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scribbling-dragon · 2 months

Text

a tree falls (and it is silent)

summary:

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks. It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning.

(ao3 link)

(4,638 words)

[AN: not really sure where this fic went, but it was fun to write! just a tiny little warning for slight body modification? not really sure how else to describe it. so yeah]

Lizzie falls.

And it is not a slow, gradual tilting backwards. It is not something that she can replay second by second in her mind’s eye, to watch where it was that she went wrong; where it was that she misstepped. She wishes it was, almost. That she could point at a singular moment in time and go, there, that is where everything went wrong.

But she can’t.

Instead, she felt something give way. Felt her feet slip beneath her as she stepped, and then stepped again. Out into the open air of the void. She had twisted, a mad scramble to save herself, maybe to drag Scott down with her. So that it would not be in vain.

She had caught fabric, for a singular, heart-stopping moment. Her nails had caught on Scott’s jacket, had ripped at the denim. She can still feel the sensation of it beneath her nails now.

And then Scott had jerked back as though burned, eyes wide as he tore himself free of her clutching, desperate grip. It had torn a few threads loose, threads that she still clutches to her chest now. It is a prize, a monument to her stupidity, the culmination of her stumbling steps that have led her unsteadily to this moment.

Every single moment here has left her lost and floundering. She had staggered upon landing and never regained her footing, even as those around her wobbled before balancing themselves again. They had charged forward and left her in the dust, clutching a few threads to her chest as though that undoes any of the mistakes she’s made.

…She can still see the island above her. If she looks.

It is fading, retreating back into the void, folding into another corner of reality. Maybe Scott is still staring over the edge at her, watching as she plunges into a certain doom. Or, more likely, he turned away the moment it was clear she would not be saving herself. He’s probably retelling the sorry, sordid tale right now, to an audience of sympathetic murmurs, ones that are only glad it is not them.

The island has shrunk to the same size as every other star around it, glimmering in the same taunting, teasing way. Just out of reach, but almost like she could reach out and snatch it up in her hands. She keeps her eyes fixed on it anyway, even as it shrinks to a pinprick of light – as though the moment she looks away she loses all hope of returning. As though she hasn’t already fallen into an inescapable pit.

She was condemned the moment she stepped into this void damned place.

She still keeps staring at their island, even as the other stars – other islands? – glimmer at cheerily at her, attempting to draw her gaze in their direction. She refuses staunchly, watching the island shrink and shrink and shrink. The moment she blinks, the moment her focus wavers even a tiny bit is the moment she passes the point of no return.

How many of those other stars are islands, the same as their own? How many have a dragon curled atop an obsidian pillar, awaiting its next victims?

Lizzie feels a strange tightness in her chest. A breathlessness borne of the lack of air in the void. And yet her chest continues to inflate and deflate, lungs working as they should. The back of her throat tickles, as though something has lodged itself there and is refusing to budge.

She should be long dead, she knows. The lack of air in the void is a swift killer, one that eases you into the darkness of sleep before it finishes you off. A merciful killer.

And yet there is no shadow around the edges of her vision. No darkness creeping over her eyes to obscure the island. To pull the wool over her eyes for the last few moments of her life.

She continues to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Breath after breath. Impossibility after impossibility.

It is nonsensical. And yet it continues. Just as she continues to watch the islands above her. Continues to watch her island.

There is a strange calm that surrounds her then, soothes over the aching edges of her mind that continues to worry at the issue of her continued survival. She breathes out, eyes fluttering shut slightly as that relaxation coaxes her eyes into slipping shut. Just a fraction.

It is enough for her to lose focus for that one key moment – the calm is rudely torn from her as she blinks, once, twice, thrice, no longer caring for not blinking as the fateful moment has already passed. Her island blends in amongst the other stars, indiscernible from everything else filling the void.

