THE DOORS OF THE MIND vol. ii

[esotericas 1529]

VOL. II

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“PERHAPS THE GREATEST FACULTY OUR MINDS POSSESS IS THE ABILITY TO COPE WITH PAIN. CLASSIC THINKING TEACHES US OF THE FOUR DOORS OF THE MIND, WHICH EVERYONE MOVES THROUGH ACCORDING TO THEIR NEED.”

 

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Spoiler

 

 

 

(OOC: THE EVENTS CONTAINED WITHIN ARE KNOWN ONLY TO THOSE INVOLVED. DO NOT METAGAME. QUOTES TAKEN FROM PATRICK ROTHFUSS’S ‘NAME OF THE WIND.’)

 

 

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I
SLEEP

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“First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.”

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

“What renders you so skeptical?”

“There are many answers to that, which one do you want?”

“Them all.”

The room is dark, a dark so deep that the space, small as it is, seems infinite. Mists swirl around, the voice of the mentor ringing only in her head. It doesn’t feel real.

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

An image emerges, assembling itself like pieces of machinery twisting into place, knitting together. A little girl, wild white hair and large, tired eyes, dressed all in white. 

 

YOU ARE THE YOUNGEST OF SEVEN CHILDREN. YOUR FATHER IS A MONSTER. 

Muffled shouting, distant. The locking of a door.

 

YOUR MOTHER IS GONE.

Waves crash. 

 

YOUR STEPMOTHER. . .

A wedding. The chapel is empty, save for a knot of children. The air is icy. 

 

WELL. STEPMOTHERS ARE WICKED IN TALES FOR A REASON, I SUPPOSE.

The images crumble away, pieces removed to be re-used elsewhere. 

 

THERE IS A MONSTER IN THE WOODS.

A shadow, indistinct, darker than the deep black of the room. 

 

THE MONSTER PROMISES YOU SOMETHING YOU HAVE NEVER HAD.

A child's pinkie, interlocked with a finger made of twigs and bone. 

 

A COMPANION, IT SAYS. IT ASKS FOR A LIFE IN RETURN. A LIFE FOR A LIFE.

A girl no older than seven watches as a woman is devoured alive. A porcelain doll clutched in her arms. The doll blinks, and smiles.

 

MANON MEANS BITTERNESS. NEITHER OF YOUR PARENTS CONFESS TO CHOOSING YOUR NAME.

Once more, the images crumble. 

 

YOU TELL A SINGLE SOUL OF WHAT THE MONSTER IN THE WOODS SAID TO YOU.

Clasped hands, perhaps older, ten, eleven maybe. One Manon's ice pale, and the other a sun-touched brown. 

 

THE MONSTER KNOWS. IT OFFERS YOU ANOTHER TRADE. ONE LIFE FOR TWO, THIS TIME. YOUR FRIEND, THE SECRET-KEEPER, FOR THE TWINS.

Baby girls. Warmth and affection. 

 

YOU REFUSE.

AND?

YOU LOST YOUR FIRST HOME YEARS BEFORE.

Oren falls to Acre. Walls crumble. 

 

NOW THIS ONE LOCKS YOU OUT.

Karosgrad, snowy and windswept. The gates slide down in front of a teenaged Manon, clad all in black. 

 

YOU RAISED YOURSELF ON STORIES OF FATE. YOU HAVE TURNED FROM YOUR PATH. YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE REFUSED.

Pale hands gripping a sword, blade held to the throat of a teenage boy. Terror in his eyes. 

 

BUT YOU BELIEVE IN FATE, STILL. YOU HAVE STRODE OFF THE PATH, BUT NOW THERE ARE NO OBSTACLES IN YOUR WAY.

A young man, murdered in the Karosgrad square. Manon watches. An Elven woman leaves her child to burn. Manon watches.

 

THERE IS YOU, AND THERE IS THE WORLD.

The siege of Karosgrad, Inferi and Haeseni locked in battle. Manon stands, armoured, in the middle of the field. Untouched. Untouchable. She watches. 

 

YOUR CHILDHOOD WAS ALL LIES. MAKE-BELIEVE AND PLAY-PRETEND. YOUR TEENAGE YEARS TOO, DESPERATE TO MAKE PEOPLE FORGET THE THINGS THEY SAW. ALL OF IT WAS FAKE.

Catty smiles, drinks on rooftops. Dresses, velvet embroidered with stars. Princesses, jewellery. Clockwork marvels, butterflies with flapping wings. 

 

NOW NOTHING IS REAL.

The images dissolve. 

 

AS IF THERE WAS A PANE OF GLASS, BETWEEN YOU AND THE REST OF THE WORLD. YOU ARE UNTOUCHABLE, BUT. . .

SO IS EVERYTHING ELSE.

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

“I do not actually feel the things I feel, or touch the things I touch.”

 

“Glass is made to be shattered. Your passiveness to all that happens has made you distant.”

 

 

II

FORGETTING

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“Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying 'time heals all wounds' is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.”

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

The glass keeps you alive, you tell him. You should be dead, dead a thousand times over. You used to think it was Fate keeping you alive, that you had a higher purpose to serve, but now you know that’s nonsense.

 

“At what cost? To be made an observer in your own life? When does this become death itself? There is little difference between the two.”

 

It’s still your life, you insist. You still feel, anger, sadness, love. You still exist within yourself, just not to the rest of the world.

 

“Then this glass wall does not exist. You contradict yourself. To exist within yourself makes it impossible for anything to truly affect you. When you see your husband, do you feel nothing? What about your children?”

 

A wall made of mist swirls before you. Beyond it, Sviatoslav. Alyona, Aelita, Anatoliy. Family. You turn away. The wall is there so that you do not need to think about this. About feeling. But a misty hand pushes you back, forces your gaze onto them. 

