Work Text:
ascend.
the voice reverberates in your empty shell as your feet tread lightly. the floor below is comprised of discarded shells, uncountable in number. you do not think about how many it could be. it matters not in the end. no one will remember, there will be no recollections. your funeral was already held.
and yet still, you turn back. the pitch black egg you arose from still stands, jagged edges clawing at the air. broken by your siblings; you the last to have emerged. none linger now, besides the shells you now stand on as your road.
it’s deathly silent. life exists not here, only the darkness and the forgotten bones of something not meant to be. the shadows surround a certainty.
there are no comforts here, and you do not know the word. and yet, there’s a sensation within you as you take note of the shadows. the word will remain elusive, evanescent. there is only one thing that matters, and that is your ascent.
and so you climb.
time has no meaning; it cannot when it is not a concept. there are no clickings of a clock in your shell, only a voice that is not your own. you have no voice. an empty vessel has nothing to say.
shells crack as you leap, and in the back of your consciousness you can hear faint wails that are drowned out by the voice.
no mind to think.
was there a mind inside? or just the remains of an imprint? you have no answer. you let your body become the answer as you climb ever higher.
no will to break.
there’s a gnawing in where you can only assume would be something, in a another being. is it instinct? something more? a need. a want.
no voice to cry suffering.
there was all but one voice, the one that consumes you. the one that puppeteers your body on invisible strings, leading you up ever higher. you have little use for words, so you actions will become your words.
born of god and void.
your arms grab hold of the fine metal, pulling your head up to view the peak.
another stands before you, back turned as the two of you gaze on the fine points of the crown. a blinding light that scatters the darkness.
one has been chosen.
the light begins to fade as he leaves, the chosen taking one step, two. to feel was something difficult to ascertain. but there’s something in the stale air. they turn.
time immeasurable passes as hollow eyes stare back at one another. silent volumes are spoken. you have your answers.
the ledge rumbles, the door beginning to close. your grip loosens.
the chosen turns away, following the light of the crown. the shaking grows in intensity as they slip on through. as the door shuts, your grip on the gleaming silver is dashed away.
the freefall is heaven sent in this hell.
the voice that spoke is dead, and another rises from its ashes.
this abyss will not hold you.