11. Memories Forgotten Until Death Knocks On One’s Door
11
MEMORIES FORGOTTEN UNTIL DEATH KNOCKS ON ONE’S DOOR
~NYX~
T he alarms pierce through layers of consciousness like distant thunder, urging me to wake. But something holds me under, pulls me deeper into memories I've fought so hard to recover.
Remember . Remember while you can.
The scene unfolds like watercolor bleeding across wet paper: autumn colors in impossible shades, leaves dancing on a breeze that carries the scent of ending and beginning all at once.
I'm outside Ravenscroft's walls —— one of the rare times they've let me beyond those sterile confines. The memory feels fragile, like butterfly wings I'm too afraid to touch lest they crumble to dust.
But I need to see this.
Need to understand.
The guards in their tactical gear march beside me, their weapons trained and ready. Every step is measured, and controlled, down a narrow path that winds through the forest like a ribbon of fate.
"Move," one of them orders, pushing me forward with the barrel of his gun.
The valley opens before us, a natural amphitheater surrounded by trees wearing their fall colors. But these aren't normal autumn shades - instead of reds and golds, the leaves shine in hues of ivory and magenta, as if nature itself has been twisted to match Ravenscroft's experiments.
We reach the center and they force me to stop, the message clear in the way their weapons remain trained on vital points:
Stay still or die.
The shadows writhe in my mind, agitated by the memory.
They know what's coming, and try to show me more clearly, but something blocks their efforts - like static on an old television, interrupting the signal at crucial moments.
"Don't move," another guard warns, though the command is unnecessary. Where would I run? What would be the point? They've made sure I understand the futility of escape through countless "lessons" in pain and consequence.
So I stand there, waiting for whatever new trial they've devised. Waiting for more pain, tests, and attempts to push me past human limits.
But that's not what happens.
Instead, movement catches my eye — a figure emerging from the shadowed forest. A woman, her approach deliberate but somehow hesitant, each step carrying weight I can't quite understand.
She comes closer, and frustration builds as I try to see her face clearly. The memory refuses to cooperate, keeping her features shrouded in darkness as if my mind itself is censoring crucial information.
But not everything is hidden.
I can see tears tracking down what's visible of her face, can make out the trembling of her lips as she fights some internal battle. Her sadness hits me harder than it should, resonating with something deep inside that I can't quite grasp.
Why does my heart ache at her pain?
For a stranger, I’ve never crossed paths with?
Why does her sorrow feel like my own?
The shadows surge in my mind, desperate to show me more, to break through whatever barrier keeps this memory fractured and incomplete. They sing of importance, of connections, and truths I need to understand.
But all I can do is stand there in my memory, watching this mysterious woman's tears fall while guards hold me at gunpoint.
The contradiction of it strikes me –– such genuine emotion in the midst of clinical cruelty, raw humanity in a moment controlled by those who seek to strip all humanity from me.
Her hands - I can see those clearly - shake as she lifts them slightly, as if wanting to reach for me but holding herself back. They're elegant hands, marked with small scars that speak of work with delicate things.
Artist's hands, maybe, or...
The memory stutters, fragments.
The shadows scream in frustration as crucial details slip away like water through cupped palms. They know this is important, know I need to understand this moment, this woman, this piece of my past that seems to hold so much weight.
But all I can grasp with certainty is her sadness.
The way it rolls off her in waves, mixing with something else - guilt? Regret? The emotion is too complex to name, too tangled with things I can't quite remember.
My heart clenches with an echo of old pain, like muscle memory of a wound I can't recall receiving. Something about this woman, about this moment, about everything happening in this strange valley with its impossible colors - it all matters in ways I can't fully comprehend.
The guards shift around us, their weapons never wavering. They're waiting for something, I realize. This isn't just another test or trial. Planned but also dreaded, like an appointment with destiny no one really wants to keep.
I try to focus harder on the woman's face, desperate to break through whatever mental block keeps her features hidden in shadow. The attempt makes my head pound and the shadows in my mind writhe with increased urgency.
Remember . You have to remember this.
They scream like an eerie chorus desperate to pierce through the barrier that holds me back.
But why?
What about this moment is so crucial?
Why does my heart feel like it's being torn apart by the sight of this stranger's tears?
The autumn breeze picks up, carrying scents that tug at other memories - warm kitchens, gentle hands, soft voices singing lullabies. But those fragments slip away even faster than this one, leaving only impressions of comfort long lost.
I watch a tear track down what's visible of the woman's face, catching light like a diamond before falling. The sight triggers something deep inside, some knowledge that hovers just out of reach.
I know her .
I realize with sudden certainty.
Knew her.
Before.
Before Ravenscroft. Prior to the experiments. Long before they stripped away everything that made me who I was and rebuilt me into what they needed.
