The Girl and the Rift

They say the place beyond the rift is madness; then what do you call the space beyond that? This time, the events played out the same way. I am limited in what I can and cannot do. I tried to warn the past version of myself, yet it seems that was once again futile. I once again end up at this spot—the spot beyond time.

I can reverse time once again and try to change the acts. But it is likely to be maddening, perhaps futile. Perhaps the Maestro, perhaps Xilu and I have a lot in common. He was driven mad by his inability to do anything. Perhaps I, too, have lost all reason.

I have pondered potential changes over and over, yet it seems it is all for naught. Although some events changed, they weren’t enough. Jason died, Ren died, and Lady Scarlet died. Even Buddy, who I thought would have survived after averting his death at the camp, seemed predestined to die at the hands of Anne.

The Maestro won out again. I wonder if this was what Xilu had in mind when someone found the Chalice: Gain his power but relive his madness. Create a loop where he and the Chalice finder exist simultaneously in a loop of chaos and despair.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

The events play out again, though my memory is long gone; perhaps even the narrative playing out is but a hyperreality, a fictitious realm conjured from my own memory. My mind wanders.

What is real? Is this experience genuine or merely an illusion conjured by the workings of my own mind? Perhaps it is a deceptive force designed to appease my deepest desires, a mechanism to maintain my sanity, or possibly a manifestation of my own madness.

It’s true I have long lost the plot. Perhaps this play is just a manifestation of the slightest bit of hope I have left.

All I’ve ever known has been confined within the four walls of my room. Now, out here, I don’t know. Was that room real? Is out here real? It’s conceivable that both realms are equally real—or perhaps both are equally deceptive in their own ways.

Is it real, or am I just further in the madness of a conjured reality? The scary thing is I cannot know.

To this day, I wonder if I ever truly left that room. Perhaps I am still in there now, musing to myself. Wouldn’t that be a riot? Did that room ever exist, or is it part of my imagination? Perhaps it is, but a fragment conjured up of my own growing madness. But in that room. In the ever-tormenting room of my mind, I cling to the faintest of hope that next time, it will be better. The walls will come down for good, and I won’t be trapped reliving it anymore.

Yet, there’s a certain allure in deception. I find myself drawn to Mr. Ren. He does not cause me harm. If he is a maestro of misinformation, then I would willingly embrace those illusions.

I can’t give up this hope. If Mr. Ren were even fictitious, if his existence was a lie, then I would lose all hope.

How can we discern the truth? What even constitutes a truth from a lie? Are we all living in falsehoods? If so, who is the deceiver? Is it a greater power? Or is it our own mind? Who is orchestrating this symphony of deception? Who is this Maestro, and who is the Herald of Truth? Who am I in all this?

Xilu, my dear friend, if you are the Maestro, then I am the observer. If you are the deceiver, then I am the herald of truth. Despite our differences, we are much alike. We are both alone, living in this truth of a lie. We both desire companionship. We want a family and loved ones. So we enact our madness to achieve our desire.

I assumed desire was but a complex perception in which we exist to seek conceptually abstract ideas such as love and kinship. But perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps desire is about indulging in the pleasures of the flesh and wealth. Certainly, the flesh appears to dictate our desires. It is the thing that arbitrarily fills us with joy. It is, but our desires manifest in corporeal form. So perhaps the purest form of happiness is to appease these seemingly mundane pleasures.

Perhaps it would not hurt so much if I had such simple pleasures.

Xilu, my friend, are we the authors of our own narratives? Or are we just playing our part in the Maestro’s symphony of deception? Are you the one who caused this, Xilu? Or is there someone who deceived you? Are they deceiving me right now? Who is my Author then? If I were the Author, would I permit such hardship on myself? Would I allow this? Why would I? Then perhaps I am not the Author of my own narrative. If I were, I would have stricken this from existence. But perhaps a deceiver may also do this. Sometimes, fiction is just as real as the truth.

I must relive this deception once again. The sorrowful events are playing out once more. Yet, as it plays, I can’t help but feel despair.

Departures are sorrowful events. You leave the ones you love for an uncertain future. But perhaps if everything is predetermined, then it may be less depressing. Yet, perhaps the inevitability of it all just further cements the despair—the hopelessness of knowing that no matter what you say or do, the outcome you desire will never eventuate.

Did you feel this way, too, Xilu? Were you alone, too? Or were you deceived? Did you deceive me deliberately?

I suppose nothing can be done from this point on. All hope is gone. Madness is here. I tried, I tried, I tried. I’m a bad girl. I’m a stupid girl. I failed. Because I was dumb. Why, Why, Why? How could this happen? Nothing can stop the show that has begun. The Maestro will conduct his tune of madness once more. Stupid girl. Stupid me.

I may be a dumb girl, but anyone can be a genius with enough time, or perhaps the wiser we become, the madder we become as well. I wish I could simply get what I wanted, what I desired, but alas, despair is the only thing to come. I will relive the events again and again, dear Xilu. If you are the consequence of despair, then I will be the consequence of hope. After all, what is this but a performance? A performance in a play that has been performed over and over again, the actors on their journey fall for the deceiving agent. A villain for the sake of the play. A play that is set to end in tragedy once more.

If only you had more time, if only you did things differently. Suppose a change occurs; is this inevitable? Jason, my dear orange-haired companion, has fallen. This moment marks the start of a chain of events, a domino-like moment that will culminate in tragedy, death and despair.

The attempts I made, the scream I yelled, my madness as I reconciled with my own self. Why was I so stupid? You are a stupid girl. I am a stupid girl indeed.

Xilu, my friend, or perhaps my enemy, your madness is now my madness. We are similar in that regard. Was this what you wanted? Was this what you sought? Was this your desire, to trap someone always in the infinite loop of despair? My desire is in contrast to yours yet also very similar. To not be alone.

Failure to reach your desire is maddening. No wonder you went insane. Or perhaps you just saw this as the only option. They say the rift is a maddening place, if only they knew the extent of it.

So, Xilu, we dance this act towards tragedy once more. The ever-dancing pieces will fall again, but I will not break to your madness. I will hold out for hope. The world, the rift, the play itself, has not ended quite yet.

Perhaps it is futile; perhaps you enjoy this madness of mine. But I will hold out hope. For that is the only thing I have. The raven, the observer, will watch the end of your play.

But don’t forget, just as I must observe your play, your madness, you too cannot escape my own madness. Just as I live in your madness, you will live in mine once more.

So, to return to my question. Who am I? I am the despair left by the death of all those I ever cared about. I am the last survivor of the rift, the universe. I am your dear friend, the one who relives your madness. I am the raven child set to watch the events over and over again—the world I created within Xilu’s domain. Time is reversed and manipulated to get a favourable outcome, yet it fails repeatedly. I am the god, perhaps destined to be alone for all eternity.

I have been called many things, but only one was not hateful. Only one was given to me by Mr. Ren and Lady Scarlet. So, who am I? I’m the girl beyond the rift, and I suppose, my name is Kid.

──✩₊⁺⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧──

End?

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“Oh, Dear Xilu, did you think our story would end here?

This selfish, greedy Raven Child has one last trick up her sleeve.”