I used to believe I looked beautiful back then. In my mind, that specific pocket of time became the definitive anchor of my past self.
Little Lyanna. Not a child by the strictest definition, but compared to who I am today, that girl from five or six years ago felt like an entirely different entity. Back then, there was a faint, fragile veneer of happiness shared with my family.
The current Lyanna looked back at that ghost of her past..
It wasn't that I was blind to reality back then. No, I understood the cruelty of the world well enough. It was simply that I chose, more often than not, to drown in the torrent of my own emotions. Objectively speaking, to the wider world, I was nothing more than an insignificant speck , a commoner navigating the mud. Yet, within the confines of our own minds, how many of us crown ourselves? We build internal empires, dreaming of a sovereignty that doesn't exist, blissfully submerged in the delusion of our own grandiosity.
I possess no warm, lingering memories of moments spent with my family. My mind is a barren wasteland in that regard. Yet, I understand why that specific illusion persisted. Perhaps, just like the rest of the tragic masses, I had simply wrapped myself in the imaginary robes of a queen, smiling without hesitation at a kingdom built on nothing.
Perhaps, like the rest of the pathetic masses, I was simply smiling at the delusion of my own imagined royalty.
Her gaze didn't waver as she dug deeper into the nature of her own mind.
The truth is, I do not hoard memories. Carrying them is a liability. Memories do nothing but drown a person in the past. When someone close to us dies, we do not weep for the person themselves, we weep for the memories attached to them.
When those lingering fragments flood the brain, they remind us that the joy we shared with them is dead, locked away and bounded by time, never to be experienced again.
The moment the realization solidified, the illusion shattered and re-formed.
The scene shifted back a decade. A much younger Lyanna sat quietly on a sofa, surrounded by a gathering of people. The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating with grief. Everyone had their hands raised in solemn prayer. Directly across from her, a woman was weeping bitterly.
The little girl watched them, a creeping realization dawning on her that she's too was expected to cry. She lowered her head, attempting to summon the appropriate grief, but her eyes remained entirely dry.
Her mind drifted to the deceased her uncle. They had never been close, their interactions sparse and hollow. Yet, her mind began to sift through his final visit to her father's house.
Small, inconsequential fragments emerged. A fleeting memory of him buying her a storybook. It was a minor, insignificant gesture, but it was the only bound link she had left of him.
As those brief mental images played out, a sudden tear finally welled up in the child's eye, spilling over her cheek.
A simple trick of the mind, the present Lyanna thought, watching her past self weep over a stranger's normal gift.
Memories are chains. And even then, I was already learning how they forge themselves.
From the periphery, the present Lyanna watched the weeping child with an icy, unwavering stare.
"Wasn't that a bit of a performance?" she thought, a cynical sneer forming in her mind. A calculated act to mimic the grief of the masses.
The moment the thought solidified, the illusion fractured once more. Lyanna's vision trembled, and the landscape warped into a bleak, claustrophobic memory.
She was locked away in a solitary room, crying in absolute isolation. The one person the world deemed a child's ultimate sanctuary her mother stood at the threshold. But there was no comfort in her eyes, only a look of profound irritation before she turned her back and walked away, leaving the child to drown in her own tears.
Instantly, the scenery shifted again, bleeding into a volatile confrontation.
Her mother was screaming, her face contorted with desperation. "I am helpless . Why can't you just try to understand me?"
The young Lyanna stood her ground. She possessed a sharp, unyielding temperament a defiance the world labeled as insolence. She was incapable of holding her tongue. When she perceived a flaw, an error in someone's logic, she felt an absolute compulsion to correct it.
Yes, I am Lyanna. I commit errors too. And when I fail, I expect you to correct it, just as I will correct your failures.
But I refuse to bow to the arbitrary hierarchy of age. Truth does not recognize the disparity between the old and the young. Society dictates that I owe them respect simply because they accumulated more years. They claim age breeds experience, which I too will gather in time.
But seniority does not grant them a monopoly on understanding. Being young does not mean I am a blank slate , I have endured depths they have completely failed to notice.
In the memory, the young Lyanna fired back, her voice cutting through her mother's hysteria. "If you need someone to understand your plight, you have your brothers, your sisters, and your precious son . Who do I have? Who has ever stopped to listen to me? You all demand understanding like selfish parasites. Fine. I have resolved to be just as selfish. I will focus solely on understanding myself. Even if the entire world turns a blind eye to my existence, I will remain the sole master of my own mind."
Suddenly, the projection shifted into a darker, more abstract hue. A shadowy figure emerged, looming over the past version of Lyanna right before she had entered this bizarre realm.
"If I die, won't you hurt? Won't you even cry for me?" the dark silhouette demanded.
The past Lyanna fell silent, staring at the entity before answering in a low, level murmur. "Those who are meant to depart will depart. No one lives forever in this world. You will fade, and I will fade, that is the immutable law of the universe. When mortality is an absolute reality, who am I to try and intercept it? Yes, when those I know perish, I will eventually face my own end as well.
In truth, humans do not fear the act of dying. They fear the ledger of their actions that awaits them after death.
They endure horrific, agonizing torments across different stages of life, yet they dread the permanence of death because it strips away their agency . They worry their loved ones will forget them. But who is truly 'yours' in the end? Even if they forget you, you are no longer there to witness it.
To demand that the living drown in tears for your phantom existence... isn't that the height of selfishness?"
Standing in the shadows of the void, the present Lyanna watched the cinematic montage of her upbringing play out across the grand theater of her consciousness. Her expression remained entirely blank , a mask of absolute indifference.