But how? Why?
What connection could be so important that my mind would lock it away, protect it beneath layers of forgetting?
The shadows offer no answers, only increasingly desperate attempts to break through whatever barrier keeps this memory incomplete. Their song takes on notes of frustration, of urgency, and maybe even a pitch of fear.
The woman's lips move, and I strain to hear what she's saying. But that part of the memory is silent, as if someone has deliberately removed the sound, leaving only visual fragments of a moment that should mean everything but remains tantalizingly out of reach.
The alarms seem closer now, pulling me back toward consciousness even as I fight to stay in this memory. To uncover its secrets before it slips away completely.
Just a little longer .
I plead with whoever or whatever might be listening.
Just let me see her face.
Let me understand.
But the memory is already fading, colors bleeding away like rain washing away paint. The woman's outline grows less distinct, her presence more like a dream than a recovered truth.
Then, as if the time has run out, I’m turning away, being forced to walk further from this crying woman who seems to hold the key to everything.
To my past…to my future…the holder of my destiny.
I’m returning to where we came from, approaching the white van that awaits. The transportation that will take me back to the hellhole that has kept me locked away like some prized possession.
Back to the cycle of agony, torture, and ultimately…survival.
The shadows sing mournfully as the scene dissolves, their frustration matching my own. They wanted me to see this, to understand something crucial about this moment, this woman, this piece of my past.
Instead, I'm left with more questions than answers. With the echo of tears, I don't understand and pain that feels both foreign and intimately familiar.
I see the van door open, expecting my cooperation to enter into its metal clutches. It’s like I’m a dog returning to its cage, only that crate isn’t deemed a safe haven of comfort.
This one is a sufferable prison.
The corners of the memory are all fading away, just as I look backward, as if sensing someone’s lingering gaze. The sight of me and my youthful glance makes me realize I’m no longer in the moment, but seeing the perspective like a third person witnessing the forbidden.
I watch myself peer back, and I follow the trail of attention until it lands on a man. The instance is so quick, barely giving me details but striking eyes of blue lock onto mine.
A scent hits me then — clean rain and aged books, mountain air, and something richer. Cologne of musk with hints of pine. Like comfort and strength wrapped into a single breath.
The kind of scent that promises safety, protection...
"NYX! WAKE UP!"
Reality crashes back as Riot's screams pierce through the memory. I flail in shocking cold water, gasping as I realize I'm not just wet — I'm floating near the ceiling of our confinement.
Wild-eyed, I spin in the rising water, trying to orient myself. Luna and Azurite are at the far end, desperately searching for any kind of escape route — a vent, a crack, anything that might offer hope.
"There's nothing!" Azurite shouts, her heterochromatic eyes wide with panic. "Just solid concrete!"
The shadows scream in my head, their song reaching a crescendo that threatens to split my skull. They're trying to tell me something, trying to hold onto that memory of blue eyes and rain scent, but the present danger demands attention.
"I need…I need space," I gasp, pushing away from Riot's reaching hands. My head pounds with the shadows' increasingly frantic song, their volume rising to match the blaring alarms.
"Are you okay?" Riot demands, but there's something in her eyes — recognition of a specific kind of danger.
"Triggered," I manage through gritted teeth. "Like the experiments. Don't…don't want to hurt any of you."
Instead of backing away, Riot surges forward through the water. Her hand clamps around my throat, squeezing hard enough to make me splutter and growl.
"What the fuck are you doing?" I snarl, but she just tightens her grip. My hands voluntarily try to stop her by trapping her wrists, which makes it almost impossible to keep afloat with my kicking feet down under, but I’m trying my best.
She pulls herself close, her face inches from mine as she whispers, "I am your enemy. If you lose your shit, you will only hurt me, you understand?!"
Before I can process her words, she slams her forehead into mine. The impact makes me gasp, more from surprise than pain. The shadows howl their protest as I hiss at her, but something about the contact helps ground me.
Or it makes my attention narrow on her.
To be the first one to feel my wrath…
"What are you doing to her?" Luna calls out, her unseeing eyes somehow finding us in the chaos.
"Stop it!" Azurite demands, starting to swim toward us.
Another alarm joins the cacophony, this one higher-pitched and more urgent. The water rises faster now, eating up what little air space remains near the ceiling.
Riot maintains her grip on my throat, her eyes locked on mine with fierce determination. She's giving me something to focus on besides the memories, besides the shadows' song, besides the rising panic of being trapped in flooding darkness.
She's making herself a target so the others stay safe.
Making herself my enemy so I don't lose control and hurt everyone.
But as the water continues to rise and the alarms scream their warning, I can't help wondering about those blue eyes from my memory. About why they felt so important, so familiar.
