The Mask Cracks // The World Revolves // The Mare Hangs // Inanis Vocatus

Spirit’s eyes shot open. A cold sweat broke against her brow. She slowly moved herself up to a sitting position on her small cot, resting a hoof against her face. She didn’t know why she woke up. It must have just been another nightmare. Though usually she remembered them, this one slipped through her memory like sand through a sieve. She inhaled slowly, and exhaled again. It was fine. She was fine. She just needed to try and get back to sleep. A sound. Glass cracking? What… was that? Her body tensed up, and she looked out into the pitch darkness. She couldn’t see anything but… she wasn’t alone. Someone else was here. Albedo? “Oh, no, my dear. You are very, very, alone,” a voice rang out from the darkness. Spirit leapt from her bed. The voice was familiar, but in a way that she couldn’t quite say. She knew who this was. But where were they? Once again, the voice spoke, “You don’t recognize me? I’m almost hurt. But it’s not the time for that. We have something to speak about. Why don’t you hang for a while?” Spirit felt something tighten around her rear leg. Suddenly, her leg was pulled from underneath her, and hoisted towards the ceiling. She felt it crack, and rip out of the socket. She didn’t cry out, though. She couldn’t. She was too dumbfounded by what she saw in front of her. Lights flared, and she winced. And she was soon staring at herself. Or… what could have at one point been herself. The face of this mimic was cracked through- a spider web of destruction spreading from its face down its neck. Every movement it made sounded of glass scraping upon itself. Fragments of a reflective dust fell from the grinding joints. Spirit had nothing to say. She had nothing she could say. “Cat got your tongue? That’s okay. I just have something to ask you, Spirit Weaver. How long do you plan on pretending that you matter? You need to stop acting like you’re important. Stop acting and stop THINKING that you’re anyone. That you’re anything.” The Hanged Mare opened her mouth, as if to speak, but words did not come. Instead, her reflection continued, “You know that you’re a freak. If you weren’t a monster, you wouldn’t be in this situation. You could have been a normal girl, living a normal life. Maybe a chef. Maybe an alchemist. But no. You’re here. You’re with me. And you. Are. A. Monster.” It reached out and pushed on Spirit’s face. Pain lanced across her body, emanating from the touch, and out down her neck, spreading like wildfire. A small moment. And then she heard the dripping. The pain still remained. And underneath her, from what she could only assume was her wounds, dripped a deep, black, thick, liquid. It almost looked like ink. Like liquid darkness. Shadows made manifest. Already it was dripping down one of Spirit’s eyes, blinding her halfway. The thing in front of her- the thing wearing her face- continued to pace around her. It spoke as if it could read her thoughts, matter-of-factly, and confident, “Wearing your face? As if I can read your thoughts? Now, now, dear. You’ve got it all wrong. You see… I am you. And you’re me. I’m the piece of you that you don’t want to admit. The part of you in the mirror that you tried to break away from. Tried to shatter and pull out of your chest. And maybe… just maybe you succeeded. But… tell me, Weaver. Where did removing me leave you? Because if you are anything like me- and I know you are- you feel that aching inside as well. Inanis Vocatus. The Void Calls, Weaver.” The reflection lifted both it’s hooves to its face. The spiderweb network of cracks spread further and further along her body. Spirit felt them spreading along her own body, growing slick with this black blood, now. And Spirit finally let out a scream, as, one final CRACK echoed through the night. The face of her captor shattered. There was no blood. There was no viscera. Within was simply darkness. Darkness that still carried a voice- that still carried her voice, “You are empty inside, Hanged One. You act as if you’ve touched the hearts of others. But, you know the truth. Don’t hide it. In fact…. I want to hear you say it,” the thing spoke as it stepped closer. Spirit could only manage a few choking gasps. Pain wracked her body. She couldn’t feel anything. Her mouth felt as if it was full of cotton, her tongue heavy and bloated in her mouth. All she could do was spit- more of the black ichor escaping her lips, splattering at the hooves of her reflection. The reflection sighed, and shook what used to be its head, “You can’t admit it can you. But do not worry. I said it before. I am you, after all. I know the depths of your heart. Or at least… the depths of what used to be your heart. It drew close enough to place a cracked hoof upon Spirit’s neck again. This time, pain didn’t rip through her. It seemed like it was just feeling her. Spirit wanted to say that she felt her heart race in her chest. That she felt the blood rushing through her. But… she felt nothing, “Empty.” Spirit wasn’t sure if the word left her own lips or echoed from the reflection. Did it matter anymore? This was her that she was talking to. This was… herself. “Do you finally accept it? Do you accept your place, Weaver? So, tell me. Will you keep playing the fool? Or will you finally hang. If you keep following this path you’re on, it can only lead to more pain. Your stars will blink out one by one. Your tower will fall. The sun. The moon. All will abandon you.” “You are truly, truly, alone in this world, Hanged Mare. Your world is in disarray. Reversed and twisted. You continue to act like it is yours for the taking. But you are nothing. You are me. And we are just a sacrifice waiting to happen. Don’t run from it. So just do us both a favor. Twist. Turn. Pull yourself right side up, and hang properly for once.” The reflection took another step closer. Spirit was staring deep into the darkness. Into the depths of her own soul. She wanted to yell. She wanted to scream. But she couldn’t do anything. All she could do… was wake up. She shot up on her cot, holding a hoof over one eye. She half expected to pull it away to see it covered in her own viscous, black, blood. But it was clean. She would sit up fully, leaning against the wall, as she looked out into the darkness. The embers of her hearth still smoldered, and she could vaguely see the shape of an animal curled next to it. You are alone, Spirit Weaver. You have no idea how truly alone you are. You are empty. It’s about time that you drop the mask, isn’t it? Her own hoof would move to rest over her chest. She could faintly feel her heart beating. Just a cage of bones, pretending to matter. You are empty inside. So why not just hang.