The cell was pitch, but Lucrys was sure his eyes were open. She manifested before him, illuminated in the dark. She looked just how she had moments ago, in his dreams, before she woke him. He tried looking around his cell now that she stood by his makeshift bed. He still couldn’t make out the walls.

     “Look at me, Lucrys,” she said, her voice gentle.

     “You left,” Lucrys accused her, shaking his head violently.

     “You know why I disappeared.” Lucrys clicked his nails. “You’re nervous.” She placed her hand on his. It was warm, no, cold. It was cold. Her eyes weren’t the same- weren’t hers. This was some demon, not his dear Amillara. He chuckled, then laughed maniacally.

     “You,” he yelled at her, stammering. He repeated it many times, before looking at her and smiling. “You aren’t fucking Mila, a-alright? You’re some twisted stain from my mind.”

     The specter smiled. “Who are you trying to convince,” she asked wryly. “Me? Or you?”

     “You aren’t Mil,” he repeated slowly.

     “No?” she questioned. “Then who would you suppose I am?” She disappeared from in front of him, only for her arms to wrap around his neck from behind. “You woke up so suddenly,” she sympathized, sticking out her bottom lip. She kissed his neck tenderly, sending a chill down his spine. “Shouldn’t you go back to sleep?”

     “You’re poison.”

     “That’s harsh.”

     “Toxin.”

     “Ambrosia,” she offered, biting into his shoulder. Lucrys didn’t flinch, even as she tore his flesh.

     “Nothing for the gods,” he laughed. “Where… was I?”

     “Toxin.”

     “Siikus.”

     “I paralyze you?”

     “Anesthesia.”

     “That’s a good boy.”

     Lucrys leaned back, his eyes drifting shut. He could feel her drool leak down his bosom. Could feel her teeth grow and sharpen as they slid around his neck. He smiled and chuckled.

     “You still smell the same.” He smirked. Her maw clamped down quickly, rending his flesh and his mind, rending his soul from its natural plane of existence.

     “Goodbye, love,” she said, licking the blood from his throat.

                                                                 ◊ ◊ ◊

     “Welcome home, Lucrys.” The voice echoed around me. No, there were many voices. I knew them all, but I couldn’t name them if I wanted to. I was sure they weren’t anybody I knew. At least, that’s what I thought.

     Your eyes flutter open, taking in the scenery. You smell flowers, but they’re nameless. Lights flutter in the distance, searching for you. You don’t need to hide; they’ll find you anyway. It’s only a matter of time. And when they find you, you’ll have to leave this place again. It’s so comforting here. You can wander off aimlessly in any direction. Nothing exists here. Nothing concrete. The reality here is nothing close to that other world. What is that other world? Here, you can listen to the ocean. But it’s nowhere near. It doesn’t exist. Words are hard to grasp here, but you don’t need to speak. You want to create things. No, you want to destroy things. And laugh. And sing. And dance how you used to with- who again? You look to the dark sky, dotted with clouds. The best thing was seeing those clouds. But were you always alone like this? You can’t find the ocean here, because you can’t name it. You can smell flowers, but you can’t see them. You feel something scratching at the back of your brain. It rips into your skin violently. You gasp and moan, leaning into the pain vehemently. As though it causes some sort of ecstasy to reverberate through your bones. But suddenly, it becomes all too real. It stings. Burns. You scream, but your voice doesn’t work. They dance around you, smiling viciously. Maliciously. You chuckle feverishly. Your skin is cold. Wet and sticky. Your laughter is audible. The demons press their talons and fangs into you. Perhaps they’re angels? You laugh, tears mixing with sweat. Suddenly, you wish you were nameless. Like those flowers and that ocean. Like her. Like the kind, daunting voices. You don’t know whether to cry or laugh. So some sort of mixture emanates from within. Tears and fits of laughter erupt from the core of your being, accompanied by occasional dry rasps of pain. You claw at your skull, hoping to help yourself die and get back home. Or even to hell. You wish you were nameless. But all around you the kind voices begin chanting and taunting you. Laughing, they scream, “Lucrys.”

     I hate this place. It offers so much solace and comfort. It smells and sounds so pretty. That’s right. That’s how it works. The smell of flowers comes from centaurea, born from my peeled skin. The ocean I hear is my own blood swirling around me. I always forget where the beautiful things here come from. I always wonder why such beautiful things have such a distasteful visage. Maybe it wouldn’t be dissatisfying if it weren’t for the pain. The pain! It hurts… Help! Help? Light floods around me. Oh, that’s right… I always forget that I hate this place. It reminds me of Amillara… I really do hate this place. I should go home. I hate this place. I hate this place.

                                                                 ◊ ◊ ◊

     “I fucking hate this place!” Lucrys screamed, waking up in a cold sweat. He looked about him. He could see nothing. He hated the darkness of his room, and the darkness of his dreams. Lucrys screamed relentlessly, until his throat hurt. Then, he screamed some more. Yes, he definitely hated the dark. He curled up into a ball in his cell and began to weep with eyes dry from the past millennia he’d certainly spent in the cell. Did the king know this was a worse punishment than death? He smiled at the thought of the king realizing his sins, facing his errs. He grasped his now-throbbing head and cocked it back, cackling into the pitch of his prison.