Palamon
Silence is Purple
- 8,560
- Posts
- 16
- Years
- Age 28
- he/him
- Snezhnaya, Teyvat.
- Seen yesterday
This chapter is rated M.
I have just done this today. There might be tyos.
Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.
Chapter 20; Sadistically woeful. As a God rises, a demonic departure rattles the sails.
Two weeks passed by as if the entire world were normal again. Nothing had happened. No events occurred in the outside world, it was as if the entire planet were paralyzed by a broken rotary wheel that could no longer turn. The lack of people coming after Gleam, strange tactics to get her into Ceetos's office, and the lack of Chime coming out of his room were really getting to her. Gleam knew—knew something had to be amiss. No one had come to try to kill her in two weeks. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared to half death over it. Two weeks, and she had been alone. She wanted to check up on Chime, but she was told to rest as well. The door to his room had been shut tight, and she knew that meant she had no right to be in there when the door had been closed. Even though she had been told to rest for a week, she couldn't. She couldn't—the paranoia. The paranoia of what had happened only kept on bothering her. All she could do was think about it for two weeks. The very thought corroded her, and the solitude was barely making it any better. She knew she had every right to be in solitude, however. She knew she didn't deserve it, Chime's kindness, help, anything. She knew she didn't deserve any of it. The two weeks of solitude proved it. Instead of thinking it was because she was a Sovereign, she decided to wonder. She wondered. Wondered how the Sovereign of Solitude, the late Soullim, handled being alone. She wondered if he was lonely when he was still alive. She knew, however, she had no right to compare herself to other Sovereigns. She was not them, and she refused to compare herself to such low and insane people. She wasn't them, and yet, she wondered how she could suddenly compare herself to other Sovereigns. In two weeks of solitude, she had seen things about her that she would have never seen before her two weeks of alone time, and never in her life had she loathed herself so much. Never in her life had it been so hard to like herself. She then figured. If she was going to be alone for at least another week, she may as well go out to go do something with herself. She knew the solitude wasn't intentional. Chime needed to recover. The library. She could go find the library. With her resolve in mind, Gleam left the couch and attempted to head for the door, but she couldn't. Weakness, dizziness, something was in control of her as she tried to walk. As she tried to walk to the door again, the dizziness had completely won. Within moments, the ground became her best friend as she fell to the rug. The sound of a loud crash could be heard before she was invited by the blackness of nothing. The darkness of being unconscious was somewhat inviting to her. Maybe she could stay that way forever. She somehow, hoped it would be true.
Chime, on the other hand, had not been able to move for the duration of two weeks. Incapacitated. For two weeks, he had been incapacitated, and he knew that it would remain that way for a while. He knew that Gleam being alone was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, but due to his inability to move, he couldn't check on her. Constantly, he had tried to move and failed miserably. He hated it. Hated being confined to his bed from the lack of the ability to move. He wanted to be sure, however, that he would be able to recuperate enough to help Gleam later. He, thus, ordered her to close the door. Solitude, complete solitude from the world. He hated it. Hated the solitude. He wanted the solitude to be over, but he knew it would last until he could move his entire body again. Every day, as of seven days before, slowly, but surely, he had been regaining mobility. Useless, he was useless. Somehow, he knew, knew he would never fully recover. Even at the very moment, he knew that even if the scars faded, the mental scars wouldn't. The mental scars would be eternal, and he knew it. The mental scars would permanently remain, and the memories would haunt him. The memories were permanently protruded into his mind, and there was no escaping them. From the two weeks of solitude, he had been trapped. Trapped with the visions of all his darkest memories. No amount of screams, crying, and writhing would help him. The memories would not leave him. He knew. Knew that it was true pain. He knew that it must have been what true pain felt like. The two weeks of incapacitation had taught him what pain truly was. True pain. True pain was writhing. True pain was emotional.
Eventually, the solitude had broken. The sound of a loud crash could be heard coming from the other room. Wrong, something was wrong. He knew something had happened to Gleam. It didn't sound normal; it could have only been her falling. Falling on something. Falling. Save her, he had to save her. Now was not the time to be in bed, not being able to move much. He would drag himself out of there if he had to. Save her. He had to save her. He moved his body forward as he picked his body up. The pain. The pain was barely there. Move, he could finally move. Chime removed the covers on him and lightly jumped to his feet. The worry .The worry was empowering his every move. Walk. He could feel it, he could walk. Never in his life had he felt so relieved that he could walk. Quickly, he turned the knob and opened the door. He wondered. The crash. What could that crash have been? He knew that it wasn't a good thing. Within moments, he could see a horrifying sight. The sight of a fallen over Gleam had burned into his mind. Wrong, something was wrong with her. As the worry empowered his movement, Chime ran to Gleam's side. Wrong, something was wrong with her. The pain. The pain of not preventing the outcome had gotten under his skin. Tears had automatically rolled down his face. Useless, he was useless.
"Gleam!" he shouted, tears painting his face discretely. She wasn't conscious. He had to get her to come to. "Wake up, Gleam! Wake up, please! You have to wake up!" tears had continued to fall from his face as he continued to shake her only to fail miserably. He continued shake her in hopes he would somehow get her to come to. Again, he tried to scream in hopes of breaking her free. "Wake up! You have to wake up! Please, Gleam! Please, wake up!" the screams. The screams were failing. Failing miserably, he had been failing to save her from the dark depths of blackness. He knew that he couldn't give up, he couldn't. Harder, he had to try harder. As the shaking became harder, he could see signs of success. Gleam's vital signs were returning. The tears continued to paint him even in the relief of her being alive. He couldn't hide it. Couldn't hide the emotions from her. He couldn't remain calm, he couldn't. Despite her being conscious, he knew—wrong. Something was wrong with her. There wasn't any time to waste. There was absolutely no time. Calm, he had to become calm before it would be too late.
Gleam's vision had slowly returned to her. Instantly, she had noticed Chime had been standing over her, completely full of tears and emotion. She was not used to the sight, and it made her feel like she had caused it. Her fall—her fall had caused everything. Seeing Chime up and about made her completely worry. She wondered. Should he have been moving around? It had been two weeks, two weeks of separation, two weeks of solitude, and it had been hard on her to cope. Something, she had to say something. In her weakened state, nothing came. She could only say the first thing that came to her mind. Weakly, she let the words form as weakness overrode her.
"Chime, should you be moving around?" she asked. "Shouldn't you still be in bed?" the words. The words came out weird. They didn't sound right. She wondered to herself. Was she delirious? Was she hallucinating? She didn't know—she knew she was aware, she knew that could not have been it. "I just fell over…I, you… didn't have to…" no words would work. Strange, she felt strange.
Chime did not like the sound of what Gleam had said. He was not important now; his mobility was not important. The bottom of it, he had to get to the bottom of what had happened to have caused her to faint. Gleam should not have been moving around if she were in that kind of state and he knew it. He was not important right now. He had to tell her that, he didn't care if what he was about to say would sound harsh, he knew the situation called for him to be harsh.
"I'm not important right now!" he cried. "You shouldn't be moving around! You just fainted!" he tried to calm down, but failed almost miserably. Yet another failure had infiltrated him. Focus. He had to focus on the main subject. "You need to tell me," he said desperately. "Do you feel ill? Do you need me to do anything for you? There's definitely something wrong with you!" as he finished with the questions, he quickly picked her up and placed her in a bedridden position. He placed the blanket over her as if by clockwork. He waited. Waited for Gleam to answer him.
Gleam could feel bewilderment invade her. She barely understood. Barely understood why Chime as so worried. She knew, somehow, if she had said that, Chime would only worry more. She couldn't. Couldn't say that to him. She didn't think anything could have possibly been wrong. Something couldn't have been. She knew. Knew it was only a sudden weakness, a sudden weakness. It could have been, and it could only have been. She knew. Knew it was nothing. She had to admit that to him.
"I'm okay," she said weakly. "Really, Chime, it must have been weakness or something."
Chime sighed. Gleam was denying it. She was denying it, and he hated the sound of it. The harshness had to leave him this time. Somehow, he had to get the truth out of her, he had to. He couldn't sit by idly and accept the answer she gave him. She was not okay. She wasn't. She wasn't okay at all. He knew it. Knew the two weeks of solitude would do something to her. He knew, knew keeping the door closed was a bad move. So many bad moves, and they were all his fault. Everything that had happened had been his fault. It had been his fault for he had not been able to move. He could only blame himself. Himself and no one else. If Gleam had fallen ill from the solitude, he only had himself to blame, and he knew it better than anyone. He looked at her with a serious look on his face before he became lost in a sea of self beating. He couldn't focus on himself, Gleam was of the only importance.
"You're not okay," he said firmly. "I think you've come down with something. Really, this is all my fault, Gleam." he kept a serious expression on his face as he continued. "Please stay n bed. You're obviously not well."
Gleam sighed. He was worrying over nothing. It was not his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. She had worried him again. The solitude had been over, but the pain of solitude was not. Being alone for two weeks; the pain it left behind. It hurt, hurt beyond belief. Did she feel ill? She didn't think so. She knew it could have only been a sudden weakness. Chime was worrying too much. He had definitely been too worried. It was uncalled for. She hated it. Hated worrying Chime as much as she already did. She wished, for once, that he would worry about himself. Gleam didn't like the idea, the idea of being confined to the couch. The thought of staying put, not moving, completely bothered her. All she had done for two weeks was think to herself. No more, she couldn't stand being confined to the couch for another day—she could not handle it. Move—she had to move around. She knew that with Chime up and about, she probably would be forbidden to move. She knew Chime shouldn't have been moving around, either, but she was sure now that he wouldn't stand down. Regardless, she needed to repeat herself.
"Are you sure you should be moving around?" she asked again. "What about your injuries, Chime?" while she was happy he could move again, the first thing she didn't want was to worry him, but it was already too late to change it. It was her fault such had befallen, and she knew it. She knew it could have only been her fault; it could only have been. She could feel a light sigh overcome her as she continued to quietly bash herself in the contents of her mind. "Really," she said. "I'm glad you're moving around, but…." There was more. More she wanted to say, but the weakness overtook her. The next words wouldn't form. They stayed sealed inside her permanently as if locked in her throat. She decided it would be best to just give up for now—there was no way she could win.
Chime indirectly glared at the words Gleam said. Yes, he should have been moving around. It was his fault all of this happened and his fault only. The time fir solitude and recovering was over. Two weeks was too much time for himself. He had taken too much time for himself—he knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him that he was selfish. He had taken too much time for himself, and he was selfish. Utterly selfish. Completely, utterly selfish. He knew. Knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him such. It was a completely deserved outcome; he knew he deserved it more than anything before. Rather than wallowing about it, he knew now was his chance to show the world he was not selfish. Now was the time. Time to show the world. He would put it upon himself. Put it upon himself to take care of her. The world. He would show the world he wasn't selfish. He looked at Gleam quickly.
"Yes, I should be," he replied. "I'm not going to leave you alone, Gleam." He would not blush. He kept a constant serious expression. A serious expression. Clam. He had to remain calm. "I'm going to take care of you," he told her. "Is there anything you need?" he knew, that no matter what he did, it would not make up for the two weeks of solitude. Nothing would make up for the solitude. The world could not forgive him; he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and he knew it. He knew the world would have no right to forgive him. He knew. There was no room, no room for forgiveness. He sighed, snapping himself out of it. There was no time to worry about himself. Gleam was of the only importance. He couldn't think of himself, there was no way.
