2025-03-09 12:43:17The wind drifts lazily through the endless illusion, carrying the scent of flowers that never wilt. Above me, the sky wavers between golden dawn and violet dusk, never settling, never real. This world exists in a liminal state—caught between dreams and reality, between life and death. And I am its god.
I stand atop a black tower, gazing down at the false paradise I have created. White marble cities glisten under a sun that does not burn. Rivers of silver flow through valleys untouched by war. Birds, crafted from stray memories, sing melodies that have long been forgotten. It is perfect. Beautiful. And entirely fake. At the heart of it all, in a garden blooming with ever-blossoming trees, two figures sit beneath the shade of pink petals. A woman and a child. Cecil Hawthorn and Actavio. Helio believes they are dead. He grieves them. And I have no intention of correcting him. A smirk tugs at my lips as I descend the tower. The world bends around me as I move, the illusion adjusting to my presence. Reality is nothing here—I shape it as I please. When I reach the garden, Cecil is the first to notice. She stops humming, her fingers still tangled in Actavio’s soft curls. She turns, her warm brown eyes settling on me with something between relief and suspicion. “Nyx,” she says, her voice as gentle as ever. “You’ve returned.” I don’t answer. I crouch beside Actavio instead, my fingers ghosting over his dark hair. He looks up at me, his silver eyes—so much like Helio’s—filled with innocent curiosity. "Did you dream, Tavvy?" I murmur. He nods enthusiastically. “I dreamt of a castle! A really, really big one!” I smirk. “Bigger than this one?” He frowns, deep in thought. Then, after a moment, he nods. “Yes! And there was someone there, but…” His tiny hands clench the fabric of his tunic. “I don’t remember who.” Interesting. Despite the perfection of this illusion, despite how I have erased every trace of the past from his mind, something lingers. Faint. Unformed. A whisper of a memory that refuses to die. Cecil places a protective hand on his shoulder, her posture subtly shifting. Guarded. She watches me carefully, her lips pressed into a thin line. “What do you want, Nyx?” she asks. I tilt my head, amused. “Why so defensive? Have I not given you peace?” Her jaw tightens. “Peace built on a lie isn’t peace at all.” I chuckle. “And yet, you’ve never tried to leave.” She doesn’t answer. Of course, she hasn’t. There is no exit from this world. I shift my gaze back to Actavio. He watches me with wide, untainted eyes. A blank canvas, waiting to be painted on. And I will paint on him. One day, when he is older, I will tell him everything. But I will not tell him the truth. No, that would be far too merciful. Instead, I will shape his hatred. Carve it into something beautiful. I will tell him that Helio abandoned him. That his beloved older brother—the one he cannot remember—chose power over family. That Helio is the reason they were cast into this false paradise, forgotten and discarded. I will make him hate Helio with every fiber of his being. And when the time comes—when Actavio steps beyond this illusion into the real world—He will not seek his brother’s love. He will seek his destruction. A slow smile spreads across my lips. This will be my masterpiece. Cecil shifts slightly, her grip on Actavio tightening. She senses something—perhaps not the full extent of my intentions, but enough to be wary. “Whatever you’re planning,” she says, “he’s just a child.” I chuckle. “Children grow up.” Actavio looks between us, confused by the tension. He tugs at my sleeve, his tiny fingers barely grasping the fabric. “Nyx, will you play with me?” he asks. I blink. Play? The request is so absurd that, for a brief moment, I don’t know how to respond. Cecil’s expression softens, but there’s something calculating behind her eyes. “You should,” she murmurs. “You visit, but you never spend time with him.” I study her carefully. Clever woman. She wants me to slip. To reveal something. I smile lazily. “Is that an order, my lady?” Cecil doesn’t rise to the bait. “It’s a request.” Actavio tugs my sleeve again. “Come on, Nyx!” His silver eyes shine with excitement. “I want to show you something!” He takes my hand—tiny, warm, trusting—and pulls me toward the garden path. I let him lead. Not because I care, but because watching his innocence makes my victory all the more satisfying. We stop beneath a massive cherry blossom tree, its petals frozen mid-fall, caught in the timeless loop of this illusion. Actavio plops onto the grass and pulls out a handful of wooden figurines. Soldiers. He holds one up. “This is the hero!” I raise a brow. “The hero, huh?” Actavio nods eagerly. “And this one is the bad guy.” He holds up another figurine, this one painted black. “Ah,” I hum. “And who wins in the end?” Actavio’s face scrunches up in thought. Before he can answer, I reach forward and pluck the “hero” from his hands. I twirl it between my fingers before smoothly swapping it with the “bad guy.” “Maybe,” I murmur, “the hero isn’t really the hero at all.” Actavio stares at me, confused. “What do you mean?” I smile, ruffling his hair. “You’ll understand one day.” And you will, little prince. Because when the time comes, when I reveal the truth I’ve crafted for you—You’ll believe me. And you’ll hate Helio more than anyone in the world. I hand him back the figurines, watching as he absorbs my words. Cecil watches too, her lips pressed tightly, suspicion flickering behind her eyes. Good. Let her suspect. Let her wonder. It won’t change anything. I rise to my feet, dusting off my coat. “I’ll be back soon, Tavvy.” Actavio beams. “Promise?” I smirk. “Of course.” With a flick of my wrist, the illusion shifts. The sky brightens into a soft morning hue, the scent of jasmine filling the air. Everything resets. Just as it always does. I turn and walk away, my coat billowing behind me. This is only the beginning. One day, Helio Hawthorn will see this world. And when he does, I will watch as the last bit of light in his eyes disappears.
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