Oh, but what was this?

This crackling blue Spire looked like her. Or was it she that looked like the Spire?

Dewberry slithered onto a rock outcropping and curled up, staring for a long minute first at the Spire, and then at herself. Wasn't the resemblance striking? The bright glow of those magical crystals, the shimmering aqua stripe down her back. The rainbow that glimmered back wherever any small ray of light struck her scales. The halo of shimmering light that complemented the blue-violet lighting of this room so well.

What, she wondered, was the relationship between them?

She had seen Canis, with its monochrome tan floor and ivory bones. On the way here, she'd seen the Room of Stars: also monochrome, with old stone buildings and pale crystals shimmering on the ceiling--but always with the monochrome color. Now she saw Polaris, saw its glowing mosses and shimmering fungi, saw the Spire crackling with magic color, and she felt at home.

Emboldened by its familiar appearance and a sense of soft wonder, Dewberry reached out to it gently with her mind. It did not seem intelligent, but who knew? Who could know, without trying? How else could she attempt to explain the striking similarity between this Spire and the shining stripe down her scales?

Hi, she thought tentatively. Who are you? --Are we the same? Or... related?

Let sleeping dogs lie.

A mind touched empty stone. Magic, a stray and wandering shroud lost around its base, felt that touch and resonated.

It was as though Dewberry's prodding awoke something that had drifted off to sleep. Something best left sleeping. Something groggy, but as it woke, a latent intensity began to sieze for her.

A sense of instinctive fear would take her: this was something best left alone. In fact, it was best she run.

Run.

Run.

...while she still could.

@Dewberry

Fear.

A sense of visceral fear so intense it ripped through her and sent her cold-blooded heart racing. Should have sent her racing away, too, but she didn’t want to. She didn’t understand. How was it that the mind of this brilliant Spire could inspire such terror? It was so full of life.

Compared to the intensity of its presence, she was a mere mouse before a tiger. But she had met a tiger before, and spoken to him like two normal people. Why should she flee before this presence, like a timid Lesser mouse? This was irrational, she told herself, forcing her tense muscles to cool tighter around the rock outcropping instead of launching her away.

She tried to soothe its intensity, interpreting it as anger from being woken up. I am sorry for waking you, she thought, sincerely apologetic. She had not thought the Spire would, or even could, be so disturbed. My name is Dewberry. And then a gentle sense of inquiry: did the presence wish to introduce itself, in turn?

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gore

What crashed into her was visceral, powerful, like a sea stirred to storm by quakes beneath. Yet it was not a tidal wave but a ripple: an echo, resonant, strengthened in rapid circles by the thrust of magic. Like feedback screaming through a speaker it roared into her mind, louder and louder and louder.

the paiϊ iί ϧϱernϖl

-and suddenly, she was falling-

the pain iί eϱernϖl

falling, falling, falling, FALLING,

the pain iί eϱernϖl...

FALLING---for an eternity--and then-

the pain is eternal

-crashing into rock, tumbling, the sharp agony of bones spearing through flesh, alone, lost, fallen-

THE PAIN IS ETERNAL

...suffering, broken, staring up at the pinprick of light too far above, too high to reach, nobody would hear her, nobody would find her...

THE PAIN IS ETERNAL!

The resonant power reached its peak, its crashing waves crushing through Dewberry's consciousness, eroding what had been there and replacing it with agony.

---

Dewberry has been struck with an echo of an unknown power. She will remain in the throes of this memory for several hours: lying helpless and in sharp agony after a seemingly impossibly long fall, alone and unable to escape, dying over a period of days.

When it fades, she will be left with the horribly distinct impression that what she has experienced was not a hallucination or a dream--but somehow, very real.

@Dewberry

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dying slowly

Life slipped from her grasp ever so slowly.

The pain itself was not so cruel as the certainty of it. The eternity. There was no promise of salvation in the faint light above, no minuscule speck of hope. She tried to use her magic to save herself, but nothing came. She tried to call out for help, but nothing more than an inaudible rasp escaped her ruined body. And there was no one around, anyway, to hear her plea. There was utterly nothing she could do as hour by hour, the agony climbed to new heights.

Her mouth became dry. There was no water. The scales on her face itched and itched as precious moisture dissipated, molecule by molecule, all the while she lay there dying. The stone beneath her dug into her flesh, sending dull aches through her that intensified into unbearable pain. It did not matter. She could not move and relieve the pressure. The cold, dry air prickled where bones had pierced through bloodied scales. It did not matter. No one would spread soothing salve on her wounds, lift her in their warm grasp, or spare her from the cruel rock pressing against her back.

She inhaled. It hurt, but she couldn't not breathe. But with each passing hour the cruel air sapped the moisture from her lungs. Her throat burned with each breath. Anything, anything for a sip of water!

But there was no water. No one came for her.

There was no end to the agony. She was dying slowly. It was not that she wanted to die--Dewberry wanted so badly to live. To hold on. But trying to hold on was as futile as trying to fight against the gravity that had wrenched her down. The desire to live would not allow her to move, to climb back up, to fly up out of this endless abyss. The best she could do was hold on for a while longer--but what was the point? She could not hold on forever. There was no help coming, no matter how long she could delay.

She wasn't making it out of here. Ever.

