TW: Implied/referenced past suicide attempt, very mild gore, psychological horror.
Nea it didn't used to be to being a religious person, how could she believe in the existence of a kind god when so many things were wrong in the world? When homicides were the daily bread. When money was (is) more powerful than justice and the horrific acts carried out by those with greater economic power, are hidden behind bills.
How can there be a god when famines, wars and abuses are overlooked?
As such, Nea also didn't believe in the afterlife. What was supposed to be after death, if there is no heaven or hell? What was left after? Nothing. The lack of existence.
However, his perception of reality was irretrievably destroyed once she had reached the realm of the Entity.
Some people would have said that the experience ripped a blindfold off their eyes, making them understand the passages written in a book hundreds of years old. A book that speaks about the divinity of the gods, written by the corrupt hand of the mankind.
She still thinks all of that is bullshit. What she can't keep thinking about is the lack of the presence of the afterlife.
The young artist doesn't know what the circumstances of her current situation are, is she still alive? She supposes that she must be, for she would not otherwise bleed every time her tender flesh is cut open; she would not feel pain, sadness, or happiness. She wouldn't feel the softness of Steve's hair between her fingers, when he finally breaks and she has to try to put the pieces back together. She wouldn't feel Quentin's nervous heartbeat against her body, during those rare occasions when they can coax him into sleep, and the three of them end up huddled near the campfire.
Is this hell?
Who is the Entity?
Why can't they die? So many have tried before, exhausted by nightmares and fear, wanting a way out of this awful place… only to wake up a little more broken than they were.
"Do you think Quentin will make it out?" the athlete's hoarse voice breaks the silence after what seems like an eternity. It sounds small, and wrong. So fucking wrong.
Or is it the residual static of the trial, still frying her brain? Ever since she came back to life, her ears haven't stopped ringing.
The clear eyes of the Swedish leave the ground, to trace the haggard face of the youngest. He still has a little blood on the corners of his lips, and his expression looks haunted.
She chooses to shrug, exhausted. Moving is painful, but she's not ready to talk yet. She is afraid that if she opens her mouth, she will just start screaming again.
He seems to share the sentiment, because after that he doesn't speak again.
Finally, when the anxiety is too much to remain prostrate in the same place, the duo begin the slow walk to the camp. The unnatural silence of the forest raises the hairs on the back of her neck, and more than once she has to be brought back to reality by the chestnut, when she is sure that the Doctor is stalking her from behind a tree.
The warm light of the fire, however, is the incentive they both need to drag their feet for the last few meters. That and the too exquisite aroma that perfumes the air as they approach.
However, any spark of curiosity or relief that might have ignited in their hearts is crushed by the sight that greets them: There, standing in the middle of the campfire, the slender figure of a girl stands out in the loneliness of the location. Beside her, a cauldron bubbles, emitting the enticing scent that had watered their mouths moments before.
"Oh your already back? How was it? Do you want some food?"
Nea feels like she's going to throw up, despite the sweet tone the…creature uses. Her friendly smile arouses a sense of panic so strong in herself, that it takes her breath away. Or is it the overwhelming emptiness that is opening in the pit of her stomach, like a black hole?
What's going on?
This is not fair. THIS IS NOT FAIR.
They're supposed to be safe here. IT WAS SUPOPSED TO. Supposed, what is supposed? HA, how could she be so stupid? How could she let herself be fooled? Nothing here is safe. It's all a lie, a trick.
They are going to die? Will they finally die? Or is this another twisted game?
Where are everybody?
"What's in the pot?" The jock's voice sounds strained, like he's about to have a mental brakdown right there. Out of the corner of her eye she can see him briefly, pale and rigid.
Her aquamarine irises take another look at the stew. If she squints, she can make out what appear to be pieces of meat floating on the surface.
"Where are the others?" She'd swear she just spoke, but she's not sure if any sound actually left her lips or if she just thought it.