As she attempts to sit up, and then realises that she is able, the rushing sensation in her ears drops away. She no longer falls, no longer plummets into the open, yawning maw of the void – a seemingly endless depth that should have already closed its jaws around her.

Instead, she…drifts. Saunters vaguely downwards. Hangs on the precipice between something and nothing, teetering back and forth on that unknowable, invisible edge.

Something must push her beyond that edge, must nudge her that final inch over the line as the weightlessness returns for a long moment. It makes her stomach drop out of her body as she falls sharply downwards before…stopping.

She doesn’t slow. Not in the same way as before. This is a sudden, jerking halt, as though something had interrupted her fall.

Lizzie looks around, beyond confused. It was almost as though she had been caught, as though someone had stretched their arms out to stop any further descent, cradling her safely in their embrace.

The void spreads out wide around her, inky darkness reaching into every corner.

There is nothing to catch her out here, where nothingness is all that exists.

That, my dear, is where you are wrong.

She jolts at the sudden voice murmuring beside her ear, quiet as a whisper. She blinks furiously as she whips her head around, wariness swiftly transforming into fear as her surroundings remain featureless.

“Who’s there!” she yells, no longer caring that no true air fills her lungs, and yet she’s able to speak all the same. Able to draw breath from this thin, suffocating air. “Show yourself!”

There is a low chuckle, still quiet. Still barely above a whisper. It is the sound of stars shining high above. The sound of ants scuttling over the bark of a tree: there, but not audible. Something that should not be heard.

My dear, to show myself would be defeating the purpose of my existence, would it not?

“Oh yeah?” She stands, surprises herself a moment with the fact that she is able to stand, before promptly getting over it and continuing to question her sudden companion. “Why’s that? You some nasty creature come to kill me? One of those all-seeing fellas from up there?” She gestures in the vague direction of where she thinks she just fell from.

I am none of those things.

“Then what are you?” The quiet of this new voice lowers her voice. She feels self-conscious yelling while this- this thing speaks calmly, at a level barely above a whisper as though it does not care if it is heard or not.

I am nothingness.

“Well, obviously not.” She scoffs. “If you were nothingness then you wouldn’t be talking to me right now, would you?”

The voice remains silent for a moment after that. As though chewing over her words and carefully considering what she has just said. …And then it continues to remain silent. This silence is thick in the air, laying itself over her shoulders heavily.

She almost thinks that it has taken her advice, that, as a creature of nothingness, it has retreated into itself and becoming nothing at all.

“Wait!” She calls out into the void. Desperate for any response. “I’m…I'm sorry! I didn’t mean it! Please, come back!”

I was never gone.

“Kinda hard to tell that.” Her shoulders slump in relief. The sudden panic that came out of nowhere scared her – it had seized her by the throat, demanding that she call back her strange companion, that she not be alone again. “What with the whole nothingness shtick.”

It is not a shtick.

It sounds offended. Lizzie feels momentarily sheepish, before remembering that she doesn’t know who or what this is, and so she doesn’t owe it anything.

“Then what is it? Something you pull out for parties?”

You know not what you speak of.

“Then enlighten me, won’t you?”

How can I expect you to comprehend the vastness of my being? There’s a pause, and Lizzie almost thinks that the thing would have coughed awkwardly were it a human. No offence.

“Full offence taken.”

Ah, my apologies. It pauses again, and then: I…would something like this help?

“Something like what?” Lizzie raises her eyebrows, glancing around the empty space she’s currently stood in. And then…oh. Hm. She’s…well, she’s not sure how to feel about that, actually.

A crude, rather rickety table is less than a foot from her. The paint is patchy and not complete. It wasn’t one of her finest moments, but she had been in a hurry, had been too full of hopes and dreams, and the belief in her fellow players was far, far too high to care about something like the evenness of paint.

A cake sits atop this table. It is far too big for one person alone, and the table almost seems to groan beneath its weight.

