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She was first shown the recording of The Boiled One while she attended college.
A cruel man that she wanted to be friends with chose to get a reaction out of her. The immature male didn’t like her passive reaction to the creepy video and how she looked away. - The last time he saw her, he observed and recognised how, she always speaks with that atypical passive tone. And that look she gives, too many times she would look through whoever she spoke to. “Camilla. This girl. She’s not blind is she?"
Years later, she is smelling magenta flowers, bees are peacefully weaving between her and the branches of a blooming hedge.
The day is lovely. And she looks up into the high blue above. She feels the motion of wind parting the clouds just for her. Then she hears her own voice in her head. It spoke with certainty. “You’re a bitch.”
A grey striped tail brushes over the brick path beneath her. A green eyed cat looked up to the young woman with a rare gentle kindness. The small creature most certainly believes in her nature. The sleek furred feline can’t help but quietly paw the ground in her presence.
Student dormitory blocks stretch and tower over the two of them. As a passing stranger flips his phone and photographs her. Capturing her entirety from the shade of a near by tree, as she makes her own easy breezy phenomena.
She leaves without looking at the man. The day's tasks of studying are long gone. She chooses to return to her bed, to lounge in the dwindling noon sunlight, obscured within the confines of her room. - Forgetting everything and falling asleep...
Flickering darkness. A shadow of a face waited feet away from her resting form.
Hovering closer and nearer as the sun lowered and burned the sky red.
Shadows waning ever so snugly.
When she woke up. The room was silent. As she stared at the untextured ceiling. The crooning of distant trees echoed into the room. A groan, that built and wined and breathed into a voice. "Be still-"
Instantly the human took flight. Standing up. A pang of memory.
Today. Now suddenly after all these years. The woman’s face blindness wasn’t enough. And finally, The Boiled One found her. - With one major over site on The Boiled One’s part. - Her face blindness prevented his paralysis from fully taking affect.
Stumbling.
She has heard that voice before. She shields her eyes from the system flagged imagery that those formal looking people had rushed to warn her about all those years ago. Finally, there it was happening all over again.
It was real. The weeks of nausea and following shadows after the lights were turned off.
Granted with the chance to actually talk to the threat.
She pleads through her fabric covered hand. She pleads to keep her free will. - She admits that her even getting this far was rare, it was special, and it would be a mistake to not treasure and fight for the years of kindness between that recording and now. She grasps her untied scarf from the bed frame and ties the white fabric over her eyes. An emerging desire, a singular guarantee that she will not be preyed upon by the likes of his kind.
He says nothing.
The scarf was touched and pulled. Its voice stayed gentle and sombrely dull. Yet something painful very much trickled out of its breath. An untouchable tone.
Her head ached and she could hear blood thrumming through her ears. Try as the entity might, the human’s vision stayed unlit.
Thin battered blood red claws slid and pressed over her eyes. The loosening scarf lit up her face with an orange glow.
Contact. She violently raised a fist. Only to stop herself. - “This is serious.” She though. - The scarf and claw still covered most of her vision from the threat.
“I don’t think I should… I need it to talk. I can’t fight, when I’m so close to possibly reasoning with it.”
She began deluding herself.
Softly it spoke, “Love does not surround you." - "Love is what makes one persistent and alive as they lie down under my watch. Your stillness means a swift end. You will be lost within moments. Gone, too soon under my watchful gaze. It is not desirable. No one will come for you.”
This visit was enough to make The Boiled One lose interest. The victim wouldn't last. He could wait until the human remembers him again under a more caring and loving system. Then he will feed.
It’s that easy.
She doesn’t like the way it speaks and again still attempts to make a deal to be left alone, even for just a little longer.
The Boiled One, without reason, accepted and assigned her to some unknown detail. She is seemingly ignored as she makes demands to know the meaning of this deal; she doesn’t agree to anything without knowing the details. What has she gotten herself into? Is this going to hurt? Is it the worst decision she has ever made?
