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Death Sequence
I gagged the entire death sequence for myself because it bores me and it got me thinking, maybe i'm not the only one who doesn't like it. but considering it involves dying to see, i've put it here for you so you don't have to
You approach the dais that bears the mirror.
You move forward toward the giant mirror, marveling at its size and perfectly flat, unmarred reflective surface. Strangely, you can see nothing reflected in the mirror, but it may be some trick of the light from this angle.
Ascending the polished, white stone steps of the dais, you draw closer to the grand mirror. The alabaster stone framing its glassy surface bears an array of incredibly intricate runic engraving, so intertwined that the entire surface of the stone could be one huge rune. As you move closer, you notice even finer details carved into the stone, almost impossibly tiny patterns decorating every space in the fine runework.
You reach the top of the dais and gaze into the mirror itself. What you see there makes you tremble involuntarily and your knees go weak. The image in the mirror is You. Not your outward physical appearance, but the true you, your inner being. Every secret thought, every hope, every hate, every conviction you hold and every lie you tell yourself is reflected back in the perfect surface of the mirror.
Slowly, methodically, the mirror shows you every facet of your psyche. You cannot help but weep as your secret fears and insecurities appear, plainly and without fanfare, in the mirror's face before you. Long-buried nightmares and worries you had concealed even from yourself boil back up from the recesses of your mind to be presented in this accursed mirror.
The images in the mirror shift now, and you experience a hopeful feeling as it begins rendering your dreams and aspirations as visions on its smooth surface. All your hopes and goals, from silly and inconsequential to grand and world-changing, dance across the mirror. You realize, though, that you are dead - and the hopeful feeling yields to a moment of cold dread, a terror that your dreams for the future may never see fruition.
Your sense of dread fades as quickly as it arrived, as the mirror flickers again and you are shown those aspects of your psyche that you find most admirable. Relationships with your few close companions, the way you handle conflicts, and your adherence to your inner beliefs all take form in the mirror's mystical montage. You smile inwardly, encouraged by the acknowledgement of these qualities.
The mirror flashes suddenly, startling you from your reverie. Now the visions depict a story, that of the new life of a newborn infant. You recognize a prominent figure in the rapid succession of scenes as your mother, and the infant, of course, is you.
You watch your early childhood replayed rapidly in scenes, images, and visually-portrayed emotions. Soon, fragments of the story trigger your early memories as you recognize childhood places and events. You watch, entranced, as your childhood plays out before you, remembering all its joys and sorrows long forgotten.
The montage continues, telling the story of your adolescent years. You smile wryly, observing your own teenage foibles and insecurities from an adult perspective. The years continue past, every significant event and choice that shaped your youthful Self portrayed plainly, their significance only now made apparent to you.
Now the path of your adult life plays out before you, from the bold and naive days of your eighteenth year. The story is utterly complete, with no significant action or event omitted, no matter how secret or neglected your actual memories. You feel totally exposed, without refuge or excuse from your own past.
The mirror flashes again, this time more brilliantly, and becomes alive with an impossibly chaotic maelstrom of color, and though you know not how, smells, tastes, sounds and feelings. You are totally awestruck, unable to look away yet unable to process this raw overload of sensory information. Terror overtakes you, and you struggle to maintain your most basic sanity.
Suddenly, you understand. There is a pattern to the seemingly chaotic sensory cacophony, and you comprehend it at last. As if the final clue of a riddle falls into place, you suddenly recognize that the mirror is showing you the true form of the Creator of All, Varian, the Celestine.
Raw humility overwhelms you as you fully understand your utter insignificance in the presence of the Absolute Divine Creator. Wanting only to fall to your knees, your awe is so overpowering that you can only stand there and weep in mute supplication.
A Voice fills your mind, echoing in the farthest recesses of your consciousness, "Know that I know You. Know that you are a part of Me, and that My Will is yours. Know that your story is My story, for you are of Me. Know too that your story is not yet complete." And with that, the mirror abruptly goes blank, its polished surface reflecting nothing at all. You collapse, with relief and with joy, for you know now that your Creator Wills you to live again. Exhausted, your consciousness rapidly slides away...
When you regain consciousness, you are confused about where you are and how you got here. Darkness surrounds you, save for a single candle. A look around tells you that you are in a rough cave, with a single table bearing the candle. An entrance, visible because it is slightly lighter than the rest of the shadow, beckons from across the cave.
Sitting up from your supine position, you glance at your body and realize it is healed and whole once again. Still reeling in wonder from your experience, you quietly give thanks to Varian, the Celestine for the gift of life.
