Chapter Text
Pomni rolled out of bed. Recently, the simple act of doing so was more difficult, though she wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe this place was finally, truly, getting to her. Upon reaching the floor, she walked over to the foot of her bed. Sitting on the floor, because she lacked any tables in her room and Caine refused to give her one, was a pile of papers and a pen. She picked up the top page, it was filled to the brim with tally marks. Each one represented a day or, more accurately, an “adventure.” Though she preferred to call them days, to try and emulate normalcy. The true “day” and “night” happened at random intervals, while the adventures were regular. It was the only reasonable substitute for a day.
When Pomni asked him if she could have some paper and a pencil, he happily complied. But a table was out of the question. It was nonsensical. Caine didn’t ask any questions, he didn’t want Pomni to do so either. So, a little dejected, she walked back to her room and dropped her newly acquired writing supplies on the ground. Her first intention with them had been to write down everything she remembered about her real life, in hopes it would jog her memory a bit. It didn’t, but she was glad to have done it anyway. Only after the next adventure did she realize that there was no timekeeping.
Five, ten, fifteen… Pomni counted the tally marks. She didn’t do this often. Reflecting on how long she’d been trapped had filled her with dread. Only, on this day, she felt compelled to check. The fact that she had already, inexplicably, felt terrible. When she felt like that, there was no reason not to. Dread begets dread, so she knew any small spark of it would lead to a downward spiral. Might as well accelerate it. Tiny little marks crammed into the page. The pile of papers next to it and Caine’s infinite supply of everything rendered the efficiency pointless, but Pomni wanted to keep them crammed together. Even if for no other reason than to delude herself into thinking she hadn’t been there that long, since it all still fit on page.
Three hundred and sixty-eight.
Just over a year.
Pomni was expecting the overpowering dread. But this was worse, over a year in this terrible digital torture. And it hadn’t been that bad. She’d gotten used to it after a month or two. That fact might have been worse. How could she’ve gotten used to this?
She hadn’t thought about it in a long time. The reason she avoided it for so long had smacked her head like a tidal wave.
How could she let herself stay here another second? What about her family- did she have one? Crumpling the paper up, trying to remember anything about anything that wasn’t this, she started walking in circles around the room. The crumpled up paper went flying across the room. Unceremoniously, it hit the wall and dropped to the floor in a scarily accurate display of simulated physics. Or, at least she thought. How did gravity work again?
Pomni sat down on the bed and stared at the wall.
She wanted to go home. Or at least get out of here. She didn’t really care how or where.
In her first week or two, she spent all of her non-adventuring time searching for an exit. Quickly, she had accepted that the circus wasn’t a dream. It took a while to accept there wasn’t any escape.
And it was true. There was no escape. Except for one.
She often wondered when that would happen to her. When she would involuntarily escape. Maybe it wasn’t an escape that way. More accurately, it was like being thrown out. When would that happen to her?
Her first month was wholly characterized by unrelenting terror. After her abysmal first and second days, she became convinced that it was coming for her. She just needed to escape before it did. Then, after two months or so, she just realized she was going to abstract if she kept searching. She ignored the feeling and began her search. For all of five minutes before she felt it come back and try to kill her. The room stayed locked for a good week after that (or, at least, that's what it seemed like; it was difficult to tell when the adventures began).
She didn’t fear it anymore. It was inevitable. There was no use fearing it. Thinking, fantasizing, and having nightmares about it would only accelerate the process. She almost appreciated it. Without it, she’d have already gone mad.
The wall in front of her wasn’t very interesting. It’d been exactly the same since the day she arrived. Her eyes remained glued to it, despite the odd tingling feeling in her hand.
…
What?
She pulled her hand in front of her face. Black and glitching.
It was black and glitching.
Her hand.
Her eyes went wide as the black glitchy mess stretched its tendrils down her arm. It wanted more.
“No. No. No, NO!” she screamed at her hand as if would listen.
It did.