Somewhere behind eyes that are not his own, a man exists—no longer alive, but not quite dead. Trapped between pulses, between breaths, in a body that responds to someone else's life.
I lay there, trying to speak, but nothing would come out.
I could hear Valley beside me.
I screamed, Don't put that in me, please!
My chest burned with the weight of words that couldn't escape. Her eyes, wet and unblinking, told me I had already lost.
I never wanted an Emberlink.
I never agreed to be Soul Woven.
It felt like a trap disguised as love, a shackle forged in desperation.
But I never had the chance to tell her. It was too late. She couldn't hear me.
My body wasn't working anymore.
Death was waiting for me, and it was only minutes away.
Valley would intervene with that, though, trapping my soul here on the promise of love lasting forever.
Her hands were warm, but it felt like she was burying me alive.
She held my face and whispered, "I hope this works, if it does… I'll hear from you again, my love." Her voice trembled with belief.
Or desperation. Maybe both.
I don't think she understood what that meant. What it means to be one in that way. But how could she? I've kept her in the dark when I should have told her everything.
At first, I drifted in flashes, a light through a dark tunnel, voices muffled like they were underwater; they didn't make sense.
I thought I was dreaming. I thought I'd wake up. But I never did.
Not in my body anyway.
I found a version of myself in her mind.
I don't know how long it's been since I left my body, how long I've been in this part of her mind.
At first, I didn't want to leave.
Then I couldn't leave.
I was trapped, looking for a way out of this dark room.
Then something shifted.
I saw a small girl hiding beneath a dark blanket. I didn't see her before, and I don't know if it's because I didn't want to or because my vision is starting to adjust to the darkness of the room. Maybe a little bit of both.
Her knees were drawn to her chest, toes curling in the dust as if the floor itself might vanish.
I walked over, and as I got closer, I noticed familiar red hair peeking through.
I asked the little girl her name, "Valley," she said, her voice shaky.
"My Valley?" I asked without thinking. She never even looked up. She just kept clutching onto the blanket like her life depended on it.
Of course, she was my Valley; I'm in her mind. Yet this version couldn't have been more than three years old.
This must have been one of her memories, or one of her fears.
I moved my hand to her shoulder.
"Valley, what are you afraid of?" I asked, keeping my voice steady, hoping she would feel safe.
"My mom read me a story about The Thread Cutter. He's going to come get me; he's standing over there." She pointed, I looked, and there was a cloaked figure holding a scythe.
She's still haunted by stories her mom meant to keep her safe with.
"Valley, I promise you, the Thread Cutter isn't a bad man, just misunderstood.
And this version of him is not real; he's not really here. It is just your fear of him coming out in the shadows.
You are being taught to fear him, but it's not your mother's fault; she was taught that, too."
I could tell she wasn't coming around to what I was saying.
I stood up and walked over to the Thread Cutter.
"No, don't," little Valley cried out.
I hesitated, wondering if I'm scaring her more than helping.
But I continued because hiding in the dark wouldn't change anything, but maybe confronting him would.
I pulled on his cloak, and it fell to the ground the moment I showed it wasn't really there.
Like there had never been a figure under it at all.
The light stung my eyes; a reminder I hadn't seen anything but shadow for what felt like years. And the younger version of Valley faded like a dream at sunrise.
But I couldn't shake the feeling that I was still being watched.
I didn't know what happened, but helping her reminded me that she still needs my help now.
And I needed to keep moving.
Even if I didn't know where I was going.
I exist in corners now.
I feel her thoughts, but I can't change them.
I can only help her through them if I'm lucky.
I hear her breathing in the night, as she sleeps.
I reach for her in dreams, and my hand passes through air.
I'm still adjusting to existing here.
She still doesn't know I'm here. Not yet. She doesn't know what she did worked.
And how I wish it hadn't.
Because real love should have set me free.
But the weight of everything I couldn't admit when I was still alive anchored me in her mind now.
Like static in the signal between two souls that should've let go. And I won't be free until I come clean about everything.
Until I stop hiding.
Guilt, anger, and sadness gnaw at the edges, releasing fragments of thoughts in hope of moving her toward what she will become.
I wanted to forgive her. I wanted to say I'm sorry, too. But being here—like this—unsettles me more than she could imagine.
Time passes more slowly here. I'll see a glimpse of someone from my past, and before I could get to them, they would be gone.
And the more I get turned around, the more frustrated I get.
All I could do was watch. Wait in the edges of her mind until I find the strength to gather all the pieces of myself scattered here.
I'm on a long road, losing myself, finding myself, and losing myself again.
Sometimes, I try to move. To push through the fog.
There are walls in her rooms, thresholds stitched together by her thoughts. Or maybe mine. I don't know where I end, and she begins.
Each step takes something from me. My memories merge with hers.
It's getting harder to tell which ones belong to me.
There are places where I can't reach—doors sealed shut, memories I don't recognize. Her pain forms a barricade I can't cross.
My guilt roots me in place. But I pressed forward, because I have to. Because I know how we can undo this.
I don't know how long I've been walking. But it felt like I've lived my life many times over. Literally, since all my memories are here, lost in hers.
But then—something shifts. I fall forward, weightless, and for the briefest second, I'm no longer tucked in the corners or trapped behind static. I'm somewhere else.
I'm standing before her.
Not physically—not really. But close enough that I can see her lashes tremble. To see what she sees.
She can't see me, but maybe she could feel me. I had hoped.
The air is still. Her breath catches. There's a crack in the veil between us. For the first time since I've been here, I felt cold.
I reach for her—not with hands this time, but with a thought.
Like standing in a room still echoing with lives once lived.
It slips out before I can stop it.
Her eyes flicker. Her hand comes up and brushes the side of her face. For a moment, I think, maybe...she felt me.
But she blinks, and the thought becomes hers instead of mine.
She took it in.
The thought I didn't mean to send, but it slipped out. And she accepted it as if it were hers. Like, it made perfect sense.
And her thought right after:
"I've been carrying something heavy lately."
Yeah. No kidding.
I wanted to grab her, shake her, tell her it's me. I'm still here. Stuck inside her head with no way out. That she did this to us.
I guess I'm still angry with her.
Maybe part of me doesn't want to speak to her yet, because if I do, I don't know what's going to come out, and I don't want it to be all anger.
I wanted to fall back into the darkness. The room of despair.
She brushed her face where I'd tried to reach. For a second, I thought she felt me. I really did.
But she kept walking.
Didn't flinch. Didn't look around. Didn't ask what the hell that voice in her head just was.
It's like I don't even exist.
She stood there, staring at a drawer.
Then I saw another fragment slip past. Was someone else here, too?
I couldn't place it—but the presence wasn't silent like me. It watched, coiled in the dark like it was waiting for the right moment.
It felt like the gaze you notice in an alley at night—too quiet, too patient.
She whispered: Reach inside, there are all the answers. Don't let it be locked away again; you need to know. And it will change everything.
I heard it. Valley only felt it.
Whoever that was, they weren't strong enough yet either.
I could see she wanted to reach inside.
And then another thought of mine slipped through.
"Maybe the city wasn't haunted by what was lost, but by what it refused to let go."
She even said something after.
"I brushed that thought away because I know it's something Thayer would've said if he were here."
If.
I am here, Valley. You just don't know it yet...but I've never stopped trying to reach you.
I lingered there, a whisper between her thoughts, hoping she'd feel the tremor of me even if she didn't know it yet.