re not afraid, for the first time in your life. Just purposeful, in putting one foot in front of the other, down, down, down, for what could be forever.

But you know it won’t be. After all, as the sutra goes: “There’s always an ending.”

So when your feet meet ground, at the end of the stairway, it doesn’t surprise you; nor does the rising susurration of voices that comes to your ears. A welcome, of sorts, but you’ve been hearing them distantly all this time—the call to meet them. They’ve been with you, all this time.

Your path takes you to stand in front of a door—no. A face? A—no, n̝͕̲̦͟o̘̟̯͎͖̙̗͝,͎͉̖̣͞, n̖͓̦̞͝o̵͚͕̦͖,̵͚̠̖͝, ǹ̯̥͓̣̖̞̤̱̤̫̝͞ͅo̸̙͉̗̜̰̭̣̫̼̭͈̣͕̜̠̪̖̞, you can’t think about that, you can’t, y̭̱̞͢ǫ̳̘̰̼͎u̷̮͓̦̗ ̩̥̞̱̥c̮̬a̢̬͚̗̞̜̩n̰'ͅt͔̠̭͔, y̜̰̥o̘̺͘͞ͅu̷̳̜ c̸̸̵̨͈̮̪͎̮̞͚̥̝͇̫͙̯̣͙̗͟a̵̯̥̹̳͎̳̤̺̱̠̳͢͠͡͠ͅͅn̴͢͏̘̰̟̪͉̖̬̗͚̪̝̹̲͍̣̲̜ͅͅ'̶̨͕̮̟̪̘̫̝̘̗̕͟t̻̙̦͔̬̲͍̦̟̥̖̠̦͙̘́͘ͅ.

But.

You force yourself to concentrate on the voices, to wrench yourself away—you can hear it, the single louder voice that drowns out all the others in the very specific spot that you stand.

One last thing remains. You must let go of it.

It comes to you, what you must do. You turn around, face what’s behind you, and walk toward it.

In the middle of the massive ring of... no, that’s a mistake. Focus. In the middle of the ring, the low water on the ground hits a steep drop, vanishing into a pit of—

...nothing.

It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. In fact, you don’t know how long you stand, staring into it, listening to the rush of the vanishing water. But eventually, you remember that you have a purpose. And the first of it is to cast off the last burden keeping you from it.

