‘There was so much to take in.’
The ritual had long since ended. From her hiding place beneath the sacrificial table, the mouse twitched, a paw pressed against its nose to ward off the putrid air.
Though Benjamin had retreated to the upper floors, Izzy still peered out cautiously into the pitch-black chamber, relying on the mouse’s keen sense of smell and hearing. She dared not move openly until she was certain that old man had gone.
The stench of blood still lingering in her nose made her instinctively twitch her whiskers and rub at her snout.
The darkness hung heavily, but her rodent form could navigate even in the absence of light. It could pick out most of the detail even in the dark.
There was no sound here. Only the occasional slow drops of water seeping from cracks in the stone and the distant scrape of chains shifting slightly, stirred by the damp draft.
‘From the look of it, my existence… it’s not so simple’
By reflex, she raised a hand to stroke her chin in thought… only to realize the mouse also mimicked her, rubbing its tiny paw against its whiskers.
The whiskers bristled, sending a sharp shudder through her brain.
‘Ahhh… too sensitive.’
It was startlingly sensitive. And yet, she did it again.
After being nothing but consciousness for what felt like an eternity, the sensation of touch brought a rush of nostalgia in her. The memory of flesh, of being human, the ability to feel, to touch.
She found herself yearning for it, and so she lingered in that small act while feeling deep in thought.
‘Complicated’
She snuck out from her hiding place and crept toward the sacrificial table and gazed up at the girl's corpse; her thoughts turned somber.
The corpse of the girl lay sprawled across the surface, her thin wrists and ankles were bitten by chains. Her black hair was dried with blood, while her skin was mottled with bruises, lashes, and wounds of torment.
Now she had her answer, at least. The screams of the missing children, as well as the rituals that fed her “energy”. Benjamin was indeed a cruel man, willing to do anything, even sacrificing innocent souls in the hopes of awakening her, right here in the depths beneath the mansion. There was no denying it.
Izzy’s gaze lingered on the lifeless face. She didn’t know whether to feel relief at the accuracy of her deductions or not, knowing it was the wrong emotion in this place.
She also did not feel any grief or sorrow, not really. That's also why she felt complicated about her own heart.
Years of living in a fucked-up world had changed the mature mind, for better or worse.
“…Sorry.”
Still, Izzy felt she owed these lost souls, so at least what she could do right now was to offer an apology.
With that done, Izzy tore her gaze away.
Her mind fell inward, sinking deep into the ocean of her consciousness, arriving at her mindscape… She traveled through the colorful, vibrant sky, its hues twisting and bleeding together like liquid aurora.
Waves of light rippled at her passing; they parted to allow her through before knitting themselves whole again behind her.
In that endless expanse, suspended far beyond the horizon of her mind, a grand structure rose. A scarlet theatre hovered like a lone island in an unfinished amusement park.
After the previous visit, she had quite an understanding of this theatre.
The theatre rose like a jewel box of opulence, a confection of red brick and creamy Portland stone, its facade an intricate tapestry of carved stone and arched windows. Gas lamps flickered along the entrance, casting their halos over the grand double doors of polished wood.
Inside, the auditorium itself was a symphony of deep reds and golds. Rows of plush, velvet-covered seats curved in gentle arcs around the central stage, its floor a mosaic of intricate geometric patterns. Ornate mirrors with gilded frames lined the walls in repeating intervals, creating an illusion of infinite grandeur.
Staircases curled upward like ribbons to guide patrons to each seat. The layout unfolded in four tiers: the plush stalls on the ground, then the dress circle swept around in a graceful curve, its rows of plush seats giving way to the ornate private boxes that lined the walls on either side of the stage. They were framed by columns and arches, each enclosed by wrought-iron railing and draped with heavy velvet curtains that could be drawn for privacy.
Above it, the upper circle rose steeply, its cheaper seats crammed beneath the painted ceiling. And finally, reaching towards the distant steep was the gallery.
The balconies thrust outward, supported by gilded decorative columns. Their fronts were obscured by swags of scarlet velvet fringed with gold. They were heavy velvet curtains, hanging in swags at every tier, cascading downward like rivers of fabric.
Highest of all, the domed ceiling was a work of art, adorned with painted motifs, flowers, and swirling clouds. A grand chandelier hung at its center, its hundreds of crystals shimmering, their light refracting into a soft, golden glow that bathed the space.
And at the heart of it was the stage, which lay hidden behind a deep red velvet curtain embroidered with golden fringe. It was framed by a massive proscenium arch, carved in wood and overlaid with gold leaf, and crowned with intricate floral motifs.
Izzy, standing within it, felt the faintest prickle of dissonance. The sight alone was enough to stir a bittersweet longing, an echo not just of what she had lost, but of what someone else within her hoped for.
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It was magnificent, yet at the same time, it was not. For all of its beauty, this palace was only an imagination crafted from Isa’s fevered dream. It was a hollow space, a quiet theatre without anyone in sight.
The world here only offered her a sense of sight. There was no scent of velvet, candlewax, or golden dust; no fever heat from the atmosphere or the chandelier; it offered no such things.
No matter how vivid the illusion was, she could only look and lose herself in this dreamscape, yet never truly savor it. Because the moment she got the chance to, everything had lost its meaning.
This, was the Theatre of Memory.
—
Izzy sank into one of the plush velvet seats, its cushions swallowing her comfortably.
