Dour feeling dogged me as I arrived at home. Warring wishes wrestled through the reaches of my mind. I had several flights of stairs to simmer on my stress, pushing through the pain of climbing after exercise.

I achieved the seventh floor and walked the humid hallways to reach the simple apartment my kindred occupied. I entered exhausted and slumped onto the floor, certain that I wouldn’t be disturbed amid my rest.

Quiet kept me company as ever in that space. When I rose, I approached a decorated door. Laden with the script of languages I hadn’t learned, it bore but one note for me: “Papa says no sweets!”

I scowled at the scribbled note and snatched it from the door, pushing through the portal for a conflict with the scribe. Fury failed me on my reckon of the empty room. I inhaled its smoky scent then left it for my own.

I collapsed onto my bed and wondered at my kin. How I wished to see them in the stands to watch me win. How I longed to see the common order once defied. How I hated feeling so certain they wouldn’t show.

Clamor from the kitchen seemed to answer my desire. I arose excitedly to seek the noise’s source. When I left my room, alas, nobody was there. Sorrow loomed until I saw the scripted door ajar.

I was sure I’d shut it when I’d found the room empty. Apprehension swelled in me as I approached again. Looking in, I beheld two static silhouettes, both standing indifferent to my presence in their space.

I advanced in eagerness to see my kindred there, stepping swiftly to the smaller of the shadowed pair. But I found a vile void where eyes were meant to be. Then, I heard my sister’s hiss: “We aren’t here for you.”

I recoiled at the claim, and the shades advanced, backing me into a corner of the cluttered space. I could hear them hissing hatred as I hid my face. I could feel their glowering as grief assailed my eyes.

“We aren’t here for you,” their mingled voices mocked, mangled as the shaded shapes pressed me to the wall. Rapid repetition of their absence maddened me. Something slithered in beneath to deepen my despair.

“We are,” slurred the something surging under me. I parted my fingers to peek at the presence there. Seeing then a hundred sets of hungry-looking eyes, I unleashed a frantic cry and scrambled for escape.

I shot up and sprinted at a goal I couldn’t see, but my weary legs faltered shortly into flight. I collapsed into a waiting mass of writhing limbs: countless tendrils teasing every muscle I could sense.

“Fear not,” something seethed. “You witness your truth. There is naught to bind you to the plane you occupy. Why defy our forger in denying divine right? You yourself shall savor no less glory when you die.”

I perceived a pressure pushing inward as I wailed: something like an oval disk sliding down my throat. I choked on the sacrament I’d unwittingly swallowed. I could feel it swelling as it forced itself inside.

I could feel it sending something surging through my chest: substance like a swarm of worms wriggling in my skin. How I howled as horrid masses pushed out of my pores. I recall too well my suffering in stolen sleep.

Only hours later would I wake to recognize the rounds of torment as the outcome of an OhmN-addled dream. How I wish there’d been someone to shake me from that slumber. Would that someone kind had come to soothe me as I screamed.