472. Season of night, 8

(Rose)

We spent nice days there, where I kept oscillating in a bipolar manner.

At times feeling so soothed, so happy and blissful, I feel I could die.

Living with a family.

Living with people I really love.

And at other times... Feeling the worst of myself rising from the depths.

Depressed. Pessimistic. Nihilistic. Feeling a pain that I can’t explain, and makes me want to kill them all and die.

More than a thirst for murder, a suffering in times of peace that is like a leaden sky above my head. A weight from nothingness that crushes my soul. A pressure and abstract fear unbearable.

And in my ruminations at these times, the worst memories of my existence haunt me again, on loops.

All of them. Like wounds reopening.

And between the deaths of Charlotte, Victoria, Ann, Alan, Horanah, Licht, Blume, myself, and Bleue, and myself again...

When all my traumas decide to resurface together...

The lord of nightmares isn’t far, but in the way where and when we first met. Raw.

I have hiccups of darkness.

And then, as if nothing happened, I can breathe and smile again.

And I keep dancing from one extreme to the next.

I feel lost. Like I’ve lost myself as I walked in that life.

In the worst of nights, all my wounds reopen and my bad dreams become terror.

Because on one hand, I feel like I’ve won, my life, my challenges, my happiness. I feel like I’ve won all my wars and challenges, and survived.

And I don’t know what to do with myself anymore now that peace is set. I feel as if there was nothing left to learn in a way.

And on the other hand, I feel as I’ve always felt whilst I was human.

Something is missing. Like I don’t belong.

Like I should fight to survive...

Odly enough, in these pits of darkness I experience lately, I don’t feel my inner ogre’s presence.

Probably because that monster inside of me is much older than Ogre.

That mental illness I’ve carried all my lives, like a shade in the background of my mind.

A part of it might have truly blossomed at last.

Every trauma, and every moment of peace as well. They all fed that seed of myself. Myself beyond myself.

While I lived, bloomed and died, over and over again. While I evolved and travelled, that seed of my evolving persona grew with everything I went through. Good or bad.

And now, it begins to crack. And the persona behind doesn’t feel like me anymore.

Maybe?

Humans weren’t made to live in this world maybe.

I feel like I don’t recognise that person alive in this body and with these feelings. That face in the mirror I know is mine and appears so foreign at times it unsettles me. Though I know it is still technically all still me.

And then, I have... remembered something.

Something I’ve never heard from anyone, as if I had simply imagined it.

Yet I feel about that memory as strongly as if I had been there or heard it from the most trustworthy person in the world.

I feel as if I had experienced this truth directly. It’s too realistic for my imagination and too normal for a dream sadly.

It’s something else, and it haunts me.

~

I see the rain and the night.

I see the house of my childhood, just in the back, not far. It’s very similar.

A young girl or woman lies in the mud, on her knees. My heart aches. I know her, but I don’t know her.

My heart aches a lot.

I hear her whispering something.

L - When I realised that these nightmares had been real.. I understood that this life, had been but a dream.

Naught but a soft dream. My heart bleeds in pain.

I see her bring a revolver to her mouth and...

I go blind and blank, stunned, a spike in the heart as if I suffered the shot myself. It’s ripping me.

I see her body collapse instantly.

This woman could have been me, in another life.

And though my reason screams it cannot be true, that it’s impossible in more ways than one, I know.

I know who she was.

My mother. My birth mother.

And I know that her curse, her mental illness, still lives on.

Because it ran through my father’s blood as well, as much as it did through me.

His daughters, my sisters through my adoption, shared that cursed blood as well.

And the blue roses were dreams to escape that reality. The Herson family women are all carrying a seed of insanity in their veins.

Reality is collapsing inside of me. I’m sinking in myself and my inner curse.

I’m calling the two gods I actually know, for help. Blume and Nightmare.

I’m screaming for them to save me.

But my prayers remain unanswered.

Blume kept telling me to free myself. I thought I already did a lot.

But I will never be free from my humanity I think. My personality, my intelligence, my mind. Myself.

I can’t be freed from myself.

I will always carry my demons and my curses with me, wherever I go.

I will always carry that guilt, these pains, these scars, these wounds and these monsters behind.

Have I too many to carry?

I fought uncanny gods to pursue the hope of seeing her again.

I’ve killed enough gods for creatures beyond our grasp to start fearing my name.

I’ve had fun as well.

But now I feel like my mind is crumbling and I’m about to die.

I’ve freed myself from the blue rose... But not yet myself from Rose Herson...