She glanced around the vast scarlet theatre, expecting to see Isa somewhere, swinging her legs and babbling nonsense like usual.
Yet Isa was nowhere to be seen, but that did not matter much to her; the peace was always refreshing, after all.
The reason she came here was simple. Ever since she had realized this theatre was her hall of memory. Why not utilize it?
This Theatre of Memory could recreate any scenes, events she had experienced, provided she allowed it to play.
By using it, they could study their past interactions and examine crucial insights through the dual lenses of both her young and mature minds.
Although, there were some limitations: if, in their original experience, they hadn't consciously focused on an object, that object would appear blurred and indistinct, like a mere background detail, things you don't usually notice.
These blurry spots sometimes served as helpful clues about what they had missed. By revisiting the scene in the "real world" later, Izzy could discover what they had overlooked.
And, Izzy could also watch Isa's perspective. Her young mind, not as worried or focused on facts as Izzy's, often perceived details that Izzy herself had disregarded. Occasionally, the very words spoken by others would differ slightly in Isa's memory, unfiltered by Izzy's assumptions or emotional state.
Her goal for today was to replay the conversation between Benjamin and the Herald. After the last time, when her careless assumption had nearly skewed her judgment, she had become more cautious about this.
As Izzy settled in, her hand brushed something cool at her side, so she unconsciously lifted the coca bottle beside her seat. She twisted the cap off with a familiar gesture and took a long drink.
‘???’
And nearly choked in surprise. The taste of syrupy sweetness and fizz bit faintly at her throat.
‘Coca???’
Three gulps in, and she stared wide-eyed at the bottle.
‘Wait… where the hell did this come from?’
The taste was exceedingly sweet; it was as bad as she remembered it.
‘Was this also her imagination?’
That was fascinating; so she could replicate the flavor of foods in her past life too? It also had some sense of refreshment in it.
Though of course, the real thing was leagues better.
‘But why is it so quiet?’
There was something odd about the theatre today. Without Isa here, Izzy’s mind was tugged by this strange quiet atmosphere.
It was peaceful, so peaceful that she immediately noticed something was wrong. She remembered that girl Isa would always be babbling whenever she got a chance, like a bird that never shut up.
Izzy focused inward, tuning into her other mind, and immediately realized what was going on.
In the attic, a wire puzzle floated in midair, its steel rings clinking as they rattled against each other, frantically rotated and rolled over.
Isa was trying her best to disentangle it, and Izzy could sense a trace of frustration in her younger mind. She couldn’t help but be amused; the brat was so engrossed she had forgotten her favorite pastime of annoying her, and that was a huge personal growth, and she welcomed it.
Sensing the mature mind coming over, Isa perked up.
‘Oh, sorry, what did you say?’
Izzy’s lips twitched. She swallowed down the urge to say or think about any offensive thought, forcing her mind blank for a moment before replying evenly,
‘Nothing.’
‘Oh, oke!’
Not sensing anything wrong, Isa returned to her frantic battle with the wire puzzle, fully immersed.
‘Good luck.’
‘Thanks!’
Izzy leaned back in her seat. Babysitting wasn’t exactly the dream job, she mused softly, especially babysitting oneself. She now felt kind of bad for the kindergarten teachers; they also had their own problem to deal with. Just imagine a whole classroom of Isa, god, nightmare’s fuel!
With her young mind’s absence, Izzy was surprised to discover a fleeting sense of comfort. It had been a long time since she felt this way.
And for some reason, her mood sank slightly; she felt a hint of annoyance when no one was around for her to bicker with. Solitude, after years of confinement, felt… unfamiliar.
‘Ohhh, you’re lonely without me, aren’t you? Hehe, don’t worry! I’ll pay attention to you all the time from now on!’ Isa’s voice from nowhere sparkled with mischief.
‘Fuck. Never mind. Get out!’
‘You’re such a tsundere~.’
‘...’
Izzy pinched the bridge of her nose. Had she lost her mind? She pondered in contemplation. Apparently, many years of isolation had really taken a toll on her mind. After all, how else could she explain this absurd feeling?
Meanwhile, in her vision, the grand curtain lifted with a heavy rustle, folds of velvet drawing upward. The lamps across the theatre dimmed at once, until the spotlight alone claimed the heart of the stage.
Simultaneously, the first clear notes of violins spiraled up from the orchestra pit, and a powerful chord erupted, surged into a triumphant overture, the music swelled to fill every corner of the grand auditorium.
‘???’
Izzy blinked in confusion. Music? There was music here? What was going on?
“Ah.”
Right, she had once offhandedly commented on it, just a casual one, having Isa bundled the theatre and concert halls together.
How fascinating. She did this all by herself?
‘Wow, was my past self really that talented?’
‘Hehe, of course!’
‘Dammit.’
Somewhere in the rafters, ropes creaked, the machinery of illusion preparing to replay her memories.
On the stage, the scene unfolded: the gray-haired old man with a lantern in hand stepped forward. He approached the altar, his voice intoning an incantation:
“Blessing of the ***,
The *** on the ***,
The *** of ***,
The ***,
I pray for your grace.
In the name of Benjamin, I request a connection to the Herald of Wrislein!”
What language was this? Izzy was slightly stunned.
She seemed to forget…what incantation he said at the start.
‘Hmm? What did I just think of again?’
Probably nothing serious. She thought, forcing her focus back on the playback conversation before her.
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