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Emma stared down at the little girl in awe, confused as to how the hell she was now in someone’s white washed bedroom. Gentle light filtered through the thin lampshade in the corner, somehow easing Emma’s stress, a perfect match to the kind vanilla smell. The girl that had greeted Emma merely sat there, still smiling patiently up at her.
“I said would you like some tea?” she repeated in her soft yet strong voice.
“Where am I?” Emma responded instead of answering, feeling her question was much more important. She looked around aimlessly, studying her surroundings. This frankly pleasant space was a vast improvement from the cold theater she was in moments ago to be honest. She didn’t have much time to make note of it before but the air there was freezing cold, filled with the scent of something foul, she couldn’t quite recall exactly what. Now, she felt relaxed, as if in a home she’d never had before and yet had always been waiting for her to arrive.
“My room,” the girl answered in a simple and assured tone, as if every word that left her mouth was the whole truth that she knew wholeheartedly, as if she couldn’t make a single mistake. “Some call it The White, if that’s how you wish to refer to it. Don’t worry, my brothers’ and their lackey won’t be able to find you here, not unless they wish to start a fight I will certainly finish.” A small hint of rage appeared in her voice, a small flicker of flame that somehow Emma knew could grow rapidly at the drop of a hat.
Emma squinted thoughtfully, rapidly clicking together all the pieces she’s been given. “Brothers? Is that the lord things that P…” She cut herself off harshly, sternly preventing herself from ever saying that name again.
Just thinking it hurt, thinking about them and how much she failed. God, she really was an idiot. First, she beefed it years ago by letting that thing leave in his skin while doing nothing to help and then she tried to save him, as if that’d accomplish anything, as if there was still good in them. Perhaps she was just a bit too desperate to not be alone anymore and reached out for the smallest spark she could find.
“That Otho mentioned?” she continued, trying to ignore the ache in her heart.
The girl nodded gracefully. “You catch on quick, Emma.” She motioned at the low seat next to her with a certain finality, implying this was the last time she was going to ask politely.
If this girl was related to the same things that plunged Otho into insanity, chances are she could do something of equal or worse severity to Emma. Slightly worried, Emma sat down, bending her knees at an odd angle in order to fit.
It was strange how she still felt sensations in what were presumably her dreams. While waking herself up is currently impossible, she knows she’s asleep, resting soundly in her bed as her mind drifted out in the aether.
“It’s interesting that you decided to arrive here,” the girl commented, dragging Emma from her thoughts. “I would have figured you to try to move on.”
Emma sighed, fiddling with her thumb nail. “I tried, sort of…” Her past was a fog that hovered around her like a curse, permeating every part of her life. She couldn’t use her real name if she wanted to stay hidden, she couldn’t store money anywhere beyond her pockets, every few months she had to dye her hair a new hue, colored contacts were basically a permanent part of her face. After a certain point, she lost track of who she was, ever so slightly. The only time she ever got to hear someone call her Emma was when he showed up in her dreams.
No matter where she turned or what she did, he was always there, jolting her memory back to then. There was something nice now that she knew there was no more him, that it’s too late and he’s truly, fully gone. Perhaps now, he’ll stop showing up in the recesses of her mind.
“But it’s hard,” the girl lamented, finishing Emma’s sentence. “Believe me, I understand…” She drifted off for a beat before continuing. “I brought you here after Uncle Otho tried to attack you and I’d advise staying for a while, at least until they give up searching. Otho’s temper tantrums rival my brothers’ sometimes.”
Emma nodded, taking a deep breath. Quiet blanketed over the room, leaving Emma to stare at this child, feeling awkwardness swell in her chest. After a beat, the girl made a face and hummed thoughtfully.
Before Emma could ask anything, the girl wrapped her tiny fingers around the handle of a small teapot and tilted it over one of the cups. Miraculously, tea surrounded by steam poured out. Once it was full, she pushed it over to Emma. When the billowing fog floated into Emma’s nose, she nearly collapsed from how sleepy that alone made her, threatening to plunge her into a dream inside a dream.
“Here you go,” the girl said. “A protection spell, wrapped in a nice drink.”
Emma pointed at the cup. “This’ll stop all this,” She motioned at the room at large. “From getting near me?”
“It’ll stop Otho,” she corrected. “My kin… it’s a bit less helpful. Pokey will likely show up in your dreams again, at that point, it’s up to you to fight him off.”
“Again?” Emma questioned.
The girl looked at her curiously. “Well, surely you noticed that Otho was surprised to see you. If they sent you that dream, wouldn’t they have been waiting?”
Emma froze, mind churning. Why would Pokey, presumably one of those Lords Otho mentioned, send her that dream of Otho? The logical answer is the one that ended up occurring, to make her confront Otho, though that still didn’t make sense. What does Pokey gain from her seeing Otho again? Did he just do it for shits and giggles? Is that all she is to these things, a toy to play around with? The mere concept made a fire ignite in her soul, floating red into her vision.
Discarding those questions for her own sanity, Emma grabbed the cup, brown liquid sloshing around inside. It was pretty much the only color in the room besides herself, it almost felt wrong to look at, a stain on what was otherwise pure.
Is that what she is in this great world of hers, something that shouldn’t be? Something who’s mere existence is foul and incorrect, nothing but a source of exacerbation? Her childhood was filled with being told she would grow up big and powerful, strong enough to save the world from any outside threat and the second she saw her first one, she ran away. She’s a coward who failed over and over again.
Doing this felt like the easy way out, just like everything else she’s done. If she takes the spell, then she’ll keep hiding and wallowing, even if Otho will never bother her again. As much as she wants them to become a distant part of her life, something she can actually forget, she doesn’t feel like she deserves to.
The girl tilted her head innocently, knowing every thought in Emma’s head. “You don’t want it?”