I’ve known for a while that I’m not Rose. I was not even born as a human. I was created as a copy of what once was Rose Herson, centuries ago.

I can’t even tell if Blume did a good or poor job reconstructing that copy from a so-called picture of her.

I kept evolving on the basis, the foundations of the 26 years that Rose had lived before she became a template for the Rose Blumen.

Is it the curse of that bloodline of women that is finally creeping in and blooming in the form of a mental disorder?

Or is it my own construction of a being that somehow reached its limits, and now collapses under its own inner weight?

Or maybe both nightmares of a distant past and a grim present day finally meet.

And all that there is to know, is that everything dies. And even this rose that I liked will eventually wilt, wither and die.

I don’t know where I am anymore.

Maybe I should have died a long time ago.

Maybe I should have.

Had I died on that very first day, like many others did, what would have been different?

Blume remained in her red swamp.

Zes and Myls at peace. Dragod at peace. Queen at peace. Horanah alive. Priests probably never created.

Ogre and Magenta still, in their nests, dormant.

Without anyone to provoke them, gods don’t cause much damage around and outside their lairs.

Humanity already doomed anyway.

There’s no point saving humans, they are all going to die anyway.

I feel like I’m choking on my own thoughts. But my mind keeps slipping in the abyss.

My nails fail to cling to anything inside the murky muds.

I’m slipping without friction.

Where are my beloved gods when I truly need them? I’m in dire danger.

But no one seems able to come and help me this day it would seem.

Oh...

I feel sad.

But maybe it’s better if I just die.

By feeling like I’ve won, I end up feeling like I’ve lost everything.

Blume will follow Nightmare.

My friends never needed me.

Bleue wasn’t Blue.

And I wasn’t Rose. I am not Rose.

Yet, still I remain.

Like a stain at the end of reality.

Like a daiûa, struggling to become truly alive.

I am a daiûa. That’s sadly the only truth about me.

Father...

I wanted...

I’ve always had but one dream...

I wanted to be human.

A kind human like you and mother. Gentle... Serene.

I feel like I’m crying, in every aspect of reality where I exist. I surely am.

Father, mother, I’m losing myself.

I’m losing you. I’m losing all of me.

Myls will be a fine new Licht.

I... I was just a mindless rose.

I wanted to be a kind human...

My broken mind only felt alive when it was struggling to survive and fighting with ogres, from within or outside.

I only felt alive when I was failing at my dream.

And that world was never meant for me. I was just ridding the winds oddly. That world of lucid dreams and nightmares, and its new face of nature, doesn’t care in the slightest about any of that.

I am not a god. And neither am I a human named Rose.

~

I think I briefly saw the Snake flying off from a ruptured ground.

Maybe I’ve simply collapsed like a drying star, and already killed them all.

I hope not, but I don’t know anymore.

I can’t see the end anymore.

I’m lost in a nightmare so much worse than anything Nightmare was ever able to throw at me.

Cycles of war and peace. Facing challenges. Feeling alive. Enjoying short times of blissful victory. Crumbling down as it all is vanity...

The ground collapsing under my feet unless I’m running for something.

Anything. Anywhere. Anyone.

If I’m not fighting for something, then I’m dying...

I’ve never felt proud of myself.

I’ve never been happy to be myself.

I’ve created my own enemies and challenges most of the time.

Unlike my friends, in the end I’ve always lived only for myself.

Vanity. Oh, woe is me, vanitas vanitatum, omni vanitas.

Such vanity I am.

I’ve spent my existence running aimlessly, or rather with vain aims.

But everything dies and everything must come to an end, whether it’s rightful or not.

I know everything I think and feel are wrong.

I know. But tonight, I’m falling and I’ve lost all grasp.

Nothing seems to hold me back sadly.

I’m falling into a hole, I’m falling into a deep well.

Where I will surely have to struggle, in order to have a chance to live again.

~

Maybe Bleue was right.

In that I needed to raise a child.

To stay alive, and not only for myself.

It didn’t need to be one from my own womb. It would have opened a future to me regardless.

Unfortunately, this labour I have failed.

Human life is not meant to evolve the way I have and now am.

I’ve failed.

I failed to understand that part of why Licht fought.

Not only to correct the consequences of my mistakes. Also to stop the vain cycles...

Licht will remain my better self. The brightest of the roses.

On all the rose Blumen that have spread, I may be the most aged and evolved, I will never beat that brightness.

Now I wither, and I wry while I still can.

~