 

“Complacent. Content to live in your ivory tower. High up above it all. You do not question it? You hide away from the notion, the buried knowing, that you do feel.”

 

It doesn’t matter what you feel, you tell him. Intentions mean nothing, feelings mean nothing, it is only actions that matter. Feelings are nothing. You bury your face in your hands, hiding. Beyond that wall, more figures. More faces. Alphonse. Earnest, Rel. Nikolas, Marius. Wolfgang, Ophelie, Emelie, Mathilde. Viorica, Giovanna, Valdemar, Georg, Isadora. A forest of people, of friends, of family. You hunch your shoulders, hiding from the faces that stare down at you. All of them watching. From the mists, more hands emerge, clawing at you, talons tearing your hands from your face.

 

“It matters. There is one thing that keeps you above consequence, stowed away. Yourself. They feel doubly in your absence.”

 

They do not care about you. You wrench yourself away, pitiful, like a kicked puppy. They do not care. You don’t matter, that’s the point. More hands, tearing you apart, pulling at hair, hands, skin, filled with all his rage.

 

“What idiocy do you shroud your mind in? You are not this stupid, Manon Yvaine. Look at this through the lens of an Alchemist, not the lens of yourself.”

 

You can’t. You shake your head. You want to forget, to let it go. To be nothing. Better nothing, you tell him. Your voice cracks, and you sob. 

Better nothing than what you are.

 

 

III

MADNESS

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“Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.”

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

“WHAT ARE YOU?” 

“WHAT DO YOU KEEP LOCKED AWAY?”

“COWARD.”

“WEAK.” 

“SAY IT!” 

“ANSWER YOURSELF, RECREANT.” 

 

“YOU BUILT THAT GLASS WALL AND BLAMED ITS CONSTRUCTION ON THE WORLD.”

“BREAK IT.”

“SMASH IT TO BITS.”

 

“There is no me. Whoever she was, she's long lost. Manon has been dead since I was five years old, and Yvaine was a- a fantasy to begin with. I do not know. I don't KNOW-”

 

“THEN BUILD YOURSELF ANEW. FORGO THE FACADES,” 

“FORGO THE FAKE NAMES. BE BIRTHED INTO SOMETHING NEW.”

“A PERSON WHO YOU ARE IN CONTROL OF.”

 

“I can't leave it all behind. What if this time I DO feel like he loves me, what if this time I'm important? I want to be given what I deserve, without having to beg for it, to grovel for it. Is that so much to ask?”

 

“THEN THE WALL ISN'T REAL. IF IT IS TRULY BUILT UP AROUND YOU, THEN. . .” 

“SVIATOSLAV DOESN'T CARE FOR YOU. YOUR CHILDREN ARE AMBIVALENT TO YOUR EXISTENCE.”

“CAN YOU, IN ENTIRE UNYIELDING TRUTHFULNESS, SAY THAT?”

 

“Sviatoslav cares for me because I made it so. It's not real. I just. . . I do not feel loved. And that's not fair. I have never felt loved.”

 

“WHERE THERE IS HAPPINESS, THERE IS MISERY.”

“LOVE IS TRAILED ONLY BY HEARTBREAK.”

“DARK IS ALWAYS CAST ASUNDER BY LIGHT.”

“THERE WAS NOT ALWAYS THIS DICHOTOMY, MANON.” 

“LIGHT WAS ONCE SEPARATE TO DARK. THEY DID NOT MIX AND TRAIL ONE ANOTHER ALWAYS.”

“THE SCALES CAN BE TIPPED, TO FAVOUR ONES ODDS. IN EITHER WHICH-WAY.”

 

“And am I to sit and wait until the scales choose to tip in my favour?”

 

“WHO WOULD TIP THEM, IF NOT MORTAL MAN?”

“YOU WILL HAVE TO MAKE THE CHOICE.” 

 

 

IV

DEATH

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“Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.”

 

-=  ҉  =-

 

A warped dagger.

A torn root.

Black silk.

A burnt candle.

Silence.

 

MANON STARED AT THE OBJECTS, SHOULDERS SLUMPED IN UTTER, ENTIRE DEFEAT. 

AND SHE STARED. 

THE LIGHT BURNED LOW. 

MANON DIDN'T BLINK, BARELY BREATHED. 

 

FINALLY, SHE REACHED OUT AND SNATCHED UP THE PIECE OF SILK.

SOMETHING TOUCHED MANON'S SOUL. 

HOPE.

MANON CRUMPLED OVER ONTO HER SIDE, WEEPING INTO HER HANDS.

 

 

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“THE PAST STAYS ON YOU THE WAY POWDERED SUGAR STAYS ON FINGERS. SOME PEOPLE CAN GET RID OF IT BUT IT'S STILL THERE, THE EVENTS AND THINGS THAT PUSHED YOU TO WHERE YOU ARE NOW.”

― ERIN MORGENSTERN, THE NIGHT CIRCUS

 

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Spoiler

BIG huge thanks to Stella @christman for the schizo rp, was the most fun I’ve had torturing a character in ages.

 

[sam33497 2749]

Spoiler

wish i could upvote twice for the kingkiller chronicle references

 

[Itz_Cookie 1711]

Spoiler

Wonderful read, love maman <3

 

[Lord_of_losers 950]

i see no meta request

i meta

[Diogen 3061]

10 hours ago, sam33497 said:

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wish i could upvote twice for the kingkiller chronicle references

 

i love you and capn for having read these series as well

[ronin_champloo 5951]

A now-Oyashiman man meandered through the many nations and settlements. A thought poked at the back of his head;

 

"Hrm.. I feel like I've forgotten to do something."