Within Veiled Boundaries: Shroud Over Their Eyes.

"Thing." She was plucked and tossed like she was gross. If Alexander looked at her like a bug. These hollow things was a whole other level. The floor here was not living world. In the small glimpse she can work out. This was some sort broken shard of what a living world is from a reflective surface. It moved and pulls images, blurring of what moved.

"Open that book and read it!" She felt this command. She barely sits up. The surface she is touching of around her was smooth and static. It made her legs numb, so she can't run, "Read it now!" She sunk hugging the book tight, face planted to the darkness underneath her. She can see inside. The ornate chest. That confused undertaker. With the hand she has contorl, she reached into darkness and he takes her hamd... But she was giving him the book. She mouthed a few words to the undertaker, "Take. Run. They are evil. I can't stop."

"Sit up now!" Roaring of the evil hollow being, it pulls her up. Meaning pulling the undertaker out of here. She loses the charm that allowed her vague contorl. Gladly that undertaker is a smart man. He got that book out of her hands and he runs fast. They followed him but she is being punished. She burns. Blood from her lips. Her stomach pulls put from her. The organs that where inside of her, hot on her lap.

"Open the book and read it!" She has a page. A single page. She could barely even spat words. Her sight dimming. She heard them very angry. They hurt her more but really it was already hitting the highest it could be. She sprays the page of blood, vague word sounds finally cleared.

"I can't read." She was tossed about very soon following that. Hard things. Shapes. She doesn't really know. She began to cry. These hollow things like her as she crying. They laugh at her. They spat and mock her name. She learnt that is her soul name. It's entire unpolished and so spat like it was poison. She can barely move but she cries louder and louder. There new voice cords in her. The more she took in the very detailing of her name in how each different way mock her. She seems to gained something new from it.

But someone got to smart.

"I want you to get up. Now!" She compelled to act, "I want you to remove your soul." She was unsure of how to do that, "Take that hand and reach for something solid and tear it through out." Her right hand doing as asked. She has her own beautiful stone, "Good job." Petting her and no pain. All this pain she held. Vanished. That stone was snatched from her hands. The veiw of her corpse drops and all of her storage from her shadow lifted behind her. The two doing nothing began to play with the things. They lifted that book her brother gave her. They opened and something from the pages came out and devoured them in half. This scraps the other to run away fast, to only find themselves chased and ate. It was this guy and her. In sheer fear of whatever monster that was, this being that owns her name crushed her stone into dust. They couldn't even turn away as the dust fell, they were dragged backwards into the mouth of mouths. Dust piles as ashes. But in that last eclipse of barely cling senses.

Everything that made her soul, every letter and piece. In how it was pronounced. The meat of her corpse that steams and clouds. The organs splatter that was still functioning. She hadn't even late her last breath drop from her lungs. This single moment was the sheer moment of using all these new parts of herself, in one loud mass of call screams. It as if someone recorded her scream, mixed it through a computer and then timed every different scream to go at the same moment. The sounds she heard in her life from objects, animals, spirits even her dreams and nightmares. These sounds reverberate in that scream. Prime from existence - as alive and it was death.

It was instinctive for what was next. That she lost everything, everything sort of switched off. The creature chewing the evil stopped. It was so scared of that scream that it spat that partly digested guy. It smiles of every last tooth showing. But it couldn't escape the trap it was in. Every paw of claw foot making contact to the floor was held and sinking. The digested guy sinking. The ashe of soul dust sinking in to a void. The chest box. The gemstone pen. The book that the monster was trapped into. The letter from her brother. She knows what he wrote now. It was a drawing to never open the book. The creature distressed makes noises and this attracted other stuff. That other stuff got dropped into the void puddle. There isn't a stretch of whatvto say how long this went for. This place is not were time is recorded. There isn't a start and that meant there was no finish. Whatever was the material of this reflection surface began to creak and spread broken bits. Bits that fell into void puddle.

Words don't make sense. Laws. Rules. Universe concepts didn't exist. There isn't a spectrum of light for what is. There wasn't a distances for light rays to travel. What is alive is also dead. The dead are shells buried, the things that stopped allowing a soul to be in a realm of existence. There was souls that came together to make gods, these thousands of single acting souls is the concept of God. But what does a soul crushed into a sand become? It's one being too. It has many grains, different flaws and beautiful gleams. She is just one soul but she isn't God. God is all these souls in mass of ants.

But God isn't here to save her.

No one will.

'If no one is going to save me from this nightmare!' The mass of what collected into the puddle and now stopped spreading and taking things, "If No one will ever see me, know who I am. Then I refuse to be erased from existence!"

It was just as so... that the spread pulls into itself. This flood of broken things that didn't belong was thrown out. But she had to use parts of this stuff to reconstruct herself. Whatever was digested was now just an asset of her. The materials that she spun into skin and body pulls through as one mass shape. It expanded into a bubble that might as well be an egg. The outer layer solidified as a proper egg.

Thoughts, memories and feelings. These laws that she knew and had to relearn to follow. Even how to dream. How does exactly someone dream?

Those dreams are real places in the afterlife. The nightmares, phobia images and even those primal instinctive manifestation images were existence too. Stories. TV. Movies. Those universes. Video games. The art world. Painting worlds. The internet. These things she loves. These things she hates. The beauty. The disgusting. Life. Death. A system of balancing this game. Enlightening and breaking. Adult stuff was overrated. But she died a virgin, so how would it matter?

She can't deny that she isn't sure if she is alive or dead. So she can't exactly refuse what way to put her body together.

To be logical at this existential crisis, what will accept her when she was finished growing into whatever exactly she meant to be. She never got to grow up, so she doesn't know what that looks like.