You speak your name—

K̡̲̙̜͇ͫ̓͐ͮ̂̐͒̂̀ͪ̇͊eͬ͂ͭ̓͐ͯ̾̀̏̇̍̆̽ͨ̇͏̱̞̪͔̖̯̼͎̫̼͙̜͇͚̹̯͟s̿̆̄͋̎ͣ̿͑͆̄ͥ̂ͤ̓̀͗ͮ̀́͏͕̤̞̯́͟ţ͉̮͎͕̺̦̙̰̲̝̳̗̉ͮ͋̅ͨ̓ͧ̉͛̕͢͠ř̡̨̨̥͓͉͓̗͉̳̭͈̜̫͛ͯ̅̅ͬͧ̌̎̊͆͆̑ͤͫ̂̚̚̕͠e̵̡̬̩̤̩̯̫̦̳̳̹͎̮̘̟͗̿̍̀̓͑̃͋̑̊ͫͥ̇̓̓̈́̃́͠ļ̸̃̇̍̈̈́ͤ͆͏͈͈̦͙̟̮̠͕̦͙͚̰̼͖̬ͅ ̴͎̜̝̖̙̦̖͎̾̏ͮ̃̎̾̔ͬͣ̃ͭ̃̇́͡ͅͅS̶͉̙͖͊̔̊ͪ̽̿́t̹̱̬̜̟̯ͤͮͬ̊ͮ̐̈́͑̍ͭ̑̒̂ͬͮ̏͟r̸̗͇̹͙̥̪͔͉̲̿ͥ͋̽̇͂́̀̚i̗̙̬͈̯͉͓͍̠̠̩̦̇ͪ͆̌̿́̈́̚͘͞k̵̘͎̗͕͖̣̻͓̦͇̮ͩ̑̈ͨ̐̀͟e̴̛̝̤̣̦͇͓͇͇̩̩̩̞̱̣͓̪̽ͬͭ̓̏̈̿ͮͨ́̚͢ͅs̢̹̺̦͇̣̯͔͈̹̊ͣ͛ͩ̇͟͞ ̄͂̉ͬ̊ͪ̔̓ͤͮ̈̀́͏̙̹̩͕̱ͅa̢̿̽̐͠҉̮̼͎̹͔͘t̴̗̰͓̰̩͚̺̙̼̙̂͗̓͂̑͆͒ͨ͗̐ͫͪͤ́͊̄̐ͮ͘͢ͅ ̴̷̗͍̠̟ͫͯͤ̂̿̅ͨͦ͗͑̃̿̓̋̾́̚͢͠Ť̛̽ͦͣͦ̓́͛͌ͧ̄̍͒̚͞҉̼̥̗͓͇͈w̨͙̱̳̹͕̰̲͙͉̞̅̏̋̐̾ͥͫ̓̐ͦ͛ͧ́ĭ̛̙̘̤̩̘̲̫̙̳̤̝̤̫̹͕͇̲̂͒͆̓̈ͮ̀̉͂ͫ̽̇̒̚ͅl̬̱͎͕̾̐̃̍ͭ̇́ͭ̽ͥ͒̿̅̐͌ͯ͊́̚͡i̾̄͂̒͑̀͐̓̑̓ͬ́ͤ͐̂̈́̚͜͏̥̠̗̭͎̼͚̬̳͇̙̖͔̺͟ͅͅg̣̳̲͚̳͕̱̱̻̞͍̜̦̟͚̭͔̜ͯ̉ͭ̃̓ͥ͜͡͝h͗̆̌̈́̇̒͏̵̨҉̩͈̻̥̤͇t̷̴͕̞̥͓͚͍͙͍͖̝̃̐ͬ̔̍͌̽̓ͥ̐̆̓̆͋ͤ̉͜͟

Or, you don’t. The sound is garbled, swallowed, vanishes, leaving only the ghost of its memory on your tongue. You don’t miss it.

After some time—you’re not sure how much—there’s the muffled sound of footsteps through the water behind you.

“Welcome,” says the voice that spoke to you, in your last moments. “Come with me. We have much work to do.”

[ T̹̰͔̯̣̤h̖͚̟̰͘e̢̟̤̹̩͙͇r̘̖͝e̯ ̙̮i͉̘̠̜t̛͈̺ ̱̼͓͚i̫̹̤̜̯s̤̝̬̻͜.̛̘ ]

...Someone else saw it too? [ voice wondering, and a little awed ]

Sorry, what...?

The 𝓝ot.

I'm not familiar, er—did something happen just then, or...?

I've never actually gotten to see it before; it was just something I felt.

But I saw the True Thing in someone else's memory—like I was them while they were seeing it! And it was so so beautiful.

Sorry, the—er, what is the "True Thing"?

You know. Like I said: the 𝓝ot.
The only thing there would be, if they won the War.

...Oblivion.

I guess you could call it that. But "oblivion" is just what would have to happen to the Lie in order for everything to return to the 𝓝ot.

And that's the hard part, right? Because the Lie is so wonderful too.

...it's not a lie. It's not.

[ comfortably ] It is, though.

But it's still okay to love it. I love it so much I'm gonna protect it anyway, you know?

...I suppose in the end, that sort of thing is good enough...

That's what I think, anyway. Everything in the world deserves to be loved.

...mm. That's true.

[ oh.

It's beautiful. ]

[ the True Thing. ]

[ her eye rings turn a shimmering silver, but who can say if it matters when she closes her eyes

Yes. I understand. ]

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PPP; S.2, T.2

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