She blinks, and there is a chair right beside the table, turned towards her. This chair is a solid white, sturdily built. It is not something she created. There had been beds, instead. She had imagined a party, each of them with a slice of cake in their hands as they sat on beds. Maybe even crowded several people into one bunk as they laughed like they had the first time around, when everything was better.

She sits down in the chair.

The candle in the cake is lit, and the flame flickers for a moment before blowing out. There is no smoke.

Apologies, a flame does not last well in the Void.

“That’s…fine.”

Unbidden, tears rise to her eyes. They cling to her lashes and make her eyelids stick together slightly as she blinks. She refuses to let them fall, however, because crying in front of some horrifying (?) cosmic entity was not on her to-do list today, and she refuses to add it.

And she can’t stand the feeling of dried tears on her cheeks.

“Thank you.” She says, sat at this party for one. It feels a little miserable, that an entity describing itself as nothingness has thrown her a party. Miserable, but fitting. “I…appreciate it.”

Good. The voice is warm, though still quiet. Perhaps this is the loudest it can be – it is the Void itself after all, Lizzie realises.

Perhaps it was a little idiotic of her not to realise before that this entity beside her, all around her, which described itself as nothingness was the exact void she was currently sat in.

There is a knife for her to cut the cake with, sat next to her hand as though it has been there the entire time. She reaches for it, intent on tasting this cake created by nothingness. She wonders if it will have a flavour.

Well, hello there! Where the Void’s voice had been quiet, barely a whisper, this one is cacophonous, as though someone had yelled right beside her ear. She cannot help but wince at the sound, shrinking backwards.

She leans back so far that the chair topples back, disappearing beneath her back as she sprawls across the ground. When she looks up, her party for one has disappeared.

Really, you could not have found it in yourself to be a little calmer?

And why should I be? You’ve got a guest here, and you didn’t even consider telling me!

Have you considered that there was good reason for that? Look at what you’ve done to the poor dear – she’s startled so terribly that she fell from her chair.

Oh. Hm. Okay then, that’s my bad, I guess.

Silence reigns for a moment, and Lizzie takes the opportunity to push herself back into a sitting position, legs crossed and one elbow resting on her knee. These two arguing entities sounded as though they knew each other – who would have thought there was something so lively in a place of certain death?

Not her, certainly.

Oh, hey. I know this one! Those words are the only warning she gets before something heavy is pressing down upon her, looking over every inch of her being, examining her like a bug pinned beneath a magnifying glass.

‘That one’ as you insist on referring to her is going to collapse beneath the weight of your full attention if you are not careful enough. The Void warns, though its voice is quiet as ever. Lizzie worries, as she feels her skin begin to unravel around her, the layers being peeled back as this second entity looks deeper into her being, that it won’t have heard the quiet sound of the Void.

Then, a moment later, it recedes, and she feels as though she can breathe again.

You were actually a little disappointing, the second entity tells her. I expected something a little better from you – maybe a little more pizazz? Something better than slipping off the edge and into the tender, loving arms of our dear Void right here.

Excuse you? How can you already leap into belittling her, hm? Her death was something tragic, but she did all she could in life.

Still could’ve been better. Her head is beginning to ache at the volume of this entity’s voice. (Thoughts?) C’mon, I expected a little more entertainment from Them, didn’t you? The little things pride Themselves on Their games, and yet They can’t even get everyone to put on a show?

You have done well, the Void assures her. You did the best you could with the hand that was dealt to you – They pick rather obvious favourites. Its voice fills with disdain, disgust worming its way into its words.

Lizzie isn’t sure who They are, but the weight with which it is said, and the disgust with which it is uttered, gives her the idea that They are not someone to get along with. And also apparently someone that picks favourites, however They might do that.

Do you comfort yourself with lies? The second entity demands. Its presence grows heavier again, bearing down on her head and shoulders, almost beginning to crush her into the non-existent ground she sits on. How can you bear to turn and face yourself when you offer meagre comforts through falsehoods and honeyed words?