Gleam couldn't think of anything. She had no idea, no idea. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated the feeling, and she didn't want to feel weak anymore. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated being fussed over so much. It couldn't come to pass. She knew. Knew it couldn't. She just wanted it to be over, over. Something, anything, to make her regain strength. Something, anything. She didn't want to remain weak, something; anything, to help her regain all her strength. She knew there wasn't anything, but she knew it had to be worth a try. She knew she had to try something, anything; anything to somehow be normal again. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Can I have some water?" she asked. She couldn't think of anything else. Nothing else came to her. There was nothing else she knew that would help her in any least bit possible. Water was the immediate solution. The only solution. She wondered. Wondered if it were too much to ask for. She wondered if she seemed like and invalid unable to do anything. Pushy, she was being pushy, and she knew it. "If it isn't too much to ask…" she said under her breath. "Am I being too pushy?" she could feel it again. The weakness. The weakness was living up to its name. Pushy. She was being pushing. Too pushy. Completely pushy. Should she have even asked for anything? She wondered. Wondered if it were wrong to ask. Somehow, she knew it had to be wrong.
Chime looked at her. Why was she saying that? She wasn't being pushy. She wasn't being pushy at all—in any way. In any way. She was not being pushy. As much as he wanted to say that to her, he knew it wouldn't be a good thing to pile anything onto her. He knew it would be in his best interest to keep it inside him. No more. He couldn't do that after what had went on during the two weeks. Nothing could make up for the stress he caused her, nothing. Nothing would make up for what he did, and he knew it. Despite that, it had to stop. The thoughts had to stop. Standing there and thinking wasn't going to help Gleam become better. He couldn't dawdle. He had to cut it out with the dawdling. A habit—the dawdling was now, somehow, a habit. A habit he had to break.
"By all means," he answered, killing the dawdling. He proceeded to a cabinet and removed a small glass from the top shelf. After removing the glass, he placed it under the faucet and ran the water. After the glass had shown signs of being three quarters full, he turned the faucet off and walked over to Gleam, motioning her to sit up slightly. He hoped in the corners of his mind that the water would breathe life into her.
Gleam sat up slightly as Chime had instructed. She removed the glass from his hand and added it to her own. In her bewilderment, she stared at the glass. The water, would it really help her? She wondered. Wondered if it would do anything. To find out that answer herself, she took the water and began to drink it. Strange, something was strange. The water. The water looked cold, but it didn't even taste like anything. Nothing. The water tasted like nothing. After finishing the glass of water, she realized that she felt no different. Weakness still had been coursing through her, dizziness was still there. There obviously wasn't any way—any way she could win today.
Chime noticed. Even after the drink of life bringing cold water, she still looked ghostly pale. Something was wrong with her, but he couldn't make out what it could be. Hopeless. He felt hopeless to himself and hopeless to the world's force. Useless, he was entirely useless. Still he had to ask her if there was any change in her of any kind, it would be wrong not to, and he knew it.
"Did the water help you?" he asked with instinct. "Do you feel any better?" he could feel the worried tone sound more worried than it usually sounded, but he didn't care—he was far too worried to hide it. He couldn't hide the absolute worry in his voice.
Gleam weakly shook her head. No. She didn't. She didn't feel any better at all. The water provided nothing for her. It was no different. No different. There wasn't any change. She didn't want to remain that way, if not for a long time. She wondered what hurt more, the weakness or what was about to come later. She couldn't distinguish it—nothing was working. Her mind wasn't even working. It was as if she was weak everywhere. She wanted to hate it, she wanted to, but, she felt too drained. She was too weak to hate anything at the moment. It took too much energy, and she didn't want to waste anymore energy. Everything. Everything was slowly becoming too much—weakness was more powerful than anything. The weakness, the weakness was winning. It definitely had won, and she had decided. Decided to completely admit it.
"No, Chime," she answered. "I really don't feel any better." Rest. She needed to get rest. She didn't exactly think it would work, but she knew. She couldn't cling to Chime, she knew. She knew that would be selfish, she knew it. She knew. No more clinging. She didn't need to continue to cling to him. Rest. She would rest. She knew it was all she could do. She looked at Chime almost bewildered. "I'm going to rest now," she answered weakly. "Sorry, Chime…."
Chime knew that Gleam had something on her mind again, but he figured it would be best not go on about it. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he knew that it would be best to let her rest. Solitude. Solitude was killing her. Solitude really was hurting her. Solitude was hurting her, and it was his fault. It was his fault, and he knew it. Never again would he leave her in the cold world of solitude. Never again. He would never again do that to her. Everything, he knew was his fault. Everything that would happen later would be punishment. Nothing, he deserved nothing anymore. Did he deserve anything anymore? He wondered. The pain. True pain and Gleam had to be subjected to it. Horrible. He was horrible. He knew that if he let her rest, it would help her. Never. He could never forgive himself. The world, the world had every right to mock him.
He patted her on the shoulder. "It's fine," he said. "Don't apologize. Please, Gleam." He backed away a little to give her space. Did he have any right to pat her on the shoulder? He knew he probably did not have any right to. He looked at her. He wondered. Wondered if sleep was all she needed. It was going to be a long, agonizing night. He knew, somehow, that the agonizing night prediction would become the truth. It would become the truth. It would become the truth, even if he didn't want it to become such. "I should be the one apologizing," he darkly replied. "It's my fault and my fault alone this happened." He walked over to her and tucked her in more. "I promise you that I'll never leave you in solitude again. Please rest. I really hope you feel better by the morning." His fault. It was all his fault that everything had happened. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault. Gleam had to get better. Everything had had to get better. He wanted to show the world he was better than that. He was better than that, and he knew it. He backed away. He had to let her rest. He knew being there would not help her, it would hinder her. One way or another, it would be a hard night. A hard night to live through and it could only have been a hard one. He looked back at Gleam one more time. Sorry, he was sorry.
Gleam weakly smiled. "I will," she replied. "Chime, it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault." She knew Chime was taking her faint too heavily. She needed to figure it out: was Chime going insane? She didn't want that to be the truth. Rest. Chime needed to rest as well. Insane. She didn't want that to happen. It couldn't happen. She didn't want Chime to become insane. "You need to rest, too. I don't want you to get to my level." She knew that was not the right words she was looking for, but it was already too late to take it back.
Chime said nothing and nodded. He needed to sleep the day off. He had to. Even though he had slept the entire days away for two weeks, he could only sleep again to get rid of the feelings. He had to get rid of the feelings so he could prepare tomorrow. As he retired into his bed, he thought about it once again. Horrible, he was horrible. He continued to call himself horrible as he was tortured by a nightmare in the confines of his subconscious. Nothing could save him as a nightmare he knew he deserved more than anything.
When morning came around, Gleam felt no better. Burning. She felt as if her whole body was burning. She knew it—knew that resting wasn't going to help. Worse, she felt worse. The time of nothing happening in the program did not make her feel any better. Something had to be cooking in the ocean—something. As bewildered as she was, she knew, knew somehow, she was right. She knew something was going to happen today, but could not think of what. Today. Something would happen, but she could barely think. Her body, her body was burning when it really wasn't. Was it due to the two weeks of solitude? She didn't feel like wondering. It took far too much energy. It took too much energy to wonder. The burn. The burning feeling wouldn't stop. Such a powerful illusion—she couldn't hate it. The burn. The feeling. The feeling was ruling over her.
Chime entered the room a short while after. Quickly, he walked over to her in order to see how she was feeling. Within minutes, his eyes lost all signs of life in them. No. No. There was no way. Gleam looked worse. The world was mocking him, mocking him, and he couldn't win against the world. He noticed, Gleam looked feverish. He knew it. Knew something worse would happen, and he deserved it. He deserved every minute of it. He was being punished, punished for leaving her alone. He knew that it was the world's way of mocking and punishing him. Horrible, he was horrible. He had to take care of her. He didn't care if she would say no—his fault, it was all his fault. He had to be responsible. He had to be held responsible. He looked at Gleam worriedly as it was the only look he could provide.
"You look feverish," he said quietly. "You definitely have a fever today." He then realized—there wasn't anything left he could give her to lower it. The painkillers in his necessity cabinet were expired as of two months ago, and he wasn't going to give her expired pills—that was poison. No. It wasn't happening. It could be happening, it couldn't be true. There was nothing her could do to save her, nothing. Nothing he could do to save her, and he felt less than alive about it. The world. The world was punishing him, mocking him, and he knew it. He knew the world was punishing him. Still, he figured, he'd ask what kind of pain she was in. Maybe, just maybe, he could find something or be able to make a medicine. Something, anything. "Is… is there anything hurting? Any specific areas?" calm. Why was it so hard to remain calm? He couldn't; he could remain calm. It was as if he had lost the ability through punishment.
"My whole body feels like," she started, but corrected herself. "I feel like my whole body is burning." The burn. The burn was winning. The burn was winning. No thought. There were no thoughts that would shine through.
Chime couldn't hold it. Couldn't hold the scream inside him. No. Gleam was doing incredibly poorly, and he had nothing he could do to help her. Useless, he was completely useless. No. It wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. He didn't know, but he had to help her. Something, there was something he had to be able to do, anything. He changed the expression on his face—it was time to help Gleam. He extinguished all his self thoughts instantly; he had to focus on Gleam. Gleam and nothing else.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said. "I won't leave you alone, Gleam." He hated having to tell her to stay put; to stay lying down, but for now, that's all he could think to say. "I'm going to take care of you…so please, Gleam, stay in bed." He could feel his body shaking. Something. There had to be something he could do. Something, anything. Anything—anything to help free her. Anything to free her, anything. "So, is there anything I can do? Anything?" shaking. He was shaking. Constantly, he shook, and wouldn't stop. Useless, he was useless.
Gleam didn't want to. Clingy. She did not want to become clingy. She knew—asking for anything was too much. She couldn't ask for anything; anything was too much. Too much. She didn't want to ask for anything, she knew. Selfish, asking for anything was selfish. Asking for anything was absolutely selfish. She would argue, but couldn't win against the arguments inside her. Chime seemed to be on edge, and she didn't like it. She didn't like seeing him like that, but the burn. The burn. She couldn't take the burn anymore.
"Cold," she replied weakly. "Something cold to counter the burn…." She didn't know what that was called, but the burn. The burn was torturous. She wanted separation—separation from the burn. Something to separate her from the burn. Anything.
Chime sighed a sigh of relief. Ice pack. He actually did have an ice pack. He proceeded to his freezer and removed an ice pack from the top section. He walked over to Gleam and placed it on her forehead. He hoped, hoped it would help her. Somehow, he knew it would be okay now—okay to become calm again, and he knew it. However, he figured, figured there had to be something else he could do. Something else, anything.
"Anything else I can do?" he asked. "I might have some herbs I can mix into soup. I just have to check my cabinet." Confident, he felt confident again, confident that he could do anything. His smile. His smile was internally returning to his face. "Though, it's going to be pretty bitter. Are you okay with that?"
