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Imogen turns, and it’s dark. Her stomach drops. She thought the circlet would stop this intrusion, spare her the trials and make her less of a target. But here she is, enveloped by darkness; she’s always found comfort in it. Knowing the implications, though, stirs anxiety in her chest.
She instinctively turns, her gaze hopelessly seeking out familiar faces. Red overtakes the darkness, and she does find one. She pauses, and Liliana speaks. It’s laughable. The surface level of her mind, clearly. Her mother spews words of a hatred she’s never been able to bring herself to feel; she calls out to Dominox, taunting and goading.
Her eyes are drawn to a figure behind her mother, who still speaks of failures and abandonment. The outline sparks a deep fear in her chest, one she tries to rationalize and push away. Clear as day, Imogen’s father walks into the center of the storm. She races forward and her chest hurts. Her feet leave the ground and she’s unsure if it’s the winds or her powers.
“Daddy,” she calls out, needing him to turn around. To not step any further.
Just as the storm threatens to sweep him up completely, Relvin turns. His eyes are sunken and tired. “You’re exhaustin’, Imogen,” he mutters, but she hears it clear as day, even over the storm. “Do you know what the town says? I’m tired of defendin’ you through all this.”
Imogen’s breath is taken amidst the winds that jostle her hair. It’s not real; she can’t hear his thoughts. She’s never really heard his thoughts. She swallows thickly, but it does nothing to sate the angry itch in her throat that threatens to bring tears to her eyes.
“Daddy, I—”
“I’ve been so tired,” he says, and he can’t even look at her anymore. He looks towards the storm, and Imogen reaches out futilely. “Is this where you pushed your mama?”
Imogen shakes her head. “No, daddy, I didn’t—”
“She’s been gone so long. For you. She did it for you, and you couldn’t make it worthwhile.” It’s that same, distant tone she’s heard from him her entire life. She wishes he’d yell; anything that would prove he felt something towards her. Imogen clutches her eyes shut and clenches her fists.
When she opens them, he’s gone. And so is the storm. It’s night, and she’s on a rooftop. Her hands are clasped around a dagger. She follows it to a chest, up to a face. Her lungs burn. Laudna’s eyes are watery and wide, betrayal and pain dancing in her irises. Imogen tries to let go: she can’t. She can’t.
“Imogen…why?” Laudna’s voice is barely a whisper, but it strikes her chest like the dagger she holds in her lover’s.
“Laudna,” she sobs, tugging on the hilt to try and pull her hands away, pull it from her. But her knuckles go white as her grip tightens, and her body leans forward, sinking it deeper. Twisting. Black ichor pours from the source and Imogen begins to fall. An outline of green takes Laudna into her arms, protecting her from Imogen and she falls, darkness offering its own embrace.
Blinding, crystals appear in her vision, dappled across the dark abyss she falls into. She tries to breathe but there’s a weight on her chest, forcing her down.
“We need this,” Orym says softly.
Ashton puts their hand over Orym’s, and that pressure gets worse, her strangled gasps for air useless. “It’s inevitable.”
Imogen flails, her arms trying to pull and grasp at the hands pushing her down, down, down. She blinks, and she’s back in the chamber, Bells Hells around her, the remnants of the vision gripping her like a vice.