What has happened, happened. What is done, cannot be undone. As such, why bother over the trivialities of what could have been done better.

“I’m still here,” Lizzie says. Just because it’s almost like these two entities – apparently familiar enough with each other to immediately begin arguing – have forgotten that the subject of their conversation is sitting right there and that she can hear everything being said about her.

We know that. Did you think we forgot?

Somewhat, yes, she doesn’t say. Mainly because that entity has turned its attention towards her again and it feels like staring directly into the sun. She grimaces at the feeling, gritting her teeth until it turns its attention away from her again.

You were disappointing. Lacklustre.

“Gee, thanks.” She’s beginning to dislike this second entity – actually, she’s gone beyond disliking this entity. It is loud and rude, voice giving her a headache and making stars burst behind her eyes with every syllable it enunciates. She wishes it had some kind of physical form so she could grab onto it and strangle it. Her hands itch with the urge, and she curls them into fists; tight enough that there will be crescent-shaped indents if she looks.

Such words are unnecessary. Boundless you may be, but few can achieve the same as you.

I’m not asking for much – like I said, a little more pizazz. A little more something isn’t unreasonable to ask for. They're putting on a show for us, the least They can do is get Their actors performing well.

Not everyone can be outstanding. There is value in being average.

You are insufferable. You’d settle for nothing if you could! You’re such a bore – why must I be stuck with you? All of eternity, and nothing interesting within it!

You are able to watch anything you wish. You do not have to wait for company to return from its wandering journeys, nor watch the condemned fall to their deaths within you. I would say you have it rather well off.

Of course you would. You know nothing of the world.

How could I?

You know of the world. That attention swings back around onto Lizzie, burning intensity. She attempts to stare right back into it, frowning in the vague direction of this thing’s eyes. Would you say you did well? That you were satisfied with what you achieved in the pitiful time you had?

Its voice is mocking. Lizzie’s not stupid, this entity dislikes her for some reason – it has made that very clear since it arrived.

She remains silent. To prove it right is unthinkable; she doesn’t want to give it such satisfaction, not when it’s left her pissed off and angry. She almost wants to bite something. But to prove it wrong is equally impossible. To lie to a seemingly omnipotent entity would be like signing her own death warrant; and who even knows if she could return if killed by an entity like this.

She keeps her jaw locked; mouth shut.

See? The entity seems to take this as an agreement anyway. How can she be satisfied with the hand she was dealt?

Not everyone wants for the impossible.

Ah, but many do – few achieve it, sure, but there is that wishing. That wanting unique only to these creatures with a limited life. Tell me, don’t you want to see how good it could have been? How good you could have been? Its voice turns softer, though it remains loud enough that her ears ache, almost as though its pleading with her, asking her permission for something unknown.

“I…” she looks around, as though there’s someone else for her to look for, to look to. There is nothing but empty void. A chasm around her that only seems to open wider and wider with each passing second. “I guess?”

See? See! It crows, its presence growing overwhelming. Its as though her skin is melting, slowly turning malleable as clay as it slips free of its confines and away from her bones. The feeling is unsettling, not at all helped by the sensation of hands on her arms, pushing at her skin, as though remoulding her. Reshaping the clay of her being.

Those hands brush over her eyes, and the stars disappear.

She panics for a moment, unsure what to do with this sudden darkness – it had been dark before, yes, but there had been the small pinpricks of stars. The little glimmering, far-off sparks that promised some kind of life. She had almost been able to convince herself that if she reached far enough, reached for long enough, that she’d be able to drag herself back to where she should be – pull herself from the pits of the void she had somehow fallen into.

Those hands press into her eyes, deft fingers smoothing out around her eye sockets before forcing her eyes open again.

She squints and winces, shutting her eyes again immediately.

Be more gentle.

I was plenty gentle, the voice scoffs. It’s her causing the issue now.