Gleam nodded. She quickly noticed. Noticed that Chime seemed much calmer now. While she hated bitter herbs, she didn't want Chime to worry anymore. Over, it was over; the solitude could finally end. It was only a matter of time. The solitude. The solitude could finally be over. She looked at Chime and answered him quickly. "Really, Chime, thank you for all this. I appreciate it." She weakly smiled. While she hated the bitterness, she couldn't tell him. It was a nice offer, a nice offer, and she knew that all her negative thoughts were what truly made her worse. She nodded one more time to alert him. Alert him that she was ready.
Chime saw her nod. He proceeded to his necessity cabinet and removed a can of broth and medicinal herbs. He then crouched down into another cabinet and removed a pot. He placed it over his dorm stove and turned the left dial. The fire underneath the pot ignited, lighting the pot. After he was sure the pot was heated enough, he removed the top of the broth can and poured it into the pot heating on the stove. He, lastly, opened the cap of medicinal herbs and placed two into the broth. For five minutes, he stirred the broth until there was enough broth and herb in it. When he knew it was done, he turned the left dial on the stove to off and waited again. After a few moments, he went over to another cabinet and removed a bowl and soup ladle. When everything had been done and over with, he clamped the ladle and placed the broth into the bowl. He could feel it—feel his blood calming. He walked over to Gleam and placed the bowl of medicinal soup onto her body. Finally, he was useful again. Finally, in two weeks of being selfish, he was useful.
Gleam took the spoon in the broth and proceeded to digesting it. As she ate the broth, she could feel the bitterness. The bitterness in the broth. The bitterness; the bitterness was too much. The bitterness was controlling. The taste, she hated it. Hated the bitter taste—the taste was beyond too much. She knew she had to bear with it, however. She had to bear with it. She continued to digest the medicinal herb until there was neither any herb or broth left. When everything had been gone, she handed the bowl to Chime, and he placed it in the sink, running the faucet to clean the bowl. When everything had been finished, he returned to Gleam's side.
Gleam could feel it—the burn that had been coursing through her body was leaving. It was leaving her. Somehow, she had felt better. Chime had done a nice job. She noticed. Noticed that Chime was acting like himself again. Chime was acting like himself again, and she felt like she could smile again. Compliment. She had to compliment Chime. She wanted to see a regular smile from him. Just a little more. Just a little more time before something was to happen. Compliment, she had to compliment Chime. There was barely any time like the time the two had at the moment. One compliment. One compliment to turn around and save Chime. She hated seeing him look so worried and dead inside. Gleam removed the ice pack freezing her head and sat up. Compliment—she had to compliment Chime.
Chime saw Gleam had moved and quickly placed her back in a lying position. He didn't want to see her up and about yet. She shouldn't have been, and he had to say something about it to her.
"Hey, hey!" he cried. "Don't try escaping! You still have a fever!" he changed his expression to a more serious one. He had to keep her lying down. He knew, by now, that his work was almost done. Though, he knew, there was no more solitude allowed, and he knew it. He knew, as long as he could keep on protecting Gleam, everything would be fine. It didn't matter as long as he could continue protecting her. He gazed at Gleam quickly. "I think," he said. "All that's left for you is to rest. I'm sure by the time you wake up, the fever will be gone." Somehow, he had been able to smile. Smile a small fraction. A small fraction and he could finally feel the entirety. The entirety of his blood calming.
Gleam saw the opportunity now. Now was the time to compliment Chime. She prepared. Prepared to compliment him. "You know, Chime," she spoke in a light voice. "You'd make a good doctor." She smiled obnoxiously to alert him that she was complimenting him, a normal Chime. She wanted to see Chime be himself again.
Chime heard the compliment. He knew—knew that he didn't deserve any compliments, but he didn't want to return, he didn't want to return to killing himself with his thoughts. No more. Not now. He knew Gleam did not want to hear him talk like hat. He knew she didn't want to see him in that state. He knew. Knew that one reason for worry in Gleam was that. No more. He couldn't. He couldn't anymore.
"You think so?" he questioned. "Hmm, maybe I would be. I think I can see that in my future, Gleam." He gave her a smile. His first smile in weeks. It felt different, but he knew. Knew he had to get used to the feeling. "You know, Gleam, I—" he would have finished the sentence, but the sound of a knock could be heard on the other end of the door. No. The time of nothing happening, the time of nothing happening was about to cease. Chime's smile died and his expression changed to a blank one. The time. The two weeks of nothing happening had ended.
The knock. The knock returned. The knock was quiet, not violent. The knock. The knock was gentle. Entirely gentle. Something was wrong. Familiar. There was something familiar about the knock. There something familiar about the knock, and Chime couldn't help but have a bad feeling about it. As he proceeded to the door, he thought about it. The knock was familiar. The knock was familiar, and he knew it.
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On the other side of the door, was a timid, recognizable face. A face that could only belong to Seriphard. If the boy had been there, it could not have been a good thing; it was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, it couldn't have been. The two weeks of nothing were about to come to an end. He knew Seriphard was there to take that away. He was there to take away the days of nothing, and Chime did not like it. He did not like that the boy was there. It could only mean for disaster. Disaster and he hated it. He knew, somehow, that the boy secretly could have been after Gleam. He could have been after her secretly, and he knew. He knew he couldn't trust the boy. He couldn't trust Seriphard. There wasn't any way he could trust him. He could never trust him, and he never would, but he couldn't admit that to Gleam. He couldn't admit that to her; he would keep the fact to himself as it was all he could do. Silently, he studied the boy's appearance again. His cadet blue hair. His cadet blue hair was horribly suspicious. The color was suspicious. His ink colored eyes, he was hiding something. He was definitely hiding something. His white clothes covered with red splotches—he was dangerous. Definitely dangerous. Perfect reason to send him away. It was a perfect reason to send him away. He looked at his back. The angel wings. Definitely artificial implants. They were definitely implants, definitely fake. He knew that if the boy was there, it was a sign of bloodshed to come, and he did not want that. A perfect reason to send him away. As Chime was about to close the door, he could hear Gleam shouting in the corner mercilessly.
"Seriphard!" she shouted. "Seriphard, hi!" she waved at the boy stupidly to make him feel welcome. She knew Chime was about to send him away. She turned to him. He must have forgotten that Seriphard was not one of the people who were after her. "Chime, let him in, he's here for a reason."
Chime sighed. He couldn't say no to Gleam. Reluctantly, he swung the door open all the way and let him in. As the boy walked in, Chime again noticed the angel wings on his back. He wondered. Wondered if they could have possibly been real, but he knew that was impossible; no one could possibly have had angel wings. After Seriphard had been deep enough inside the dorm room, he closed the door behind him and continued to stare at the child. Why? Why was he here? He didn't like it. He didn't like him being there, either. Something was going to go wrong, and he knew it. He continued. Continued to stare at the boy.
Seriphard looked at Gleam and noticed the redness in her face. Quickly, he took note, despite already knowing. The girl was ill. As much as he wanted to delay the warning, he couldn't. Timidly, he backed away and prepared, prepared to give his warning. First, he knew he had to ask. Ask a question or two. A mere question or two.
"A-are y-you alright?" he asked Gleam. "Y-you l-look a little ill." Shaking, the boy was shaking. As much as he practiced, he could only shake. He must have had a permanent switch that was always on and making him shake like a dog. Like a dog of which he never learned the name of.
Gleam quietly smiled. "I have a small fever, but I'm better now, I'm pretty much over it," she replied. "Thank you for your concern." Gleam looked at the boy. She wondered. Wondered what kind of news the boy had. She knew it couldn't have been a good thing, and it wasn't. It wasn't good news. She'd wait. Wait. Wait for him to tell her and Chime.
Chime glared at Seriphard from a distance. He didn't want him there much longer. He had to get him away quickly. Bloodshed—he foretells bloodshed. He didn't want him there much longer. A rift, the child caused a rift in the program. Over with, he wanted this explanation over with. He wondered. Was he being too cruel? We he being too critical in his judgment on Seriphard? Deep down, he knew. Knew he was being way too cruel, but he didn't care, he would never admit that to him. He wouldn't give up to the thoughts of him being too critical on Seriphard.
"What do you want?" he asked in a pestered tone. "Is there any reason you're here?"
Gleam noticed. Noticed that Chime still didn't trust Seriphard. She thought she told him last time that they could trust him. Seemingly, Chime had forgotten such. He had forgotten Seriphard was trustworthy. He was trustworthy, but Chime didn't think so. Chime seemingly didn't trust Seriphard. While it bothered her, she knew now was not the time for such. Now was not the time to wonder why Chime couldn't trust him. He had something important to say, and it had to be said. It had to be said, and now. Completely. Now was the time for Seriphard to explain.
Seriphard prepared. Prepared to explain. Prepared to warn the two of them. To warn to two. The two about what was about to come. The boy stopped, breathed and prepared. Prepared to explain what was about to happen.
"P-please l-listen to my w-warning," he said, shaking. "T-the c-creator of the p-program, he…."
Chime blinked. The creator. The creator of the program had to be up to something. It must have been another rumor; there was no time to think about it. Despite the suspicion, he had to listen. It was obvious—obvious the creator was going to do something at any moment. The creator was up to something. Suspicion—he couldn't get over the suspicion boiling deep inside him. The suspicion. The suspicion was beginning to get to him, but he couldn't allow it to. The creator, what was he up to? He had to continue listening, and he almost forced himself to. He was going to force himself to listen; he didn't care, care if the suspicion was residing in the boy.
"Go on," Chime said. "What about the creator?" he kept an expressionless face. He knew what he was about to hear was not a good thing.
"T-the creator, h-he," Seriphard said, shaking and stammering. "He-he's on the r-roof." He paused for a moment. "T-the c-creator...he h-he might be planning s-something."
Gleam froze. The roof. The creator was up to something on the rooftop. Gleam couldn't. Couldn't stand it. Rooftops were horrible. She couldn't—couldn't be on one. But, she felt a sense of wonder break loose inside her. Why was the creator on the roof? What was he planning? That could not have been a good thing; it wasn't a good thing. Something was wrong. That couldn't have been a good thing. Wrong, something was wrong about the warning.
Chime's suspicion rose. The roof. The creator was up to something sinister on the roof. The creator was up to something on the roof. He knew his suspicion was right. Right from the very beginning. Was he up on the roof throwing people from society off? He figured that it could have been it. Ceetos Eetos was a sick and twisted man. Throwing people off the rooftop. That must have been it. He knew his suspicion was correct. Distrust roared inside him—he couldn't trust Seriphard. He was leading Gleam to bloodshed. He was already sick of it. Sick of having her see bloodshed.
"And?" Chime asked. "Why is he on the rooftop?" the obvious suspicious tone of voice had shown through. He refused to hide it this time. "Tell me, is he throwing people off the rooftop?" Chime was onto him. Obviously, he was trying to horrify Gleam, and he wouldn't stand for it.
Seriphard showed no understanding or acknowledgement of what Chime was claiming. He knew that he did not trust him. He didn't have to trust him; it was important, important that the two understand what was about to happen.
"N-no! Nothing like t-that!" he cried nervously. "H-he isn't t-trying to t-throw people o-off the rooftop, p-promise!" he could feel the shaking again, but calmed down. "Y-you s-should r-really c-come to the r-roof and s-see. I-I think you really s-should." He couldn't stop shaking. He knew Chime did not trust him that much. His suspicion would not make anything easy, but he had to get it over with.
