#and i give u permission fully to godmod the action as needed bc i

[medusacomplex]

Recollection pulls itself from an old corner of her mind to the days her mother used to comfort her at the strange sounds heard rampant through the night; it's the house settling, dear, it's not a monster. It's nothing to be afraid of. She'd taken it to heart, and refused to give creaks and groans any mind since then, opting instead to play ignorance as her weapon, to shun the sounds and resist the urges that begged her gaze be brought 'round her shoulder, to spot the shadow creeping at the end of the hall. She has been less successful at this strategy in the last few days, finding the smell of rot and musk and fresh dirt so pervasive that she couldn't help but allow her curiosity to get the better of her. Stupid mistakes, the kind dumb girls in horror movies make, inching towards the closet in response to the sound of dripping water, imagining the hot steam of breath on the nape of her neck and not just brushing it off, instead seeking out the source. This is not how you survive a scary movie.

Long had she been plagued by what she supposed could be best described as some sort of telltale heart syndrome; guilt gripped her, paranoia too, and they made for a deadly mix. A dead friend's arms reaching desperate from the floorboards as she attempted to sleep, a memory of the blue air of the other world she'd been caught up in, a feeling of smoke filling her lungs and a burning, a sharp pain on her palm ... all of these sensations were normal and rather natural to her by now. She had developed a numbness to the torturous memories, a thick skin to the nightmares. But as of late ... the feel of everything was different. Not entirely tangible but not as clearly self-manifested as before. She wondered, at times, perhaps these were elaborate tricks. Perhaps she was being watched, again, toyed with like some sort of prey. That brought about a sensation of anger and terror that overwhelmed her so sincerely that she had little voice to articulate it.

Perhaps the exhaustion makes her less nervous about the other's words, or perhaps she only hides her skepticism and distrust as some kind of strategic methodology; whatever it is, she takes in the words with a somewhat stoic expression, as the stranger speaks:

@antigodeus, asked: ❝ i need you to come with me. ❞

" You ... who are .... "

She begins to look behind herself, stopping as her chin reaches just before her shoulder and she can see in her peripherals an empty hallway. But she knows, she can feel it, something is there. She returns her gaze to the stranger, eyes narrowing, mouth agape. She's not sure who to trust, but the thing at her heels feels far more harrowing a choice than that which stands before her. A strained action, but she nods, takes a step towards them and forces herself not to look back down the hallway.

" What's going on? Who - are you? "