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Before darkness swallowed my vision, the last thing I saw was the Primordial Staff gasping in horror. She probably screamed, too.
However, I couldn’t really understand the mage’s cry. The shadow of the deceased had already torn my throat, and I didn’t unleash my aura to delay my death. My demise was swift and slow at the same time.
[Recreating your killer’s trauma.]
Things around me changed so quickly that my mind couldn’t keep up. Some things flowed quickly while others flowed slowly, blending like water and oil, white and black, and, if I may, soul and soul. Like a snowflake on a brazier, my dead spirit melted into the shadow that killed me.
[Recreating your killer’s trauma.]
She was a fisherwoman born long ago, so that was also who I became. Using tautology, she was me, and I was her. Like when I had become Raviel and then Teacher, in the center of the Human Realm level of trauma, she—I—glared at the sea dyed in wine red.
“The waves are crying.”
The waves were rough, and a harsh scent hung in the air. The fisherwoman knew that water had a smell. On calm, sunny days, the water was clear, but when waves rolled in from afar, salty sweat dripped from the water. Whirlpools churned in those rapids when the foul smell of pooled saliva lingered. Now, the waves were weeping.
“We have to run. The waves are crying,” she said, acting on instinct...
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