An Eldritch Legacy: Sin & Sacrilege

Looking at the bundle of fire that had suddenly appeared in her mental scape after she uttered those words, Istrabell could not help but be stunned.

She hadn't thought much about what she was saying—and certainly hadn't expected something like this to happen, it juts happened so suddenly that she did not know how it eveh happened in the first place.

All she felt was a spear pierce through her and sharp pain that followed it afterwards.

The pain itself was far worse than what she had felt when the chains had first burrowed into her body, yet it couldn't compare to the trauma they had left behind.

That experience had been deeply revolting—so much so that even if this new pain were ten times worse, it could never replace the horror of those chains.

This pain, though severe, felt… reachable. It came with hot, burning vengeance and resentment aimed toward her. And still, she could feel something natural in it. It did not feel artificial, wrong, or forced.

Even though the flames were directed against her, that much she could bear.

But the chains... those were something else entirely.

The flame before her was inky black with the slightest hints of crimson licking its tips.

Within it, she could hear the ravings of those she had killed. Their voices were unforgettable to her—she had lived their lives for days, heard their laughter, their grief, their comfort for one another… and their pain. And now, the option of forgetting them had vanished completely.

Perhaps once, with time, she could have let them fade into memory. But now, they sat within her mind—screaming, pleading, begging for mercy. It would all twist in time, growing louder and maybe depraved, she knew, but this… this she could endure. Atleast she knew where this came from, she had seen herself slaughter them and their resentment was right, but those things...

This was her karma, and she would bear its weight.

But today held more than just one revelation for her.

Had she known what was coming—had she known that this was never meant to happen so soon—who knows how fiercely she would have resisted?

Would she have come to regret what she would see before she had grown strong enough?

Her mind had been opened before its time.

Back then, when she had "sunk" into her mental scape, she had merely been deep in thought. If someone had entered her mind then, they would have seen only blackness.

But now… this was the true vision of her inner world.

An expansive wilderness stretched around her, with nothing but broken, dry ground.

It was white—an ethereal color that might have seemed beautiful if not for the weathered state of everything around her.

The ground was barren and dead, like a lakebed dried up for centuries, warped beyond recognition.

Rocks jutted out of the earth, scorched and beaten.

Above her loomed a sky of plain, sickly silver. Just looking at it made her shiver—and she dared not look again.

And before her sat the flames of accumulated resentment. The noise they gave off pounded against her skull, making her wince as her mental scape shook and began to destabilize.

She instinctively stepped back—and the noise vanished.

Realizing that keeping her distance was best, she didn't approach again.

But that wasn't the only thing here.

An inexplicable urge drew her gaze to the sky she had sworn not to look at again.

And there she saw it.

A great ball of quiet silver flames embedded in the diseased sky, massive and taking up much of the heavens—how had she not noticed it before?

It was silent and cool, more like a lake of silver water than fire.

But from it, she sensed a creeping dread… as though the flames themselves were afraid of something.

She didn't know why she felt this way. Looking around, she saw no threat, no presence to justify the fear.

Until, in the distance, she spotted a slope.

Driven by a curiosity she couldn't deny, she approached.

And the closer she drew, the more intense her unease became.

Her heart pounded. The chains within her veins stirred and swam in delight. Like worms returning home, they ecstatic.

Their movement made her shiver—it was wrong, profoundly wrong. But she had chosen to ignore her instincts fighting against them so that she would see what made the celestial body shiver like an insect.

When she finally reached the edge, she could not help herself—she dropped to her knees and retched.

Of course, there was nothing to throw up. This was her mental scape, not her true body. Even if it were, her stomach would be empty.

But the sight before her would drive anyone to the same reaction.

To call it a slope was a massive understatement.

It was a chasm—a deep, festering wound in her mental scape. Like a cancer, it had devoured everything around it, growing wider, deeper, until it carved out a monstrous scar in the earth. Even is she could not see where it begun or ended.

And it was not far. It was too close. Far too close.

Chains filled the chasm—massive chains, larger than anything she had ever seen, and the chasm itself was still growing, growing to contain the abomination that called it home.

She knew this was her mental scape defenses against this thing, eating itself to create more room for it.

Its hunger knew no end.

But what made her retch wasn't the sheer size.

It was what the chains were made of.

Flesh. Organs. Mouths. Hearts. Eyes.

Entrails stretched into links. Mouths twisted into chain joints. Corroded teeth acted as anchors. Everything contorted to mimic the form of a chain.

Hair as long as plains wound around sinew. Skin formed the bedding.

And worst of all, the chains moved, slithering and rubbing against each other like snakes in a mating frenzy. Putrid liquids oozed into the gaps. Mouths fed on rotting flesh.

Yet no blood spilled.

Only a foul yellow-green liquid, reeking of decay, bubbling like venom in a cauldron. And deep below, things swam in the depths.

The air above the chasm shimmered and cracked, bending like heat in the midday sun.

A profound corruption radiated from that place—and Istrabell had only seen a fragment.

One could only imagine what lay deeper.

After a long time, she recovered enough to move. But she didn't stand. Crawling on her belly, afraid that standing might bring the nausea back, she inched away.

She didn't want to understand what she had seen. She didn't want to pretend her will was strong enough to endure it. She just wanted to leave.

As she crawled, tears streamed from her eyes.

She wept—for only the second time in her life.

She was just a girl. A girl who had grown up too fast. A girl who had learned the hideous truth of her family. And now she knew even that was just the surface.

How was she supposed to face all of this?

Why couldn't she be like those lofty princesses—born with power they never had to fear?

She felt so much fear now. All she wanted was to go back. Back to the time when she knew nothing.

But it was too late.

She had stepped onto this path. And now, she had to bear the weight of defying fate.

She envied mortals. They might admire beings like her, but she would give anything to return to the time before this moment.

A time before she become nothing but a vessel for festering rot.

Her curiosity had led her down a road of no return—and now, she would live every moment knowing that thing existed within her mind.

Sob…

Sob…

Istrabell cried until her tears ran dry.

Eventually, she reached the black and crimson flames.

Like a drowning man seen grass she grasped for them not caring whether they would burn her, all she wanted was a reason to forget that thing.

And strangely, she felt safe.

She crawled closer, until she could hear the screams of those who had died because of her.

Ironically, it brought her peace.

The image of that chasm began to fade. Albeit temporarily, but it was enough for the moment.

Her mind, now exhausted, could no longer keep her awake.

And soon, a naked figure—Lady Istrabell—could be seen sleeping beneath the black flames, the screams of resentment washing over her like a lullaby.

And yet, despite it all, she smiled.

For in that moment… she felt truly at peace.