She can’t accept that even suggesting her idea to the raw hand of this gory entity would result in it accepting ‘participation’, and nothing more.
Now, she desperately wants to fight this thing.
Closing her eyes. She attempts to blindly let loose the rabid gnashing need to enact pain upon the intruder.
Bounding forwards. The scarf jumps away from her eyes.
The glorious feeling-
The glorious feeling, ended upon contact. An unseen thin spike staked through the corner of her eyelid. The black nail jabbed and rubbed past the back of her eyeball and stalled in the skull.
Her right hand flinched reflexively away from the tip of another needle. Before regrouping and coordinating with her left hand.
Ropy and pulsating. Both hands pressed into the mild wet cavity as a burning sensation began searing through the left side of her waist.
She feverishly opens her spare eye. What has she done?
What ever it was that spoke to her. It was covered in spikes. This stretched and gnarled phantom anchored before her is harmful to the touch. She winces as her hands began sticking deep in to its exposed intestines.
Regret sets in. She shifts backwards. Careful to not look up.
The needle slides quietly out from the eye socket. And she forces herself to observe the sharp structure. The human sighs thankfully.
No blood. No lobotomy.
“I’m still me.”
Claws stroked the back of her head. The Boiled One’s arm pressed her into a deadly hug.
Squashed against the entity's guts. She grimaced.
"THIS!?-" Is it trying to comfort her? Or trap her into a sense of acceptance? To yield, and stop?
She knows the grip. A physical conversation which consists of turning away from the open door and bowing one’s head to be accepted under the conclusion made by a provider. You might fight. But you will come back. Always. Again. Forever.
The belly of the beast doesn't feel so cold...
“…Forever doesn’t exist.”
She pushes against the internals. Both the human and immortal growled at the discomfort.
She dislodges her arms from the hungry thing. Warping his body. His arm attempted to pull her into the cavity. Her spare hand rapidly shot up to grab and pry his arm away from her head. The human tugged with volatile adrenalin and desperately stomped up the black biological wall in front of her.
Leaning. Falling. Cracking and snapping. She kicks off, throwing herself backwards away from the monster.
Hissing gutturally. Bumped onto the floor. The burning made her rage. A spine of The Boiled One broke off.
Her violent struggling really did break off an entire quill!
She grips the spine with two bloody hands. Coldly unsheathing it without thought. Through and out her waist.
“DIE!!!” The Boiled One is lunged at. The make shift shank made from its own anomalous form neared. Striking it. Carving purposely through its exterior.
The Boiled One became quiet.
The human watched as his skin hackled with new tiny spines. Slowly he leaned over her.
Her knees gently lowered to touch the ground as she continued to hold onto her lodged weapon.
He brings his face up to her. As she desperately tries not to look. Her spine bends as her body is pushed backwards under his low and slow approach.
Under his overhanging form. Under his shadow. Bowing. She can’t help but crack a nervous smile. The Boiled One’s face lingers at the corner of her struggling blurred vision. And finally that accursed voice creeps out of his gaping mouth.
He said it, “Beautiful.” Was the word.
Then it all came crashing down.
The phenomena vanished.
The day kept being beautiful.
And in her hands. An otherworldly means of protection.
To be continued…
[Human observers are falling ill, (LIS - Locked In Syndrome), when they photograph this previously logged average unassuming woman. The illness is identical to that of the highly dangerous and expansive PHEN-228. Maybe, it’s time we take her in for questioning. In order to end this infection, once and for all.]
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Note: (For the Dr. Nowhere fans) I'm aware The Boiled One doesn't follow you when you turn the lights off. (Nothing follows you when you turn off the lights.) - Well, the character is meant to be like the average person. They don't know that there are multiple entities out there and this character incorrectly associated The Follower with The Boiled One. - Although, it is strange they do suddenly become hyper aware and knowledgeable of how important it was for them to not risk looking at The Boiled One's face any longer.