It’s the only thing holding me back from sinking into that threatened space — to release the animal of survival that always comes out to play, ensuring I’m never facing death alone.
I can’t stop her from coming out to play.
But that fragment haunts me desperately, ensuring that whatever happens, I don’t dare forget those piercing eyes.
The shadows know, but their song is drowned out by the immediacy of survival: Riot's hands further tightening on my throat and the rising water that threatens to claim us all.
"Let her go, Riot!" Azurite shouts as our heads hit the ceiling, the water rising inexorably.
Riot's grip remains firm on my throat.
"Find us a way out!" she yells back, tightening her hold until I hiss in protest. "Just keep looking!"
Then the water claims the last pocket of air, and we're all forced under.
The shadows screech one final time — a sound of warning, of loss, of something breaking free. Their song becomes a cacophony of chaos as I feel control slipping away like sand through an hourglass.
No. Please.
But it's already happening.
Through the crystalline water, I see Azurite and Luna — their forms wavering as they continue their desperate search for escape. Azurite's heterochromatic eyes are wide with determination, while Luna's unseeing gaze somehow manages to convey frit with how her head is moving side to side with her moving arms that emphasize panic.
Then my eyes find Riot.
The guilt in her expression hits me like a physical blow. She knows what's coming, understands exactly what she's done by making herself my target.
But beneath that guilt lies steel-hard determination.
She's choosing this.
Choosing to sacrifice herself so the others might survive.
Choosing to be the victim so they won't have to be.
The shadows' song reaches a crescendo, and I feel the last threads of my conscious control starting to unravel. The other part of me - the one they created through years of torture and experimentation - rises like a tide of darkness.
I'm sorry .
I try to tell Riot with my eyes.
I'm so sorry.
Her grip on my throat never wavers, even as understanding passes between us.
She's made her choice, accepted her role in what's about to happen.
One last sacrifice in a life that's seen too many.
The familiar sensation of slipping away begins — like falling asleep but in reverse, watching as something else takes control of my body. Something stronger, lethal, and unburdened by conscience or compassion.
The perfect weapon they wanted to create.
Through water-blurred vision, I watch Azurite grab Luna's arm, pulling her toward what might be a shadow of hope - some crack or crevice in the wall that could lead to salvation.
Good.
Let them search for escape while Riot keeps the monster occupied.
Let them live while we dance our fatal waltz.
I’m the monster brewing in these watery depths, and the clock is ticking down.
Tick Toc…
The shadows fall silent as the last of my control fades, their mournful song replaced by the rapid beating of my heart. They know what comes next — have seen it play out countless times in countless trials.
But never with someone I cared about.
Never with a friend.
Riot's eyes never leave mine as the change takes hold.
Even underwater, I can read her expression perfectly:
Do what you have to do.
Just give them time to escape.
Make it count.
The monster that lives in my skin - the one born of pain and survival - stirs fully awake. It recognizes Riot as prey, as a threat to be eliminated, just as she intended.
One last act of protection.
One final sacrifice.
I want to fight it, want to maintain control, want to find another way. But this is what they made me for — what six years of torture and experimentation created.
A weapon that can't be stopped once activated.
A monster that can't be controlled once freed.
A perfect M.U.S.E.
The last thing I see through my own eyes is Riot's face — fierce and determined even in what she knows might be her final moments. No fear, no regret, just absolute conviction that her choice is right.
Then everything goes dark as the other part of me takes control.
The part that's survived every trial.
The side that's never known defeat.
The entity that kills without mercy or hesitation.
I'm so sorry, Riot.
The darkness claims me completely, and the monster wakes to hunt.
My last conscious thought is a prayer — not for myself, but for the others:
Let them find escape while Riot keeps the beast occupied.
Allow them to live while we embrace the darkness.
Make her sacrifice mean something in the end.
Then there's nothing but the cold embrace of water and the certainty of violence to come.
The M.U.S.E. rises.
The friend falls away.
The monster wakes to dance.
And somewhere in the depths of my fractured mind, the shadows weep for what's about to be lost.
For the friendship that will end in blood.
For the sacrifice freely given.
For the monster that can't be caged once freed.
The water swirls around us as my consciousness fades completely, leaving only the weapon they created — perfect and lethal and utterly without mercy.
Riot wanted to give the others a chance to escape.
I hope she gets her wish.
The last threads of humanity slip away as the monster takes full control.
Through its eyes, I see Riot not as friend or protector, but as prey to be eliminated.
Just as she planned.
Just as she chose.
Just as she sacrificed herself to ensure.
Goodbye, Riot.
Thank you for your strength.
I'm sorry it has to end this way.
Then there's nothing but darkness and the certainty of violence to come.
The weapon is armed.
The target is acquired.
The mission is clear.
And the monster wakes to hunt in waters turned to blood.