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The feeling of pressure all around her is not one that is unfamiliar, but it isn't one that brings comfort.
Millie opens her eyes slowly, almost afraid to view the world. Murky darkness stares back, the ebb and flow gently keeping her body afloat.
Her breath hitches.
Unconsciously, her fingers grip tighter on the doll in her hands. She vaguely makes out the shape through the tears in her eyes.
(Enna.)
The scent in the air hits her like remembering the perfume of a loved one who's long gone. It makes her throat squeeze and for a moment, she considers holding her breath.
(Because it smells like all of their scents all at once. That comforting smell that each one of them carried, never ceasing to bring Millie to ease.
Along with the scent of blood and decay.)
There's a desperate feeling in her heart that compels Millie to stay still. That maybe, if she just closes her eyes again, she'll go back to sleep and wake up in her bed, and everything will be normal.
Instead, she forces herself to stand up, to push through and continue to move.
(She's already tried before — closing her eyes to a dreamless sleep. It never does anything. She simply wakes back up in the same place.)
Millie holds the doll of Enna close to her chest, pushing forwards until she can eventually see the gradual lining of wisteria looming above her head.
Sometimes the dolls change. Sometimes they don't. Millie quickly figured out what they meant the first time it happened.
Whoever it was, the doll in her hands would resemble the one that died. They were the one that Millie failed to save, and their puppet of a body would be left in her hands as a cruel reminder of her mistakes.
The first death was one that struck her heart in a way that it was etched into her soul. It hurt so, so much, and still makes her heart ache. Enna. Her beloved friend.
Millie remembers cradling Enna in her arms, holding her close as the light escaped her eyes because she wanted the last feeling in Enna's life to be warmth rather than pain. She would never forget the words that her songbird whispered to her as her dying breath.
("We'll meet again."
Somehow that phrase had become a constant no matter who died.)
Millie had gone to sleep and woken up in this expansive space, the doll of Enna clutched in her hand and the smell of blood fresh in her nose.
(She would never get rid of the blood on her hands. Enna's blood. Reimu's blood. Nina's blood.)
It had been hard to cope with, at first. Soon after the first death, they kept on piling up. Nina had been forcibly struck down by the forces in Heaven. Reimu succumbed to the horrors in her mind, transforming into a being of wrath that they had no choice but to take down.
There was a certain point, after Millie had stopped keeping track of all the deaths, in which something just… turned off.
Everything became numb.
Suddenly, it wasn't about trying to save them. The creeping hopelessness that had always been lurking in the back of her mind had lunged forward, seizing her in a vice grip.
What was the point of trying when they would die anyways?
But it reflected in her actions. They would become distant. Relationships suddenly crumbled. Millie was losing her grasp, and the tally only skyrocketed at that point.
There's a point in her memory where she can't quite pinpoint what sparked her back to life. Perhaps it was a pep talk from Enna. Or a punishment from her liminal space. Or maybe it was Lucie who knocked some sense into her. Regardless, the embers of her fire began to grow once more. She fought for their lives. She pushed through to try again and again.
Even as more deaths were added, this time, she would persevere.
Millie always had a horrible knack for remembering their deaths. If she really took the time, she could probably write them all out into a novel.
She thinks back to the first death. Enna's first death. She had died because the gods deemed her lacking in her efforts to redeem herself. Or no, was it because she… no… wait…
And then it hits her.
The Enna doll slips from her fingers.
She can't remember.
The panic that grows in her chest is a sensation that only grows, spreading as she stumbles into a sprint. She can't remember. The first death — what happened? — it's slipping from her mind, and she doesn't know why.
This has never happened before. Millie always remembers, because she knows that once she starts to forget, she'll end up losing her way.
So what went wrong this time?
It’s like she can’t pinpoint the specifics. Each time Millie thinks she’s getting the right memory, it ends up being something else. Like everything is merging together.
And that scares her.
It doesn’t take long for the wisteria to thin out, leading into wide, bright doorways that go on into infinity. Different timelines, many of which Millie has gone into before, many of which she has yet to explore.
There’s a part of her mind that tries to rationalize the muddled mess of her thoughts, coming to the conclusion that there were just too many deaths to remember. There is only so much that the human mind can contain.
But was she even human to begin with?
The part of her mind that Millie vehemently sides with is the one that fuels her fear. She’s forgetting because she’s slacking off. She hasn’t been doing her job properly. This is her punishment.
It's hasty for her to simply rush headfirst into the next timeline in order to try again. She won't be ready and focused to put in all her effort.
But if throwing herself right back to work will keep the memories fresh, then this is the only way.
It's hard not to slow down, her eyes brushing past the broken scenes that float in the air. Happy memories.
Millie can't seem to remember those anymore. It's always the deaths. It will always be the deaths.
Her legs finally slow to a halt, and Millie pants, hands on her knees as she catches her breath.
She's passed a multitude of timelines that she has yet to try, but none of them feel right. Millie always trusts her gut when it comes to choosing the next timeline. None of them have hit the mark yet.
There's a pang of pain in her heart that makes Millie wheeze, pressing a hand to her chest in vain. She's taking too long to choose. She has to pick a timeline soon, or else she'll pay the consequences.
(Millie has never bothered to stay around long enough to find out. She doesn't want to know.)
Her gaze flits back and forth, looking at the gateways around her. She has to pick a gate, but none of them are calling out to her.
Another grip of pain nearly makes her vomit. She just needs any gateway!—
A movement of darkness catches her eye, and Millie watches as a familiar form rushes in front of her, bringing her large hat along as well.
"Lu…cie?…"
Her patron turns to look at her, the ever present calm look on Lucie's little cat face. Millie swears that she can hear the faint sound of laughter in her ears as Lucie patiently waits in front of a gateway.
"Huh?"
With a sudden burst of movement, Lucie lunges towards Millie. The girl has no moment to react as the little cat goes straight into her chest.
She can feel a surge of strength as Lucie joins her body, overpowering yet thrilling. In seconds, the clothing on her body changes, and she's suddenly weighed down by a lot more hair. Millie no longer feels the grip of pain from staying in this place for too long, and instead opens her eyes to the glowing doorway lined in prismatic colours.
Her gaze glances over to the other doorways. They look exactly the same. It is only this one doorway that stands out.
She looks down at herself, at the dress that she wears, the distinct feeling of cat ears on top of her head.
It makes her feel strong. Like she can do anything.
Millie swings her arm out to the side, instinctually pulling on the well of power deep in her soul. Her staff appears in the air, and she grabs onto it firmly. It feels right.
Her feet move towards the gateway, striding forwards with confidence.
Maybe this time, she'll be able to save them.
And even if she can't in this timeline, then Millie has faith that she'll be able to do it one day.
Even if it takes eternity.
"We'll meet again. Just wait for me."