Chime sighed. He didn't want to, but he figured that if it would let him know what was truly happening. He knew he needed to know what had truly been happening. He had to know what the creator was up to, it was the inevitable. The inevitable. He had to know. He had to know what truly was going on and why. He walked over to Gleam and removed the blanket from her body. She knew that Chime was ready and stood behind him with suspicion as to what Ceetos was up to.
"Arlight," Chime said. "Take us to the rooftop." He glared at him suspiciously. "This had better not be a trap, you hear? You'd better not be doing this to get Gleam into trouble or pain." He said it with a vicious tone. He meant it, meant it more than anything. Never. He would never once for any beyond reason, trust the boy. Never. Seriphard blankly blinked and lightly held onto Gleam's wrist.
"N-no, n-not at a-all," he answered, shaking like a dog again. "I-I'll escort you t-two to the r-rooftop, s-so, follow me!"
Chime gave up. No more, he couldn't be suspicious any longer. Seriphard stepped in front of Chime and opened his door, breathlessly running for the long staircase. The run. The run had been a short one, it had seemed. The staircase, the staircase had only been nine doors away. Nine entire doors away. Gleam looked at the boy's back and noticed the angel wings on his back as they approached the stairs. Did he ever fly with those wings? The thought of him possibly flying rather than climbing the stairs frightened her. She hoped, hoped that she would not get above the ground for even a second. She had to ask Seriphard. Ask him if he was going to fly as the fear boiled inside her. Seriphard placed one foot on the stairs. Gleam proceeded to ask.
"You…you aren't going to fly, are you?" she inquired anxiously. Flying; flying was frightening.
Seriphard shook his head. "N-no, why? I c-couldn't p-possibly…" he replied stealthily. "W-we don't have t-time. H-he'll be doing something a-any second!"
As Seriphard stopped talking, he rushed Gleam up the three hundred sixty steps up to the rooftop, and Chime ran after. Long and unusual. Why there were so many stairs made no sense. It made no sense and made the trip longer and further. Eventually, Seriphard had reached the three hundred fifty ninth step. He hoped. Hoped it already wasn't too late to show the two. Show the two what had really been going on. Without saying anything, he pushed open the metal door to the rooftop and led the small parade of Chime and Gleam to the scene.
Gleam's eyes grew small as she let go of Seriphard. Everyone remaining in the ocean had been on the roof, including Ceetos. The wind could be felt thrusting her as she continued to examine Ceetos from afar. Again, his appearance had changed. He was perfect looking, and omnipotent. His suit had been completely normal. No. Something wasn't right; his suit shouldn't have looked normal. What was the man up to? Why did he look almost omnipotent? She examined further; she noticed something large. As soon as she saw it, she could feel her eyes break. A huge vehicle with a single propeller on the top could be seen next to Ceetos. The vehicle, interestingly, was of a rainbow color. She remembered. Remembered the name of the vehicle. A helicopter had been next to Ceetos. What was the man planning?
The ocean did not seem to know, either. As Ceetos made his way, the ocean began to hit shore. The loud voices of one hundred people boomed and roared, distracting Gleam. The ocean, the ocean was even clueless about what was about to happen. Bad, this was bad.
The creator stomped on the rooftop lightly; however, it came out as a violent, earthbound shockwave. The ocean instantly calmed. The creator was about to speak. Instantly, the entirety of the ocean quieted. The stomp. The stomp wasn't human, it was God. God, the stomp was a God's stomp. The remaining ocean members cowered at his power. Ceetos Eetos was not human anymore.
Ceetos smirked. Everyone had his eyes on him. Scared. They were scared of his godliness. That was what he always wanted.
"Hello, hello!" he announced sporadically. "Congratulations, living one hundred three children! You have survived my program!" He started to move. Move into the helicopter.
The ocean began to hit shore. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. Entering the vessel. As much as they were actually scared, they couldn't show it. The ocean became a tidal wave, voices crashing the sand. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. He was entering the vessel. He was entering the rainbow vessel about to operate it. He was going to operate the vessel. The ocean continued to form a tidal wave of voices. They couldn't accept the face as true.
Ceetos could not keep a fake grin. The children. The children would not shut up. Stop them, he had to shut up the pesky remaining alive children. Ceetos's body glowed gold. The aura got blinding and flickery as he continued to power up the move. The gold glow then became eye whitening as coins began to rain from his palms. The coins struck at least ten children, forcing their stomachs open as the coins hit them like they had just been hit by coins high up from a sixty five story building. The ten children bled violently as the eye whitening glow faded along with the coins. The ocean shut up as the sight of blood pools formed all over his roof. His beautiful, almost always clean roof, and now it had been ruined. Ruined by ten idiotic children. He smirked and continued.
"Now that I got your attention, I'd like to say a few words!" he announced out of nowhere. "Congratulations, ninety three remaining children, you have turned me into a God!"
Gleam blinked. A God? Was she delirious? A God? Did Ceetos just say God? Soullim. Soullim was right. Ceetos was intending to become a God. All along, the Sovereign of Solitude was right. He was right—Ceetos was trying to become a God. Gleam couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand the fact. Disgusting, evil, inhumane. No word described the spectacle before her at all. The creator had become a God. There was no way. No way any of this could have been happening. A nightmare, it had to be some kind of nightmare.
Ceetos smirked and continued. "Congratulations, fools! Congratulations, fools! You have killed so many people that I have collected enough magic to become a God!" he said, completely changing his attitude. As he continued, he placed his other foot into the vessel. Escape. Leave the remaining ninety three there to die. First, he had to rattle the children up. Kill each other; he would announce that they could kill each other. "And, as my parting gift, I give you FREE REIGN TO KILL ALL!" he boomed. "Sayonara, children! You'll never get help, ever, ever!" he closed the door to the vessel and said nothing else. Within seconds, the violent sound of a propeller could be heard against the deadly force of wind. No one stopped as the creator's escape plan succeeded. Everyone watched in complete horror as the helicopter got smaller and smaller on the horizon line. Ceetos Eetos was gone. The ninety three remaining—the ninety three remaining were on death row, and they knew it.
Gleam tried to make sense of everything that just had happened. Free reign to kill all. Mass murder. The creator was about to allow a mass murder to take place. Why? Why would he escape? Why would he leave everyone there to die? Why now? Why so suddenly? No question would ever be answered. The questions were lost. Lost to the ocean of people. She turned to Chime. Chime had become extremely pale. Nowhere had there been any visible color. Terrified, Chime was more terrified than she was. Regardless, she had to ask him—had to ask him what to do now.
"Chime," she asked. "What do we do now?"
Chime knew. Knew the answer to that question. Hide. The two of them had to hide. The announcement. The announcement, free reign to kill all. He knew what that meant. More people were going to try to kill her. He couldn't allow society to try to kill her anymore. They had to hide. Had to hide. The four words the creator said—free reign to kill all, rang in his ears, and they would not stop ringing in his ears. The words. The words were parasites eating away at his mind. They would not leave him—the four words. Hide the two of them had to hide. Hid before it was too late. They had to hide, there was no choice; it was absolute instinct.
"We hide!" he cried. He looked at Seriphard. Apologize. He had to apologize for how he treated Seriphard. "Seriphard, sorry. Sorry for distrusting you. It was so wrong of me." He got on his knees, begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Seriphard, my suspicion got the best of me. I really thought that you were one of them. That was wrong of me, and for that, I apologize." He got off his knees. The apology, the apology was the hardest one he could give.
Seriphard shrugged. "I-it's okay," he gristly answered. "N-no one e-eve b-believes me a-anyway." Seriphard grabbed Gleam's arm and escorted the two back to Chime's dorm room. The climb back. The climb of three hundred sixty stairs felt like a complete millennium. After a certain amount of time, Seriphard had reached the end of the staircase. He quietly escorted Gleam in front of the door and spoke one last time. "I-I h-hope," he stammered nervously. "T-the next time w-we meet… i-it will be f-for a p-positive reason. I-I h-hate it here. I-it isn't a good place."
Gleam blinked darkly. She agreed. It was not a good place. She remembered, remembered when she had arrived at Mariibo Rumaibo, she remembered wanting a change in life. She hoped somehow, she'd become free from the reasons she wanted to run away. She was wrong. She was in a place, a place where she now wanted to run away. The truth was ugly. The real Mariibo Rumaibo was finally devised. The program. The program truly was a fake. The words Soullim had said before he died. They were finally hitting her now.
"No, it's not a good place," Gleam answered. "This place…it's equivalent to a torture chamber." Gleam could feel tears roll down her face. The tears. They wouldn't stop. The tears became evident that they had to be there, and they would not stop. "I… I thought I could be happy here… away from everything… but this entire place is a lie! A lie! Why? Why did I want to come here? Why?" only now had she truly seen. The meaning. The true meaning of everything.
Chime patted her on the shoulder. For the first time, the pat failed. Gleam was in extreme hysterics, and nothing he could do would fix it. Nothing. The program being entirely fake—he believed it. The thought had crossed his mind a numerous amount of times. He knew. Knew, somehow, the idea would come up one day.
He turned to Seriphard and gave him his first trusting look. Now he was sure. Sure he could trust him. Trust him completely, entirely. Entirely with his entire body.
"Seriphard," he said. "I'm taking Gleam inside to rest. I really need to look after her. This must be too much for her to handle." He gave him a serious look. "Keep up with what you're doing, young man. It really helps."
Seriphard nodded. Chime opened the door to his room and placed Gleam in a sleeping position. Hard. She was taking this escape harder than anyone. He hated the sight. The sight of the girl he wanted to protect breaking down. It hurt him—it hurt him to see her like that. He did remember that she was only twelve. There was no way. No way any twelve year old had the capacity to handle that. Sovereign, or not, no twelve year old could handle such stress; none could. He prayed, prayed everything would somehow turn out alright tomorrow. He knew, however, that it was mere wishful thinking.
Gleam couldn't take it anymore. The creator escaped. Die, he was leaving everyone there to die. The thought hurt her to think of. No. The creator. The creator is leaving everyone there to die. Her eyes had lost all pupils. She had lost all life in her eyes. She then wondered, maybe it would be for the best. Maybe it would be for the best to become a corpse, too. She could escape the program. The building, she could escape. A corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She was tired of it. Tired of the program. Free reign to kill all, the words, the words carried no meaning to her anymore. A corpse, she had to become a corpse. She had to become a corpse. She had to become a part of the collection of corpses. Free reign to kill all—she wanted to become a part of the corpse collection. No more—there was nothing left to save her. She couldn't take her life anymore. She shed life-like tears. She decided to let the death thoughts go. She had no ounce of care left inside her to keep her mentally alive.
End of chapter twenty, next to come: the wind chimes sing through the paradox! Ah, how lovely they are! The wind chimes sing through the paradox! Come on, here them call! Nestle Mantle! Hear the call!
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Welcome to the next plot twist.
I applaud your effort if you made it this far without screaming or having a nightmare.
Just so you know, Seriphard is pretty important.
I have just done this today. There might be tyos.
Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.
Chapter 20; Sadistically woeful. As a God rises, a demonic departure rattles the sails.