She had never shared a meaningful connection with her brother . The extended families on both her father's and mother's sides were bound by duty and superficial responsibility, devoid of genuine warmth. And in the end, what was her ultimate crime?
They all walked away, claiming I lacked empathy, claiming I never tried to comprehend their burdens . But did a single one of them ever attempt to truly comprehend me? I was never a creature meant to walk the paths laid out by others. I do not blindly follow rules.
My nature demands that I dissect the law, scrutinize its origin, and dismantle its flaws. If it is broken, I will reject it. If that is my sin, then so be it.
Amidst the heavy, suffocating weight of her cynicism, the illusion suddenly took a sharp, unexpected turn.
A vibrant, picturesque scene manifested before her. Her mother, father, brother, and her younger self were gathered together, laughing under a canopy of pristine happiness. It was a minuscule family, yet they radiated an absolute, blissful harmony as if they were prepared to face death itself so long as they were together. The young Lyanna in the projection looked entirely secure, wrapped in an unshakeable sense of peace.
A soft, deceptive whisper echoed through the void, crawling into Lyanna's mind like a silver serpent.
Lyanna… do you truly believe your reality was entirely devoid of mercy? Look at how beautiful this sanctuary is. Don't you desire to remain within the safety of this boundary?
Lyanna's unblinking gaze remained anchored to the laughing child, before shifting laterally to observe the phantoms of her mother, father, and brother.
The insidious whisper grew louder, pressing against her consciousness.
" What is wrong, Lyanna? Don't you wish to inhabit these moments forever? Look at how radiant you were. Take a step forward, Lyanna… just a single step into the light. You can lock yourself within this beautiful memory eternally. Don't you want to make this little girl happy again? "
In the projection, the young Lyanna turned her head. She looked directly at the present Lyanna, a sweet, innocent smile gracing her lips as she spoke in a soft, melodic voice.
"Come here, Lyanna. Come enjoy this with us ."
Her mother and father turned as well, their phantom eyes locked onto her, beckoning with open arms.
"Come, Lyanna… step inside. Come home"
For a fleeting moment, Lyanna stood frozen. She took a single step forward, and instantly, the phantoms began to clap their hands, their faces lighting up with encouraging smiles, urging her to throw herself entirely into their embrace.
But then, Lyanna stopped.
A low, erratic sound vibrated through the silent void. Lyanna had begun to laugh.
" For a second just a few brief heartbeats , I actually fell for it. How incredibly pathetic."
Her laughter grew louder, echoing sharply against the fabric of the illusion until it was a harsh, mocking roar.
The sudden, chilling sound ground the warm scenery to an abrupt halt. The pristine atmosphere shattered into dead silence. The young Lyanna froze, her wide eyes staring up blankly... the mother, father, and brother stood completely rigid, their artificial gazes locked onto her.
" Perhaps my mind was momentarily weakened by the nostalgia," she thought, her internal monologue dripping with venomous clarity.
" But my most deep-rooted habit saved me from the abyss. And what habit is that? The absolute necessity to ruthlessly analyze every variable."
"At the end of the day, you are nothing but an illusion conjured by the window," Lyanna spoke aloud, her voice cold enough to freeze the blood. "If I lock myself away in this narrative, my consciousness will rot here while my real self becomes a corpse. If you phantoms truly cared for me, if you actually possessed a shred of love or concern for my existence, you wouldn't be tempting me to live as a defeated coward trapped in a dream.Fantasy is a narcotic meant only for the weak , for those who have run out of paths to walk . But I am Lyanna. And my path has only just begun."
The moment the words left her lips, the facade dissolved entirely. The warm expressions on the phantoms' faces warped into demonic malice. In a flash, her mother and father brandished gleaming knives, their eyes wide with homicidal intent as they lunged toward her.
Lyanna simply smiled at the oncoming onslaught.
" So, we are transitioning from a sweet trap to psychological torture? How predictable ."
Her mother closed the distance, raising the blade high. But before the strike could descend, a sharp, blinding agony erupted from Lyanna's midsection.
Her breath hitched. She looked down to see two blades already buried deep into her flanks. Standing on either side of her, gripping the hilts, were the phantoms of her younger self and her older brother. Wrapped up in her analysis of the parents, she had entirely failed to notice the movements of the sibling .
" Of course. It had to end this way," Lyanna mused, the corners of her lips twitching upward even as blood began to pool in her throat.
" If this scenario played out in reality, what would my mother have done? If one child was already doomed, she would undoubtedly slaughter the anomaly to protect the child she deemed viable. That is the nature of human calculation."
Her legs gave out under the weight of the trauma, and she collapsed slowly onto the floor. As darkness began to encroach upon the margins of her vision, a sudden, foreign sensation broke through the simulated agony.
A heavy, intense heat enveloped both of her hands.
It was a physical contact that didn't belong to this dreamscape a firm, powerful, and scorching grip that anchored her drifting consciousness. Through the fading fog of her mind, a single name slipped past her lips.
"Vaelith...?"
Two eyes snapped open.
Lyanna gasped for air, her vision clearing. The endless void of the white room and the suffocating ocean were gone. Instead, she found herself staring at the familiar ceiling of her own bedchamber , the very room where she had closed her eyes to sleep. Her mind instantly went on the defensive, calculating whether this was merely a deeper, more insidious layer of the illusion.
"Lyanna? Lyanna, what happened to you?"
A voice, tight with controlled urgency, shattered her disorientation. Lyanna snapped her head to the side.
Vaelith was kneeling right beside her bed. His dark, piercing eyes were locked onto hers, his stoic facade stretched thin by a volatile mixture of genuine alarm and the desperate hunger for the answers she still withheld.
....