I could hear a lot of screams in my mind, an anchor of ice in my chest. The vision shattered, leaving me lying on my bed. My bedroom rushed back into my vision. I was holding my bedsheet with a death grip, as my nightgown was soaked with my cold sweat, trembling. The diary. The white room. The horrifying book was all gone. Leaving only the memory of absolute terror written onto my mind.
My first desperate instinct was to run, yet to where? And who, or even what, was I running from?
However, I froze.
The new knowledge didn't just bring me terror; it brought a new, profound and crushing hopelessness. It poisoned everything. It made me start to question my entire life. Was the sudden, violent anger I felt in the alley truly mine? Or was it just the story point from the book? Was my kindness to the four children a genuine choice of mine, or simply the story's required catalyst for the story?
Were my thoughts even my own? Or I was just a character in someone else's narrative, following a predetermined path without any real control over my own actions.
I was, in this moment, completely and totally alone, armed with a secret that made me question my own reality, not just my own reality, but this world too. I needed someone to tell this secret, as I was fighting a losing battle with my own mind, unsure of what was real and what was simply a fabrication. However, could I trust my parents or even Sofia? How would they see me if I told my secret? They weren't malicious, but they were outside the truth, or my truth, seeing me as only a sick, fragile child.
I knew that sharing this secret would change everything, and I couldn't bear the thought of losing their love and support to this body. So, I remained silent, carrying the weight of my truth alone, hoping one day I would find the courage to reveal it.
I sank back into the bed, pulling the covers up to my chin as my body was still trembling. The wait wasn't just a strategy; it was the only thing I could do. I was the prisoner, not just of my room, but of my own life.
As the morning finally lightened the room, it brought no relief for me, as it was only the resumption of my role in this world. Adel was the one who woke me up, and her movements were precise and silent as she prepared my morning things as usual. Our eyes met in the mirror, and I saw the same questions in her gaze: what happened?
It felt like she knew I was distressed, yet I couldn't bring myself to speak about it. The secret of the book was too vast and too horrifying. I tried to look away, and the moment was lost. My silence. I realised that I had just built a new type of wall between us, leaving me truly alone. It was kind of ironic, as Adel was the one with whom I shared the secret about my meeting with Gennaia. However, I felt I couldn't share this secret with her.
Lady Octavi arrived soon after, her presence as strong and dutifully kind as ever. "You seem pale, my lady," she said with her genuine concern voice. "Did you not rest well?"
"A difficult night," I murmured.
However, I saw Lady Octavi's kindness as frustrating and suffocating for me. I didn't know why. Maybe I felt her kindness was towards another person, not me. The lessons began…
After a couple of hours, as always, my illness continued to announce itself. The edges of my vision began to blur. The other white room began to glimmer into my vision. The metallic taste of copper filled my mouth, a wave of dizziness washing over me.
"My lady!" Lady Octavi was at my side in an instant. "You're bleeding!" She gently tilted my head back, pressing her own handkerchief to my nose. "Adel!" she called with a sharp voice, "Call Sofia! Quickly!"
Again…in my thoughts. This became the pattern. The visions. Striking randomly was my new reality. I was fighting a losing battle right now with my own mind, unsure of what was real and what was simply a theatrical play.
Every day. Every night. Every lecture. Bleed…bleed…bleed…
I…I…I…I…SICK OF IT…
What was the point Gennaia was trying to show?
Was there a hidden message in these visions, or was it all just a cruel trick of fate?
~
In the middle of the night, I lay on my bed for hours, unable to sleep. The frustration. The feeling of being sick of it. Solidified from a desperate scream. I was not a fragile patient or fragile human.
I was sick of it… I got up from my bed. I tried to shake off the heavy weight of confusion and uncertainty that had settled over me. The need to find answers, to unravel the mystery behind Gennaia's visions, drove me to take action and seek out the truth. I went to the balcony to get some fresh air. The cool night air brushed against my skin, offering a moment of clarity and peace. As I gazed out at the stars above, a sense of determination washed over me, fuelling my resolve to uncover the secrets that lay hidden within Gennaia's cryptic messages.
Wait a second…
I heard from Lady Octavi back in the town square that Gennaia's wing was a symbol of freedom for some people. A freedom from the world of goddesses. What if Gennaia was trying to rebel? However, to whom?