Two weeks passed by as if the entire world were normal again. Nothing had happened. No events occurred in the outside world, it was as if the entire planet were paralyzed by a broken rotary wheel that could no longer turn. The lack of people coming after Gleam, strange tactics to get her into Ceetos's office, and the lack of Chime coming out of his room were really getting to her. Gleam knew—knew something had to be amiss. No one had come to try to kill her in two weeks. She didn't know whether to feel relieved or scared to half death over it. Two weeks, and she had been alone. She wanted to check up on Chime, but she was told to rest as well. The door to his room had been shut tight, and she knew that meant she had no right to be in there when the door had been closed. Even though she had been told to rest for a week, she couldn't. She couldn't—the paranoia. The paranoia of what had happened only kept on bothering her. All she could do was think about it for two weeks. The very thought corroded her, and the solitude was barely making it any better. She knew she had every right to be in solitude, however. She knew she didn't deserve it, Chime's kindness, help, anything. She knew she didn't deserve any of it. The two weeks of solitude proved it. Instead of thinking it was because she was a Sovereign, she decided to wonder. She wondered. Wondered how the Sovereign of Solitude, the late Soullim, handled being alone. She wondered if he was lonely when he was still alive. She knew, however, she had no right to compare herself to other Sovereigns. She was not them, and she refused to compare herself to such low and insane people. She wasn't them, and yet, she wondered how she could suddenly compare herself to other Sovereigns. In two weeks of solitude, she had seen things about her that she would have never seen before her two weeks of alone time, and never in her life had she loathed herself so much. Never in her life had it been so hard to like herself. She then figured. If she was going to be alone for at least another week, she may as well go out to go do something with herself. She knew the solitude wasn't intentional. Chime needed to recover. The library. She could go find the library. With her resolve in mind, Gleam left the couch and attempted to head for the door, but she couldn't. Weakness, dizziness, something was in control of her as she tried to walk. As she tried to walk to the door again, the dizziness had completely won. Within moments, the ground became her best friend as she fell to the rug. The sound of a loud crash could be heard before she was invited by the blackness of nothing. The darkness of being unconscious was somewhat inviting to her. Maybe she could stay that way forever. She somehow, hoped it would be true.
Chime, on the other hand, had not been able to move for the duration of two weeks. Incapacitated. For two weeks, he had been incapacitated, and he knew that it would remain that way for a while. He knew that Gleam being alone was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, but due to his inability to move, he couldn't check on her. Constantly, he had tried to move and failed miserably. He hated it. Hated being confined to his bed from the lack of the ability to move. He wanted to be sure, however, that he would be able to recuperate enough to help Gleam later. He, thus, ordered her to close the door. Solitude, complete solitude from the world. He hated it. Hated the solitude. He wanted the solitude to be over, but he knew it would last until he could move his entire body again. Every day, as of seven days before, slowly, but surely, he had been regaining mobility. Useless, he was useless. Somehow, he knew, knew he would never fully recover. Even at the very moment, he knew that even if the scars faded, the mental scars wouldn't. The mental scars would be eternal, and he knew it. The mental scars would permanently remain, and the memories would haunt him. The memories were permanently protruded into his mind, and there was no escaping them. From the two weeks of solitude, he had been trapped. Trapped with the visions of all his darkest memories. No amount of screams, crying, and writhing would help him. The memories would not leave him. He knew. Knew that it was true pain. He knew that it must have been what true pain felt like. The two weeks of incapacitation had taught him what pain truly was. True pain. True pain was writhing. True pain was emotional.
Eventually, the solitude had broken. The sound of a loud crash could be heard coming from the other room. Wrong, something was wrong. He knew something had happened to Gleam. It didn't sound normal; it could have only been her falling. Falling on something. Falling. Save her, he had to save her. Now was not the time to be in bed, not being able to move much. He would drag himself out of there if he had to. Save her. He had to save her. He moved his body forward as he picked his body up. The pain. The pain was barely there. Move, he could finally move. Chime removed the covers on him and lightly jumped to his feet. The worry .The worry was empowering his every move. Walk. He could feel it, he could walk. Never in his life had he felt so relieved that he could walk. Quickly, he turned the knob and opened the door. He wondered. The crash. What could that crash have been? He knew that it wasn't a good thing. Within moments, he could see a horrifying sight. The sight of a fallen over Gleam had burned into his mind. Wrong, something was wrong with her. As the worry empowered his movement, Chime ran to Gleam's side. Wrong, something was wrong with her. The pain. The pain of not preventing the outcome had gotten under his skin. Tears had automatically rolled down his face. Useless, he was useless.
"Gleam!" he shouted, tears painting his face discretely. She wasn't conscious. He had to get her to come to. "Wake up, Gleam! Wake up, please! You have to wake up!" tears had continued to fall from his face as he continued to shake her only to fail miserably. He continued shake her in hopes he would somehow get her to come to. Again, he tried to scream in hopes of breaking her free. "Wake up! You have to wake up! Please, Gleam! Please, wake up!" the screams. The screams were failing. Failing miserably, he had been failing to save her from the dark depths of blackness. He knew that he couldn't give up, he couldn't. Harder, he had to try harder. As the shaking became harder, he could see signs of success. Gleam's vital signs were returning. The tears continued to paint him even in the relief of her being alive. He couldn't hide it. Couldn't hide the emotions from her. He couldn't remain calm, he couldn't. Despite her being conscious, he knew—wrong. Something was wrong with her. There wasn't any time to waste. There was absolutely no time. Calm, he had to become calm before it would be too late.
Gleam's vision had slowly returned to her. Instantly, she had noticed Chime had been standing over her, completely full of tears and emotion. She was not used to the sight, and it made her feel like she had caused it. Her fall—her fall had caused everything. Seeing Chime up and about made her completely worry. She wondered. Should he have been moving around? It had been two weeks, two weeks of separation, two weeks of solitude, and it had been hard on her to cope. Something, she had to say something. In her weakened state, nothing came. She could only say the first thing that came to her mind. Weakly, she let the words form as weakness overrode her.
"Chime, should you be moving around?" she asked. "Shouldn't you still be in bed?" the words. The words came out weird. They didn't sound right. She wondered to herself. Was she delirious? Was she hallucinating? She didn't know—she knew she was aware, she knew that could not have been it. "I just fell over…I, you… didn't have to…" no words would work. Strange, she felt strange.
Chime did not like the sound of what Gleam had said. He was not important now; his mobility was not important. The bottom of it, he had to get to the bottom of what had happened to have caused her to faint. Gleam should not have been moving around if she were in that kind of state and he knew it. He was not important right now. He had to tell her that, he didn't care if what he was about to say would sound harsh, he knew the situation called for him to be harsh.
"I'm not important right now!" he cried. "You shouldn't be moving around! You just fainted!" he tried to calm down, but failed almost miserably. Yet another failure had infiltrated him. Focus. He had to focus on the main subject. "You need to tell me," he said desperately. "Do you feel ill? Do you need me to do anything for you? There's definitely something wrong with you!" as he finished with the questions, he quickly picked her up and placed her in a bedridden position. He placed the blanket over her as if by clockwork. He waited. Waited for Gleam to answer him.
Gleam could feel bewilderment invade her. She barely understood. Barely understood why Chime as so worried. She knew, somehow, if she had said that, Chime would only worry more. She couldn't. Couldn't say that to him. She didn't think anything could have possibly been wrong. Something couldn't have been. She knew. Knew it was only a sudden weakness, a sudden weakness. It could have been, and it could only have been. She knew. Knew it was nothing. She had to admit that to him.
"I'm okay," she said weakly. "Really, Chime, it must have been weakness or something."
Chime sighed. Gleam was denying it. She was denying it, and he hated the sound of it. The harshness had to leave him this time. Somehow, he had to get the truth out of her, he had to. He couldn't sit by idly and accept the answer she gave him. She was not okay. She wasn't. She wasn't okay at all. He knew it. Knew the two weeks of solitude would do something to her. He knew, knew keeping the door closed was a bad move. So many bad moves, and they were all his fault. Everything that had happened had been his fault. It had been his fault for he had not been able to move. He could only blame himself. Himself and no one else. If Gleam had fallen ill from the solitude, he only had himself to blame, and he knew it better than anyone. He looked at her with a serious look on his face before he became lost in a sea of self beating. He couldn't focus on himself, Gleam was of the only importance.
"You're not okay," he said firmly. "I think you've come down with something. Really, this is all my fault, Gleam." he kept a serious expression on his face as he continued. "Please stay n bed. You're obviously not well."
Gleam sighed. He was worrying over nothing. It was not his fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. She had worried him again. The solitude had been over, but the pain of solitude was not. Being alone for two weeks; the pain it left behind. It hurt, hurt beyond belief. Did she feel ill? She didn't think so. She knew it could have only been a sudden weakness. Chime was worrying too much. He had definitely been too worried. It was uncalled for. She hated it. Hated worrying Chime as much as she already did. She wished, for once, that he would worry about himself. Gleam didn't like the idea, the idea of being confined to the couch. The thought of staying put, not moving, completely bothered her. All she had done for two weeks was think to herself. No more, she couldn't stand being confined to the couch for another day—she could not handle it. Move—she had to move around. She knew that with Chime up and about, she probably would be forbidden to move. She knew Chime shouldn't have been moving around, either, but she was sure now that he wouldn't stand down. Regardless, she needed to repeat herself.
"Are you sure you should be moving around?" she asked again. "What about your injuries, Chime?" while she was happy he could move again, the first thing she didn't want was to worry him, but it was already too late to change it. It was her fault such had befallen, and she knew it. She knew it could have only been her fault; it could only have been. She could feel a light sigh overcome her as she continued to quietly bash herself in the contents of her mind. "Really," she said. "I'm glad you're moving around, but…." There was more. More she wanted to say, but the weakness overtook her. The next words wouldn't form. They stayed sealed inside her permanently as if locked in her throat. She decided it would be best to just give up for now—there was no way she could win.
Chime indirectly glared at the words Gleam said. Yes, he should have been moving around. It was his fault all of this happened and his fault only. The time fir solitude and recovering was over. Two weeks was too much time for himself. He had taken too much time for himself—he knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him that he was selfish. He had taken too much time for himself, and he was selfish. Utterly selfish. Completely, utterly selfish. He knew. Knew what had happened was the world's way of telling him such. It was a completely deserved outcome; he knew he deserved it more than anything before. Rather than wallowing about it, he knew now was his chance to show the world he was not selfish. Now was the time. Time to show the world. He would put it upon himself. Put it upon himself to take care of her. The world. He would show the world he wasn't selfish. He looked at Gleam quickly.
"Yes, I should be," he replied. "I'm not going to leave you alone, Gleam." He would not blush. He kept a constant serious expression. A serious expression. Clam. He had to remain calm. "I'm going to take care of you," he told her. "Is there anything you need?" he knew, that no matter what he did, it would not make up for the two weeks of solitude. Nothing would make up for the solitude. The world could not forgive him; he didn't deserve to be forgiven, and he knew it. He knew the world would have no right to forgive him. He knew. There was no room, no room for forgiveness. He sighed, snapping himself out of it. There was no time to worry about himself. Gleam was of the only importance. He couldn't think of himself, there was no way.