The serpent lay motionless, a dull sheen over its eyes, able to do nothing but stare up at that unattainable pinprick of light and suffer. Why? Why did this happen? Why was she so alone? Why would no one help her?

A fog stole over her mind, until the lines of her vision blurred and ran together. Her consciousness faltered--even the pain became indistinct. She didn't know what was thirst, what was cold, what were bruises, and what were puncture wounds. It was all one eternal agony.

And then she woke.

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gore

(first paragraph only)

She couldn't say exactly where the line between the experience and the present was drawn. It took her a while even to realize that she was now capable of moving. She remembered the pain so vividly that with each twitch of a muscle, she expected the agony of bones piercing flesh to seize her. Certainly the bruises remained, though they could have come as easily from coiling around a jagged rock for hours on end as the events in the memory. And the thirst--!

Even if someone had hydrated her perfectly just seconds before she awoke, there was no forgetting the terrible thirst. Dewberry slithered toward the Crystal River in a trance-like state: slowly at first as she flinched at her own movement, expecting the punishing pain to return, and then racing at top speed like a madman, without regard for the friction of the rough substrate against her scales or the danger of the rushing current below the steep riverbanks. Her singular focus was on the promise of water; she was unaware of everything else.

She drank deeply, until she felt like bursting with all the water, and then fell utterly still, overcome with shock and exhaustion.

What had happened?

Slowly, she started to piece together the chain of events leading up to the vision--or memory? She didn't know. Had the presence in the Spire pushed her to her death--? But there was nothing to fall from, here. She awoke in the same place that she had been.

Her mind drifted to different possibilities. She didn't know how much time she spent considering--it could have been minutes, or hours. She still didn't feel properly connected to her surroundings, like she was about to slip away into that rocky abyss any moment. But if the Spire had not pushed her--had not meant to kill her--then what had it meant to do? There was consciousness within the Spire, she was certain of that.

It had spoken to her.

The pain is eternal. Those were the words, echoing over and over, each wave louder than the last in an endless feedback loop. The Spire could speak, and it had chosen those words?

Was it a cry for help, then? A shared memory, through the mental link she had established through magic, pleading for understanding? She had known despair now. She knew its suffering. She knew the feeling of utter helplessness, and the futile fear and rage--that no one would help her.

If there had been someone there for her, maybe things would have been different. Maybe she wouldn't have to die that slow, agonizing death. If they could not have healed her wounds, perhaps they could have soothed her suffering. Given her water, lifted her from the hard rock and placed her in a soft, nest. Granted her some measure of warmth and comfort, instead of leaving her to die in the endless haze of nothing-but-pain.

She would have wanted someone to help. She had wanted someone to help. She'd wished for it, craved it desperately, and it had been futile--but if that was what the Spire wanted, maybe its hope wouldn't be futile. Maybe she could find a way to help.

She had to help. How could she not, remembering so clearly and awfully what it was like?

Sudden determination swept through her. She knew what she had to do. "I will help you," she spoke fervently, casting out her magic in front of her. "How can I help? Let me--"

Something wasn't right. Her mind filled with the sound of bubbles. There was a feeling of vague confusion, and... gills fluttering? Then, nothing.

What?

Then, realizing, as a shadow darted away, leaving nothing but ripples in its wake--oh. A fish. It had been a fish. Dewberry had been so out of it that she had not realized she was projecting her thoughts into the mind of a fish. She was not even looking in the right direction. The Spire was behind her.

Let's try again.

She turned around and slithered all the way back to the Spire. Double and triple-checked her surroundings. Stared directly into its brilliant blue glow until her eyes hurt and she had to avert them. Made absolutely sure that her mind was fully in the present, in this world, in Polaris, and on the Spire. The Spire. Not on a fish or a mushroom or a normal rock.

Then, feeling a bit foolish but no less fervently dedicated to helping whatever being had been suffering for unknown eternities in the Spire: "Please, let me help you. I saw what you showed me. I know the despair, the suffering. No one was there--but I am here. I will help, however I can. Tell me how to help, and I will, I promise. I promise!" The words spilled out of her at the same time as her thoughts, with a rushed kind of urgency to them. As if she wanted to be sure she got it all out, before anyone could interrupt--or so that whatever being was suffering didn't have to wait a moment longer.

Whatever she had awakened lashed outward.

It did not wait; there was a desperation to it, a snare looped for her throat, and she had just thrust her head directly through it despite all warnings.

Dewberry would feel the magic--oppressive, agonizing--crash through her mind powerfully enough, this time, that her consciousness instantly faded, like a thunderclap had roared through her brain, searing away everything that she had been.

---

When she woke, once again hours later, her mind would not be the same. Her own memories were contorted, distorted, missing. They would return given time--and effort. But another set of memories lingered in their place: the memory of falling. The memory of dying.

And a memory--even a compulsion--to bring back information.

That was her mission. That was her task. It would overwhelming, even destructive, an overriding compulsion with deep urgency and a vast importance she could barely comprehend--yet she would not know where to bring this information, or what information, even, she was to bring. This alone might prove maddening.

In addition, flecks of oily black stone--yet not Corrupted--lie around Dewberry when she wakens. It's unclear how they got here.

---

Whatever entity Dewberry has made contact with will not further respond to attempts from her for some time. It will be as though it is an absent echo.

@Dewberry