…
Creator… I remembered she said that, "A story that deviates from its path invites the attentions of its creator." So, she planted this dianoia to…
To what? To torture me? To show me a doom I couldn't escape?
No. That didn't feel right. Rebel... freedom... creator.
She hadn't cursed me with this 'dianoia'. But she armed me with it. She had given me the one thing no one else had: the truth. However, why did she do that?
Was it out of kindness or cruelty? Or she didn't like the future from the creator's vision?
…
I didn't care about Gennaia's thoughts about that; what I did care about right now was I didn't want to die…
I needed to find a way to use this 'dianoia' to my advantage, to outsmart my creator and prove that I was more than just a pawn in her game. I was sick of this… I was determined to take control of my own destiny and show whoever and whatever that I was capable of making my own choices…
To do that, first I needed to learn about my theatrical play from the start of the book to the end of the book. I needed to know every single detail and plot twist to anticipate my creator's next move and ultimately break free from the control. This was my only chance at survival, and I was willing to do whatever it took to achieve it.
As for the next dianoia that happened, I would read the book again, back to back, until I could memorise it…
Yet, memorising it by my own mind would be difficult; I needed to write it into my own book…
This way, I could truly understand the story and its intricacies, allowing me to manipulate it to my advantage. By taking control of my own narrative, I could ensure my freedom and shape my own destiny beyond the confines of the pages. My enemy wasn't just a "creator"; it was the script. And to fight a script, I had to learn it.
…
The next morning, as Adel was doing my morning routine, I asked her. "Do I have an empty book in this room, Adel?"
She paused, her hand holding the hairbrush still. "An empty book, my lady?"
"Yes, a blank book. I want to start writing about my own life…"
I could see her reflection watching me, her expression unreadable but tense. "Where does this idea come from?"
"I think," I said, my voice cold, "it's not your problem to worry about where the idea comes from."
"Of course, my lady," she replied, her voice perfectly even. She returned to brushing my hair. The silence in the room was brittle. "I will enquire in the household for a suitable journal."
As Adel finished styling my hair, a soft knock resonated from the door.
"Enter," I commanded.
Lady Octavi entered, her arms full of a stack of heavy, leather-bound books. She smiled warmly, "Good morning, my lady. You seem… determined today."
I turned to face her. I cast my eyes downward, showing hesitation.
"Lady Octavi… I… I had a thought. Something Sofia said."
Her concern was immediate, as her brow furrowed slightly. "My lady? Are you unwell?"
"No, not… not physically," I lied, the words tasting like ash. "It's my mind. Sofia said I was… fighting. That my mind was in turmoil. The nights are the worst… I was wondering…"
"What is it, darling?" My mother's voice cut through the air. She must have been passing in the hall and heard the commotion, for she stepped into the room, her face filled with worry.
I looked from my mother's concerned face to Lady Octavi's. "I… I was wondering…" I looked down at my hands, picking at a loose thread on my robe. "Sofia… she write in a book. To order her thoughts. She said my mind was… fighting."
"Yes, my lady," Sofia's voice came in from the doorway.
I looked at all three of them: my mother, my physician, and my tutor. "I thought… perhaps… if I could write…" My voice was intentionally weak and hesitant. "If I could write down my thoughts… the bad dream… the confusion… it might… quiet them? Help me make sense of it all?"
Sofia's expression lit up. It was the first "rational" suggestion I had made, the first sign of a patient actively trying to participate in her own healing.
"My lady, that is an excellent idea," she said with a genuine, warm smile spreading across her face. "A journal. Yes. It could be an invaluable tool for processing your trauma. A way to anchor your thoughts to reality. I will recommend it to His Grace at once."
"I… I have one," Lady Octavi interjected kindly, ever helpful. "A blank one, a gift I never used. I will fetch it for you, my lady, if you wish."
"Thank you, Lady Octavi," I whispered, offering her a grateful and fragile smile. "You are all… very kind."
Later that day, Lady Octavi presented me with a simple, leather-bound book, its pages thick and empty. I accepted it with a trembling hand, playing the part of the hopeful patient perfectly.
Now, I was no longer a prisoner just waiting. I was a pursuer, waiting for the vision to return. I was ready to read my own life script, and this time, I would write it all down. The secret was mine, and mine alone. Adel knew of Gennaia, but this…this script, the ending and the game itself were a burden I would carry alone in silence.