Gleam couldn't think of anything. She had no idea, no idea. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated the feeling, and she didn't want to feel weak anymore. She didn't want to feel weak anymore. She hated being fussed over so much. It couldn't come to pass. She knew. Knew it couldn't. She just wanted it to be over, over. Something, anything, to make her regain strength. Something, anything. She didn't want to remain weak, something; anything, to help her regain all her strength. She knew there wasn't anything, but she knew it had to be worth a try. She knew she had to try something, anything; anything to somehow be normal again. She opened her mouth to speak.
"Can I have some water?" she asked. She couldn't think of anything else. Nothing else came to her. There was nothing else she knew that would help her in any least bit possible. Water was the immediate solution. The only solution. She wondered. Wondered if it were too much to ask for. She wondered if she seemed like and invalid unable to do anything. Pushy, she was being pushy, and she knew it. "If it isn't too much to ask…" she said under her breath. "Am I being too pushy?" she could feel it again. The weakness. The weakness was living up to its name. Pushy. She was being pushing. Too pushy. Completely pushy. Should she have even asked for anything? She wondered. Wondered if it were wrong to ask. Somehow, she knew it had to be wrong.
Chime looked at her. Why was she saying that? She wasn't being pushy. She wasn't being pushy at all—in any way. In any way. She was not being pushy. As much as he wanted to say that to her, he knew it wouldn't be a good thing to pile anything onto her. He knew it would be in his best interest to keep it inside him. No more. He couldn't do that after what had went on during the two weeks. Nothing could make up for the stress he caused her, nothing. Nothing would make up for what he did, and he knew it. Despite that, it had to stop. The thoughts had to stop. Standing there and thinking wasn't going to help Gleam become better. He couldn't dawdle. He had to cut it out with the dawdling. A habit—the dawdling was now, somehow, a habit. A habit he had to break.
"By all means," he answered, killing the dawdling. He proceeded to a cabinet and removed a small glass from the top shelf. After removing the glass, he placed it under the faucet and ran the water. After the glass had shown signs of being three quarters full, he turned the faucet off and walked over to Gleam, motioning her to sit up slightly. He hoped in the corners of his mind that the water would breathe life into her.
Gleam sat up slightly as Chime had instructed. She removed the glass from his hand and added it to her own. In her bewilderment, she stared at the glass. The water, would it really help her? She wondered. Wondered if it would do anything. To find out that answer herself, she took the water and began to drink it. Strange, something was strange. The water. The water looked cold, but it didn't even taste like anything. Nothing. The water tasted like nothing. After finishing the glass of water, she realized that she felt no different. Weakness still had been coursing through her, dizziness was still there. There obviously wasn't any way—any way she could win today.
Chime noticed. Even after the drink of life bringing cold water, she still looked ghostly pale. Something was wrong with her, but he couldn't make out what it could be. Hopeless. He felt hopeless to himself and hopeless to the world's force. Useless, he was entirely useless. Still he had to ask her if there was any change in her of any kind, it would be wrong not to, and he knew it.
"Did the water help you?" he asked with instinct. "Do you feel any better?" he could feel the worried tone sound more worried than it usually sounded, but he didn't care—he was far too worried to hide it. He couldn't hide the absolute worry in his voice.
Gleam weakly shook her head. No. She didn't. She didn't feel any better at all. The water provided nothing for her. It was no different. No different. There wasn't any change. She didn't want to remain that way, if not for a long time. She wondered what hurt more, the weakness or what was about to come later. She couldn't distinguish it—nothing was working. Her mind wasn't even working. It was as if she was weak everywhere. She wanted to hate it, she wanted to, but, she felt too drained. She was too weak to hate anything at the moment. It took too much energy, and she didn't want to waste anymore energy. Everything. Everything was slowly becoming too much—weakness was more powerful than anything. The weakness, the weakness was winning. It definitely had won, and she had decided. Decided to completely admit it.
"No, Chime," she answered. "I really don't feel any better." Rest. She needed to get rest. She didn't exactly think it would work, but she knew. She couldn't cling to Chime, she knew. She knew that would be selfish, she knew it. She knew. No more clinging. She didn't need to continue to cling to him. Rest. She would rest. She knew it was all she could do. She looked at Chime almost bewildered. "I'm going to rest now," she answered weakly. "Sorry, Chime…."
Chime knew that Gleam had something on her mind again, but he figured it would be best not go on about it. He didn't want to leave her alone, but he knew that it would be best to let her rest. Solitude. Solitude was killing her. Solitude really was hurting her. Solitude was hurting her, and it was his fault. It was his fault, and he knew it. Never again would he leave her in the cold world of solitude. Never again. He would never again do that to her. Everything, he knew was his fault. Everything that would happen later would be punishment. Nothing, he deserved nothing anymore. Did he deserve anything anymore? He wondered. The pain. True pain and Gleam had to be subjected to it. Horrible. He was horrible. He knew that if he let her rest, it would help her. Never. He could never forgive himself. The world, the world had every right to mock him.
He patted her on the shoulder. "It's fine," he said. "Don't apologize. Please, Gleam." He backed away a little to give her space. Did he have any right to pat her on the shoulder? He knew he probably did not have any right to. He looked at her. He wondered. Wondered if sleep was all she needed. It was going to be a long, agonizing night. He knew, somehow, that the agonizing night prediction would become the truth. It would become the truth. It would become the truth, even if he didn't want it to become such. "I should be the one apologizing," he darkly replied. "It's my fault and my fault alone this happened." He walked over to her and tucked her in more. "I promise you that I'll never leave you in solitude again. Please rest. I really hope you feel better by the morning." His fault. It was all his fault that everything had happened. It was all his fault. Everything was his fault. Gleam had to get better. Everything had had to get better. He wanted to show the world he was better than that. He was better than that, and he knew it. He backed away. He had to let her rest. He knew being there would not help her, it would hinder her. One way or another, it would be a hard night. A hard night to live through and it could only have been a hard one. He looked back at Gleam one more time. Sorry, he was sorry.
Gleam weakly smiled. "I will," she replied. "Chime, it's not your fault. It's nobody's fault." She knew Chime was taking her faint too heavily. She needed to figure it out: was Chime going insane? She didn't want that to be the truth. Rest. Chime needed to rest as well. Insane. She didn't want that to happen. It couldn't happen. She didn't want Chime to become insane. "You need to rest, too. I don't want you to get to my level." She knew that was not the right words she was looking for, but it was already too late to take it back.
Chime said nothing and nodded. He needed to sleep the day off. He had to. Even though he had slept the entire days away for two weeks, he could only sleep again to get rid of the feelings. He had to get rid of the feelings so he could prepare tomorrow. As he retired into his bed, he thought about it once again. Horrible, he was horrible. He continued to call himself horrible as he was tortured by a nightmare in the confines of his subconscious. Nothing could save him as a nightmare he knew he deserved more than anything.
When morning came around, Gleam felt no better. Burning. She felt as if her whole body was burning. She knew it—knew that resting wasn't going to help. Worse, she felt worse. The time of nothing happening in the program did not make her feel any better. Something had to be cooking in the ocean—something. As bewildered as she was, she knew, knew somehow, she was right. She knew something was going to happen today, but could not think of what. Today. Something would happen, but she could barely think. Her body, her body was burning when it really wasn't. Was it due to the two weeks of solitude? She didn't feel like wondering. It took far too much energy. It took too much energy to wonder. The burn. The burning feeling wouldn't stop. Such a powerful illusion—she couldn't hate it. The burn. The feeling. The feeling was ruling over her.
Chime entered the room a short while after. Quickly, he walked over to her in order to see how she was feeling. Within minutes, his eyes lost all signs of life in them. No. No. There was no way. Gleam looked worse. The world was mocking him, mocking him, and he couldn't win against the world. He noticed, Gleam looked feverish. He knew it. Knew something worse would happen, and he deserved it. He deserved every minute of it. He was being punished, punished for leaving her alone. He knew that it was the world's way of mocking and punishing him. Horrible, he was horrible. He had to take care of her. He didn't care if she would say no—his fault, it was all his fault. He had to be responsible. He had to be held responsible. He looked at Gleam worriedly as it was the only look he could provide.
"You look feverish," he said quietly. "You definitely have a fever today." He then realized—there wasn't anything left he could give her to lower it. The painkillers in his necessity cabinet were expired as of two months ago, and he wasn't going to give her expired pills—that was poison. No. It wasn't happening. It could be happening, it couldn't be true. There was nothing her could do to save her, nothing. Nothing he could do to save her, and he felt less than alive about it. The world. The world was punishing him, mocking him, and he knew it. He knew the world was punishing him. Still, he figured, he'd ask what kind of pain she was in. Maybe, just maybe, he could find something or be able to make a medicine. Something, anything. "Is… is there anything hurting? Any specific areas?" calm. Why was it so hard to remain calm? He couldn't; he could remain calm. It was as if he had lost the ability through punishment.
"My whole body feels like," she started, but corrected herself. "I feel like my whole body is burning." The burn. The burn was winning. The burn was winning. No thought. There were no thoughts that would shine through.
Chime couldn't hold it. Couldn't hold the scream inside him. No. Gleam was doing incredibly poorly, and he had nothing he could do to help her. Useless, he was completely useless. No. It wasn't happening, it couldn't be happening. It wasn't happening. He didn't know, but he had to help her. Something, there was something he had to be able to do, anything. He changed the expression on his face—it was time to help Gleam. He extinguished all his self thoughts instantly; he had to focus on Gleam. Gleam and nothing else.
"I'm going to take care of you," he said. "I won't leave you alone, Gleam." He hated having to tell her to stay put; to stay lying down, but for now, that's all he could think to say. "I'm going to take care of you…so please, Gleam, stay in bed." He could feel his body shaking. Something. There had to be something he could do. Something, anything. Anything—anything to help free her. Anything to free her, anything. "So, is there anything I can do? Anything?" shaking. He was shaking. Constantly, he shook, and wouldn't stop. Useless, he was useless.
Gleam didn't want to. Clingy. She did not want to become clingy. She knew—asking for anything was too much. She couldn't ask for anything; anything was too much. Too much. She didn't want to ask for anything, she knew. Selfish, asking for anything was selfish. Asking for anything was absolutely selfish. She would argue, but couldn't win against the arguments inside her. Chime seemed to be on edge, and she didn't like it. She didn't like seeing him like that, but the burn. The burn. She couldn't take the burn anymore.
"Cold," she replied weakly. "Something cold to counter the burn…." She didn't know what that was called, but the burn. The burn was torturous. She wanted separation—separation from the burn. Something to separate her from the burn. Anything.
Chime sighed a sigh of relief. Ice pack. He actually did have an ice pack. He proceeded to his freezer and removed an ice pack from the top section. He walked over to Gleam and placed it on her forehead. He hoped, hoped it would help her. Somehow, he knew it would be okay now—okay to become calm again, and he knew it. However, he figured, figured there had to be something else he could do. Something else, anything.
"Anything else I can do?" he asked. "I might have some herbs I can mix into soup. I just have to check my cabinet." Confident, he felt confident again, confident that he could do anything. His smile. His smile was internally returning to his face. "Though, it's going to be pretty bitter. Are you okay with that?"