Emma clinked the drink back on the wooden table. “Listen, the way I see it, you don’t really seem to like The Lords and I don’t like Otho, who works for The Lords. What if we were to… team up?”
The girl sighed. “Emma, I respect what you’re trying to do but mortals that stand against the lords don’t live great lives…” She stared off wistfully behind Emma, thinking of something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. “You should leave while you still can.”
“That’s the thing,” Emma said. “I’m already in this shit cause of PEIP. Look, my life already fucking sucks, I might as well do some good before I die.” She tapped the side of her fingers on the wood a few times to emphasize her points. “It’s easy, I help you out, you boost my powers to something a bit more usable slash helpful, we kick Otho and The Lords’ asses twelve ways from tuesday.”
The girl stopped, gazing upon Emma, pondering intensely. Soon, she weakly held out her hand. “If you agree to this, there’s no turning back. This door can’t ever close again.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Emma mumbled. If she had a nickel for every time she’d heard an ominous warning like that, she wouldn’t have to touch a plow ever again. She slapped her palm against the girl’s and squeezed tight. They very sternly shook hands as Emma felt herself split apart.
It wasn’t painful, per say, in fact, it was somewhat pleasant. She felt her atoms harmlessly spread out from each other as if pulled away by magnets, arms and legs vanishing easily into the nothingness that made up The Black and White. It was rather tranquil, becoming a blank space in time and space. In the moment where she was temporarily unmade, she already forgot about suffering and sadness and rage, knowing nothing but peace. Now, she was the wind that gusted pollen about, the sunlight that shimmered on the earth below, the lava that burst from volcanoes.
Before she could grow too content in her new state, her DNA blocks were slammed back together, burning her down to her instantly recreated bones. She gasped for air, eyes flying open. Wood dug into her knees and palms as she collapsed onto her bedroom floor, chest dancing up and down.
Her head was swimming, still disoriented from suddenly being thrust into reality. The moon beams through the window were somehow too bright, the smooth floor too rough, crickets singing too loudly. She shot her hands to her head, clamping down on her ears in an attempt to quell her screeching head.
Instead, all she could notice was how leathery her skin was, how odd her messy hair was to her fingers. Emma took several deep breaths, trying to calm down. Slowly but surely, her heartbeat began to grow steady, her surroundings becoming a bit easier to understand. Shakily, she rose to her unsteady feet, joints screeching in protest and lowering her arms.
Every muscle in her still stung, neurons still groaning from the rearrangement inside she just knows occurred. She moved her foot forward, trying to reach the beautiful nearby mattress. Her leg gave slightly out under her weight, as if she hadn’t walked in a year. She shot out her arms, spreading them wide to keep her balance.
“I know, it feels odd,” a kind, ethereal voice rang out in her ears, making her jump in surprise. She whipped her head around in a searching manner, ignoring the way it made her neck bone shout. “You’ll get used to it soon.”
“He-hello?” she asked to the empty space around her, unaware of who the hell could be talking; though, with each passing second, she gained a sneaking suspicion that deep down she knew who was speaking into her mind.
The voice gave a soft chuckle, a relaxing sound, akin to hearing a small bell ringing out. “Don’t worry, it’s me, Webby.”
That name… somehow, even though Emma had never met anyone with that name before, she knew who it belonged to, knew that the voice talking to her was that of the little girl from a moment ago. Information began to slowly trickle down through her brain cells, easing her towards understanding everything in the world on a deeper level.
Before time had a name, two great psychic forces combined, intermingling and swirling. Those forces were powerful, enough so to create six even more powerful beings, beings capable of destroying and rebuilding the universe however they see fit. Webby was one such of those practically gods, all knowing and beyond mortal comprehension.
Emma sighed, rubbing a hand over her face, collecting herself. She turned around to face the mirror on the dresser, suddenly curious to see if anything physically was different too. Incapable of stuffing away her intrigue, she waddled over to the vanity, boards creaking underfoot and making her grunt from the way her eardrums whined.
When she gazed upon herself, she nearly gasped from how odd she now looked. The pupils of her eyes were now milky white instead of black and she could make out a faint web pattern on her cheeks. Her teeth were sharper than they were last time she checked, the tips poking past her lips even. A streak of white ran starkly through her brown hair and her skin had never been more pale.
“I told you this couldn't be undone,” Webby said.
“Good god,” Emma breathed out, rubbing fingers on her forehead; a voice in the back of her head wanted to correct her exclamation, instead say good Webby, but she pushed that urge deep down, deciding to address it at a later date. As she looked at herself, her memory couldn’t help but be jolted back to when he stepped out of the portal. He looked sort of like how she did now, wrong and different. Is that what happened to him?
“Close. You only went through that once, they went about… well, I lost track of the exact number but it was around 149,762 times.”
Emma’s jaw dropped. Going through that only one time was beyond disorienting, already disfiguring. She can’t even begin to imagine being unmade that many times, especially considering instinct told her that Webby’s kin wouldn’t have been so kind as to make it not hurt. A small part of her almost felt bad before she remembered how they tried to kill her a few moments ago.
Still, while her sympathy may be dry, it did make a few more things make much more sense. Frankly, she can’t assure that she would be any better than them, hell she’d probably be worse, a monster who’d burn the world as much as they have. She can’t help but wonder if they even still see themself a human deep down anymore or if they viewed themself above it all, the mere concept of being human philistine in nature.
That thought prompted another, is she still a human anymore? Sure, her heart is still beating and her lungs still hold air but her face alone was already different, certainly, many other things are as well.
Perhaps she’s simply thinking too much about it. Maybe, she’ll take a nap and she’ll feel better soon. Emma trudged over to her bed and threw herself down, welcoming sleep with open arms.