You approach the dais that bears the mirror.
You move forward toward the giant mirror, marveling at its size and perfectly flat, unmarred reflective surface. Strangely, you can see nothing reflected in the mirror, but it may be some trick of the light from this angle.
Ascending the polished, white stone steps of the dais, you draw closer to the grand mirror. The alabaster stone framing its glassy surface bears an array of incredibly intricate runic engraving, so intertwined that the entire surface of the stone could be one huge rune. As you move closer, you notice even finer details carved into the stone, almost impossibly tiny patterns decorating every space in the fine runework.
You reach the top of the dais and gaze into the mirror itself. What you see there makes you tremble involuntarily and your knees go weak. The image in the mirror is You. Not your outward physical appearance, but the true you, your inner being. Every secret thought, every hope, every hate, every conviction you hold and every lie you tell yourself is reflected back in the perfect surface of the mirror.
Slowly, methodically, the mirror shows you every facet of your psyche. You cannot help but weep as your secret fears and insecurities appear, plainly and without fanfare, in the mirror's face before you. Long-buried nightmares and worries you had concealed even from yourself boil back up from the recesses of your mind to be presented in this accursed mirror.
The images in the mirror shift now, and you experience a hopeful feeling as it begins rendering your dreams and aspirations as visions on its smooth surface. All your hopes and goals, from silly and inconsequential to grand and world-changing, dance across the mirror. You realize, though, that you are dead - and the hopeful feeling yields to a moment of cold dread, a terror that your dreams for the future may never see fruition.
Your sense of dread fades as quickly as it arrived, as the mirror flickers again and you are shown those aspects of your psyche that you find most admirable. Relationships with your few close companions, the way you handle conflicts, and your adherence to your inner beliefs all take form in the mirror's mystical montage. You smile inwardly, encouraged by the acknowledgement of these qualities.
The mirror flashes suddenly, startling you from your reverie. Now the visions depict a story, that of the new life of a newborn infant. You recognize a prominent figure in the rapid succession of scenes as your mother, and the infant, of course, is you.
You watch your early childhood replayed rapidly in scenes, images, and visually-portrayed emotions. Soon, fragments of the story trigger your early memories as you recognize childhood places and events. You watch, entranced, as your childhood plays out before you, remembering all its joys and sorrows long forgotten.
The montage continues, telling the story of your adolescent years. You smile wryly, observing your own teenage foibles and insecurities from an adult perspective. The years continue past, every significant event and choice that shaped your youthful Self portrayed plainly, their significance only now made apparent to you.
Now the path of your adult life plays out before you, from the bold and naive days of your eighteenth year. The story is utterly complete, with no significant action or event omitted, no matter how secret or neglected your actual memories. You feel totally exposed, without refuge or excuse from your own past.
The mirror flashes again, this time more brilliantly, and becomes alive with an impossibly chaotic maelstrom of color, and though you know not how, smells, tastes, sounds and feelings. You are totally awestruck, unable to look away yet unable to process this raw overload of sensory information. Terror overtakes you, and you struggle to maintain your most basic sanity.
Suddenly, you understand. There is a pattern to the seemingly chaotic sensory cacophony, and you comprehend it at last. As if the final clue of a riddle falls into place, you suddenly recognize that the mirror is showing you the true form of the Creator of All, Varian, the Celestine.
Raw humility overwhelms you as you fully understand your utter insignificance in the presence of the Absolute Divine Creator. Wanting only to fall to your knees, your awe is so overpowering that you can only stand there and weep in mute supplication.
A Voice fills your mind, echoing in the farthest recesses of your consciousness, "Know that I know You. Know that you are a part of Me, and that My Will is yours. Know that your story is My story, for you are of Me. Know too that your story is not yet complete." And with that, the mirror abruptly goes blank, its polished surface reflecting nothing at all. You collapse, with relief and with joy, for you know now that your Creator Wills you to live again. Exhausted, your consciousness rapidly slides away...
When you regain consciousness, you are confused about where you are and how you got here. Darkness surrounds you, save for a single candle. A look around tells you that you are in a rough cave, with a single table bearing the candle. An entrance, visible because it is slightly lighter than the rest of the shadow, beckons from across the cave.
Sitting up from your supine position, you glance at your body and realize it is healed and whole once again. Still reeling in wonder from your experience, you quietly give thanks to Varian, the Celestine for the gift of life.
(Moonlight Guardians): Tenshyo says, "*Writes down* Don't. Fuck. With. Nela."'
1
Comments
Or...perhaps ominous. Or some mixture of the two.
Cute-Kelli by @Sessizlik.