Gleam nodded. She quickly noticed. Noticed that Chime seemed much calmer now. While she hated bitter herbs, she didn't want Chime to worry anymore. Over, it was over; the solitude could finally end. It was only a matter of time. The solitude. The solitude could finally be over. She looked at Chime and answered him quickly. "Really, Chime, thank you for all this. I appreciate it." She weakly smiled. While she hated the bitterness, she couldn't tell him. It was a nice offer, a nice offer, and she knew that all her negative thoughts were what truly made her worse. She nodded one more time to alert him. Alert him that she was ready.
Chime saw her nod. He proceeded to his necessity cabinet and removed a can of broth and medicinal herbs. He then crouched down into another cabinet and removed a pot. He placed it over his dorm stove and turned the left dial. The fire underneath the pot ignited, lighting the pot. After he was sure the pot was heated enough, he removed the top of the broth can and poured it into the pot heating on the stove. He, lastly, opened the cap of medicinal herbs and placed two into the broth. For five minutes, he stirred the broth until there was enough broth and herb in it. When he knew it was done, he turned the left dial on the stove to off and waited again. After a few moments, he went over to another cabinet and removed a bowl and soup ladle. When everything had been done and over with, he clamped the ladle and placed the broth into the bowl. He could feel it—feel his blood calming. He walked over to Gleam and placed the bowl of medicinal soup onto her body. Finally, he was useful again. Finally, in two weeks of being selfish, he was useful.
Gleam took the spoon in the broth and proceeded to digesting it. As she ate the broth, she could feel the bitterness. The bitterness in the broth. The bitterness; the bitterness was too much. The bitterness was controlling. The taste, she hated it. Hated the bitter taste—the taste was beyond too much. She knew she had to bear with it, however. She had to bear with it. She continued to digest the medicinal herb until there was neither any herb or broth left. When everything had been gone, she handed the bowl to Chime, and he placed it in the sink, running the faucet to clean the bowl. When everything had been finished, he returned to Gleam's side.
Gleam could feel it—the burn that had been coursing through her body was leaving. It was leaving her. Somehow, she had felt better. Chime had done a nice job. She noticed. Noticed that Chime was acting like himself again. Chime was acting like himself again, and she felt like she could smile again. Compliment. She had to compliment Chime. She wanted to see a regular smile from him. Just a little more. Just a little more time before something was to happen. Compliment, she had to compliment Chime. There was barely any time like the time the two had at the moment. One compliment. One compliment to turn around and save Chime. She hated seeing him look so worried and dead inside. Gleam removed the ice pack freezing her head and sat up. Compliment—she had to compliment Chime.
Chime saw Gleam had moved and quickly placed her back in a lying position. He didn't want to see her up and about yet. She shouldn't have been, and he had to say something about it to her.
"Hey, hey!" he cried. "Don't try escaping! You still have a fever!" he changed his expression to a more serious one. He had to keep her lying down. He knew, by now, that his work was almost done. Though, he knew, there was no more solitude allowed, and he knew it. He knew, as long as he could keep on protecting Gleam, everything would be fine. It didn't matter as long as he could continue protecting her. He gazed at Gleam quickly. "I think," he said. "All that's left for you is to rest. I'm sure by the time you wake up, the fever will be gone." Somehow, he had been able to smile. Smile a small fraction. A small fraction and he could finally feel the entirety. The entirety of his blood calming.
Gleam saw the opportunity now. Now was the time to compliment Chime. She prepared. Prepared to compliment him. "You know, Chime," she spoke in a light voice. "You'd make a good doctor." She smiled obnoxiously to alert him that she was complimenting him, a normal Chime. She wanted to see Chime be himself again.
Chime heard the compliment. He knew—knew that he didn't deserve any compliments, but he didn't want to return, he didn't want to return to killing himself with his thoughts. No more. Not now. He knew Gleam did not want to hear him talk like hat. He knew she didn't want to see him in that state. He knew. Knew that one reason for worry in Gleam was that. No more. He couldn't. He couldn't anymore.
"You think so?" he questioned. "Hmm, maybe I would be. I think I can see that in my future, Gleam." He gave her a smile. His first smile in weeks. It felt different, but he knew. Knew he had to get used to the feeling. "You know, Gleam, I—" he would have finished the sentence, but the sound of a knock could be heard on the other end of the door. No. The time of nothing happening, the time of nothing happening was about to cease. Chime's smile died and his expression changed to a blank one. The time. The two weeks of nothing happening had ended.
The knock. The knock returned. The knock was quiet, not violent. The knock. The knock was gentle. Entirely gentle. Something was wrong. Familiar. There was something familiar about the knock. There something familiar about the knock, and Chime couldn't help but have a bad feeling about it. As he proceeded to the door, he thought about it. The knock was familiar. The knock was familiar, and he knew it.
***************************
On the other side of the door, was a timid, recognizable face. A face that could only belong to Seriphard. If the boy had been there, it could not have been a good thing; it was not a good thing. It was not a good thing, it couldn't have been. The two weeks of nothing were about to come to an end. He knew Seriphard was there to take that away. He was there to take away the days of nothing, and Chime did not like it. He did not like that the boy was there. It could only mean for disaster. Disaster and he hated it. He knew, somehow, that the boy secretly could have been after Gleam. He could have been after her secretly, and he knew. He knew he couldn't trust the boy. He couldn't trust Seriphard. There wasn't any way he could trust him. He could never trust him, and he never would, but he couldn't admit that to Gleam. He couldn't admit that to her; he would keep the fact to himself as it was all he could do. Silently, he studied the boy's appearance again. His cadet blue hair. His cadet blue hair was horribly suspicious. The color was suspicious. His ink colored eyes, he was hiding something. He was definitely hiding something. His white clothes covered with red splotches—he was dangerous. Definitely dangerous. Perfect reason to send him away. It was a perfect reason to send him away. He looked at his back. The angel wings. Definitely artificial implants. They were definitely implants, definitely fake. He knew that if the boy was there, it was a sign of bloodshed to come, and he did not want that. A perfect reason to send him away. As Chime was about to close the door, he could hear Gleam shouting in the corner mercilessly.
"Seriphard!" she shouted. "Seriphard, hi!" she waved at the boy stupidly to make him feel welcome. She knew Chime was about to send him away. She turned to him. He must have forgotten that Seriphard was not one of the people who were after her. "Chime, let him in, he's here for a reason."
Chime sighed. He couldn't say no to Gleam. Reluctantly, he swung the door open all the way and let him in. As the boy walked in, Chime again noticed the angel wings on his back. He wondered. Wondered if they could have possibly been real, but he knew that was impossible; no one could possibly have had angel wings. After Seriphard had been deep enough inside the dorm room, he closed the door behind him and continued to stare at the child. Why? Why was he here? He didn't like it. He didn't like him being there, either. Something was going to go wrong, and he knew it. He continued. Continued to stare at the boy.
Seriphard looked at Gleam and noticed the redness in her face. Quickly, he took note, despite already knowing. The girl was ill. As much as he wanted to delay the warning, he couldn't. Timidly, he backed away and prepared, prepared to give his warning. First, he knew he had to ask. Ask a question or two. A mere question or two.
"A-are y-you alright?" he asked Gleam. "Y-you l-look a little ill." Shaking, the boy was shaking. As much as he practiced, he could only shake. He must have had a permanent switch that was always on and making him shake like a dog. Like a dog of which he never learned the name of.
Gleam quietly smiled. "I have a small fever, but I'm better now, I'm pretty much over it," she replied. "Thank you for your concern." Gleam looked at the boy. She wondered. Wondered what kind of news the boy had. She knew it couldn't have been a good thing, and it wasn't. It wasn't good news. She'd wait. Wait. Wait for him to tell her and Chime.
Chime glared at Seriphard from a distance. He didn't want him there much longer. He had to get him away quickly. Bloodshed—he foretells bloodshed. He didn't want him there much longer. A rift, the child caused a rift in the program. Over with, he wanted this explanation over with. He wondered. Was he being too cruel? We he being too critical in his judgment on Seriphard? Deep down, he knew. Knew he was being way too cruel, but he didn't care, he would never admit that to him. He wouldn't give up to the thoughts of him being too critical on Seriphard.
"What do you want?" he asked in a pestered tone. "Is there any reason you're here?"
Gleam noticed. Noticed that Chime still didn't trust Seriphard. She thought she told him last time that they could trust him. Seemingly, Chime had forgotten such. He had forgotten Seriphard was trustworthy. He was trustworthy, but Chime didn't think so. Chime seemingly didn't trust Seriphard. While it bothered her, she knew now was not the time for such. Now was not the time to wonder why Chime couldn't trust him. He had something important to say, and it had to be said. It had to be said, and now. Completely. Now was the time for Seriphard to explain.
Seriphard prepared. Prepared to explain. Prepared to warn the two of them. To warn to two. The two about what was about to come. The boy stopped, breathed and prepared. Prepared to explain what was about to happen.
"P-please l-listen to my w-warning," he said, shaking. "T-the c-creator of the p-program, he…."
Chime blinked. The creator. The creator of the program had to be up to something. It must have been another rumor; there was no time to think about it. Despite the suspicion, he had to listen. It was obvious—obvious the creator was going to do something at any moment. The creator was up to something. Suspicion—he couldn't get over the suspicion boiling deep inside him. The suspicion. The suspicion was beginning to get to him, but he couldn't allow it to. The creator, what was he up to? He had to continue listening, and he almost forced himself to. He was going to force himself to listen; he didn't care, care if the suspicion was residing in the boy.
"Go on," Chime said. "What about the creator?" he kept an expressionless face. He knew what he was about to hear was not a good thing.
"T-the creator, h-he," Seriphard said, shaking and stammering. "He-he's on the r-roof." He paused for a moment. "T-the c-creator...he h-he might be planning s-something."
Gleam froze. The roof. The creator was up to something on the rooftop. Gleam couldn't. Couldn't stand it. Rooftops were horrible. She couldn't—couldn't be on one. But, she felt a sense of wonder break loose inside her. Why was the creator on the roof? What was he planning? That could not have been a good thing; it wasn't a good thing. Something was wrong. That couldn't have been a good thing. Wrong, something was wrong about the warning.
Chime's suspicion rose. The roof. The creator was up to something sinister on the roof. The creator was up to something on the roof. He knew his suspicion was right. Right from the very beginning. Was he up on the roof throwing people from society off? He figured that it could have been it. Ceetos Eetos was a sick and twisted man. Throwing people off the rooftop. That must have been it. He knew his suspicion was correct. Distrust roared inside him—he couldn't trust Seriphard. He was leading Gleam to bloodshed. He was already sick of it. Sick of having her see bloodshed.
"And?" Chime asked. "Why is he on the rooftop?" the obvious suspicious tone of voice had shown through. He refused to hide it this time. "Tell me, is he throwing people off the rooftop?" Chime was onto him. Obviously, he was trying to horrify Gleam, and he wouldn't stand for it.
Seriphard showed no understanding or acknowledgement of what Chime was claiming. He knew that he did not trust him. He didn't have to trust him; it was important, important that the two understand what was about to happen.
"N-no! Nothing like t-that!" he cried nervously. "H-he isn't t-trying to t-throw people o-off the rooftop, p-promise!" he could feel the shaking again, but calmed down. "Y-you s-should r-really c-come to the r-roof and s-see. I-I think you really s-should." He couldn't stop shaking. He knew Chime did not trust him that much. His suspicion would not make anything easy, but he had to get it over with.
Chime sighed. He didn't want to, but he figured that if it would let him know what was truly happening. He knew he needed to know what had truly been happening. He had to know what the creator was up to, it was the inevitable. The inevitable. He had to know. He had to know what truly was going on and why. He walked over to Gleam and removed the blanket from her body. She knew that Chime was ready and stood behind him with suspicion as to what Ceetos was up to.
"Arlight," Chime said. "Take us to the rooftop." He glared at him suspiciously. "This had better not be a trap, you hear? You'd better not be doing this to get Gleam into trouble or pain." He said it with a vicious tone. He meant it, meant it more than anything. Never. He would never once for any beyond reason, trust the boy. Never. Seriphard blankly blinked and lightly held onto Gleam's wrist.
"N-no, n-not at a-all," he answered, shaking like a dog again. "I-I'll escort you t-two to the r-rooftop, s-so, follow me!"
Chime gave up. No more, he couldn't be suspicious any longer. Seriphard stepped in front of Chime and opened his door, breathlessly running for the long staircase. The run. The run had been a short one, it had seemed. The staircase, the staircase had only been nine doors away. Nine entire doors away. Gleam looked at the boy's back and noticed the angel wings on his back as they approached the stairs. Did he ever fly with those wings? The thought of him possibly flying rather than climbing the stairs frightened her. She hoped, hoped that she would not get above the ground for even a second. She had to ask Seriphard. Ask him if he was going to fly as the fear boiled inside her. Seriphard placed one foot on the stairs. Gleam proceeded to ask.
"You…you aren't going to fly, are you?" she inquired anxiously. Flying; flying was frightening.
Seriphard shook his head. "N-no, why? I c-couldn't p-possibly…" he replied stealthily. "W-we don't have t-time. H-he'll be doing something a-any second!"
As Seriphard stopped talking, he rushed Gleam up the three hundred sixty steps up to the rooftop, and Chime ran after. Long and unusual. Why there were so many stairs made no sense. It made no sense and made the trip longer and further. Eventually, Seriphard had reached the three hundred fifty ninth step. He hoped. Hoped it already wasn't too late to show the two. Show the two what had really been going on. Without saying anything, he pushed open the metal door to the rooftop and led the small parade of Chime and Gleam to the scene.
Gleam's eyes grew small as she let go of Seriphard. Everyone remaining in the ocean had been on the roof, including Ceetos. The wind could be felt thrusting her as she continued to examine Ceetos from afar. Again, his appearance had changed. He was perfect looking, and omnipotent. His suit had been completely normal. No. Something wasn't right; his suit shouldn't have looked normal. What was the man up to? Why did he look almost omnipotent? She examined further; she noticed something large. As soon as she saw it, she could feel her eyes break. A huge vehicle with a single propeller on the top could be seen next to Ceetos. The vehicle, interestingly, was of a rainbow color. She remembered. Remembered the name of the vehicle. A helicopter had been next to Ceetos. What was the man planning?
The ocean did not seem to know, either. As Ceetos made his way, the ocean began to hit shore. The loud voices of one hundred people boomed and roared, distracting Gleam. The ocean, the ocean was even clueless about what was about to happen. Bad, this was bad.
The creator stomped on the rooftop lightly; however, it came out as a violent, earthbound shockwave. The ocean instantly calmed. The creator was about to speak. Instantly, the entirety of the ocean quieted. The stomp. The stomp wasn't human, it was God. God, the stomp was a God's stomp. The remaining ocean members cowered at his power. Ceetos Eetos was not human anymore.
Ceetos smirked. Everyone had his eyes on him. Scared. They were scared of his godliness. That was what he always wanted.
"Hello, hello!" he announced sporadically. "Congratulations, living one hundred three children! You have survived my program!" He started to move. Move into the helicopter.
The ocean began to hit shore. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. Entering the vessel. As much as they were actually scared, they couldn't show it. The ocean became a tidal wave, voices crashing the sand. The creator. The creator was entering the vessel. He was entering the vessel. He was entering the rainbow vessel about to operate it. He was going to operate the vessel. The ocean continued to form a tidal wave of voices. They couldn't accept the face as true.
Ceetos could not keep a fake grin. The children. The children would not shut up. Stop them, he had to shut up the pesky remaining alive children. Ceetos's body glowed gold. The aura got blinding and flickery as he continued to power up the move. The gold glow then became eye whitening as coins began to rain from his palms. The coins struck at least ten children, forcing their stomachs open as the coins hit them like they had just been hit by coins high up from a sixty five story building. The ten children bled violently as the eye whitening glow faded along with the coins. The ocean shut up as the sight of blood pools formed all over his roof. His beautiful, almost always clean roof, and now it had been ruined. Ruined by ten idiotic children. He smirked and continued.
"Now that I got your attention, I'd like to say a few words!" he announced out of nowhere. "Congratulations, ninety three remaining children, you have turned me into a God!"
Gleam blinked. A God? Was she delirious? A God? Did Ceetos just say God? Soullim. Soullim was right. Ceetos was intending to become a God. All along, the Sovereign of Solitude was right. He was right—Ceetos was trying to become a God. Gleam couldn't stand it. She couldn't stand the fact. Disgusting, evil, inhumane. No word described the spectacle before her at all. The creator had become a God. There was no way. No way any of this could have been happening. A nightmare, it had to be some kind of nightmare.
Ceetos smirked and continued. "Congratulations, fools! Congratulations, fools! You have killed so many people that I have collected enough magic to become a God!" he said, completely changing his attitude. As he continued, he placed his other foot into the vessel. Escape. Leave the remaining ninety three there to die. First, he had to rattle the children up. Kill each other; he would announce that they could kill each other. "And, as my parting gift, I give you FREE REIGN TO KILL ALL!" he boomed. "Sayonara, children! You'll never get help, ever, ever!" he closed the door to the vessel and said nothing else. Within seconds, the violent sound of a propeller could be heard against the deadly force of wind. No one stopped as the creator's escape plan succeeded. Everyone watched in complete horror as the helicopter got smaller and smaller on the horizon line. Ceetos Eetos was gone. The ninety three remaining—the ninety three remaining were on death row, and they knew it.
Gleam tried to make sense of everything that just had happened. Free reign to kill all. Mass murder. The creator was about to allow a mass murder to take place. Why? Why would he escape? Why would he leave everyone there to die? Why now? Why so suddenly? No question would ever be answered. The questions were lost. Lost to the ocean of people. She turned to Chime. Chime had become extremely pale. Nowhere had there been any visible color. Terrified, Chime was more terrified than she was. Regardless, she had to ask him—had to ask him what to do now.
"Chime," she asked. "What do we do now?"
Chime knew. Knew the answer to that question. Hide. The two of them had to hide. The announcement. The announcement, free reign to kill all. He knew what that meant. More people were going to try to kill her. He couldn't allow society to try to kill her anymore. They had to hide. Had to hide. The four words the creator said—free reign to kill all, rang in his ears, and they would not stop ringing in his ears. The words. The words were parasites eating away at his mind. They would not leave him—the four words. Hide the two of them had to hide. Hid before it was too late. They had to hide, there was no choice; it was absolute instinct.
"We hide!" he cried. He looked at Seriphard. Apologize. He had to apologize for how he treated Seriphard. "Seriphard, sorry. Sorry for distrusting you. It was so wrong of me." He got on his knees, begging for forgiveness. "I'm sorry, Seriphard, my suspicion got the best of me. I really thought that you were one of them. That was wrong of me, and for that, I apologize." He got off his knees. The apology, the apology was the hardest one he could give.
Seriphard shrugged. "I-it's okay," he gristly answered. "N-no one e-eve b-believes me a-anyway." Seriphard grabbed Gleam's arm and escorted the two back to Chime's dorm room. The climb back. The climb of three hundred sixty stairs felt like a complete millennium. After a certain amount of time, Seriphard had reached the end of the staircase. He quietly escorted Gleam in front of the door and spoke one last time. "I-I h-hope," he stammered nervously. "T-the next time w-we meet… i-it will be f-for a p-positive reason. I-I h-hate it here. I-it isn't a good place."
Gleam blinked darkly. She agreed. It was not a good place. She remembered, remembered when she had arrived at Mariibo Rumaibo, she remembered wanting a change in life. She hoped somehow, she'd become free from the reasons she wanted to run away. She was wrong. She was in a place, a place where she now wanted to run away. The truth was ugly. The real Mariibo Rumaibo was finally devised. The program. The program truly was a fake. The words Soullim had said before he died. They were finally hitting her now.
"No, it's not a good place," Gleam answered. "This place…it's equivalent to a torture chamber." Gleam could feel tears roll down her face. The tears. They wouldn't stop. The tears became evident that they had to be there, and they would not stop. "I… I thought I could be happy here… away from everything… but this entire place is a lie! A lie! Why? Why did I want to come here? Why?" only now had she truly seen. The meaning. The true meaning of everything.
Chime patted her on the shoulder. For the first time, the pat failed. Gleam was in extreme hysterics, and nothing he could do would fix it. Nothing. The program being entirely fake—he believed it. The thought had crossed his mind a numerous amount of times. He knew. Knew, somehow, the idea would come up one day.
He turned to Seriphard and gave him his first trusting look. Now he was sure. Sure he could trust him. Trust him completely, entirely. Entirely with his entire body.
"Seriphard," he said. "I'm taking Gleam inside to rest. I really need to look after her. This must be too much for her to handle." He gave him a serious look. "Keep up with what you're doing, young man. It really helps."
Seriphard nodded. Chime opened the door to his room and placed Gleam in a sleeping position. Hard. She was taking this escape harder than anyone. He hated the sight. The sight of the girl he wanted to protect breaking down. It hurt him—it hurt him to see her like that. He did remember that she was only twelve. There was no way. No way any twelve year old had the capacity to handle that. Sovereign, or not, no twelve year old could handle such stress; none could. He prayed, prayed everything would somehow turn out alright tomorrow. He knew, however, that it was mere wishful thinking.
Gleam couldn't take it anymore. The creator escaped. Die, he was leaving everyone there to die. The thought hurt her to think of. No. The creator. The creator is leaving everyone there to die. Her eyes had lost all pupils. She had lost all life in her eyes. She then wondered, maybe it would be for the best. Maybe it would be for the best to become a corpse, too. She could escape the program. The building, she could escape. A corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She wished to become a corpse. She was tired of it. Tired of the program. Free reign to kill all, the words, the words carried no meaning to her anymore. A corpse, she had to become a corpse. She had to become a corpse. She had to become a part of the collection of corpses. Free reign to kill all—she wanted to become a part of the corpse collection. No more—there was nothing left to save her. She couldn't take her life anymore. She shed life-like tears. She decided to let the death thoughts go. She had no ounce of care left inside her to keep her mentally alive.
End of chapter twenty, next to come: the wind chimes sing through the paradox! Ah, how lovely they are! The wind chimes sing through the paradox! Come on, here them call! Nestle Mantle! Hear the call!
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Welcome to the next plot twist.
I applaud your effort if you made it this far without screaming or having a nightmare.
Just so you know, Seriphard is pretty important.