The bright light of before makes the inside of her eyelids a faint red. There is warmth here, where there had only been nothingness before – it hadn’t been cold, but the lack of warmth had made it seem so.

She tests it by only opening her eyes the tiniest bit, face wrinkled as she grows accustomed to the presence of light once more. It takes a few minutes before she can look around properly, blinking, then blinking again as she processes where she is.

She turns, and her pumpkin is there. It sits comfortably, nestled in the grass and…with a small house poking from the side?

Did you not wish for more allies?

She pauses, before shrugging. This feels like a weird dream, one that she is aware is a dream but is unable to wake from. Knowing you're in a dream means you should be able to control it, right? And yet, nothing she wills into existence appears, nothing changes to fit into her will.

You chased away a potential ally on day one, the entity sighs. There was little to be done from there; you placed your foot on the path of loneliness first.

“That house was only built for a task,” she defends. “And it was ugly.” It was a disgusting thing, something that blocked her from progressing further – from turning her house into a pumpkin. She couldn’t have continued living in a shack like that, even if it kept someone by her side for a little longer.

But…this house spoke of a compromise. Of a discussion and an allyship being struck up.

You got her hair wrong.

Huh, did I?

Those hands are resting against her again, burning her scalp as fingers drag through her hair, teasing out the strands.

Oh, I see what you mean. Hm.

Lizzie runs a hand through her hair. Tries to run a hand through her hair. She lifts her hair up, and it all comes with her hand. She pulls at it, and feels no tugging on her scalp, no individual hairs threatening to break away.

Instead, it’s like someone lay a cloth over her head and glued it down. There are no individual strands, only one thick layer. She freaks out a little at that. She’s like some- some doll with felt glued to its head. She tugs at this felt, maybe a little desperately, attempting to separate it into the fine strands of hair she’s used to.

Look what you’ve done now, you’ve freaked her out. The voice turns patronising. Chill for a second, alright, just…it’s been a minute since I made anything as complex as you. Just be glad I remembered the lungs this time!

That…is ominous. And not at all something she wants to think about.

I appreciate you remembering the lungs this time, the Void says. Listening to the previous one stutter and attempt to inhale was…unpleasant.

It was like someone was trying to force air into a block of wood! She hates this entity. Hates, hates, hates it. Even as it drags a hand through her hair she hates it, even as it falls over her shoulders in a cascade of fine strands, she hates it. Strands that are the same as her own hair, no longer a piece of felt stuck to her head.

Ah, you ruined the hands, too. The Void does not sound surprised, only mildly commenting on all the things this second entity has ruined about her. As though its watching some poorly-made film, commenting on all the shitty practical effects like it adds a certain charm to the movie.

Always a critic, the entity mutters. Why don't you try to make an entire person from scratch? See how well that goes for you.

We have already seen ‘how well’ that goes for me. I am still attempting to recover the pieces, though it will be a few centuries more before there are enough fragments for you to rebuild them.

You’re still working on that? I thought you gave up on that ages ago.

There are too many joints in her fingers. She bends one, and it curls up almost completely. Rolling into a spiral like a snail’s shell. One of the beings – she can’t tell which – tuts softly and uncurls her finger again, smoothing it out and removing the excess joints.

It’s a passion project. I work on it when I feel the urge.

Lizzie feels a wash of fear then. Something that had initially been small enough to ignore, and then forcefully locked away in her chest so she was no longer focusing on it – focusing on the entities in front of her, watching them, making sure that they aren’t casually discussing the best ways to destroy her.

Here, right here, right now, she feels that fear burst free. Like a burst blood vessel as it all pours free from where it had been blocked up. She’s drenched with this fear within moments, left shaking and shivering, too few joints in her hands; her fingers are short and her palms are long, and then her fingers are long and the palms short, as though the entity cannot figure out how to model them.

That feeling of clay is back. But this time there is no darkness, no kind hand covering her eyes to block her sight from the horror of watching her flesh begin to slip free from the bone. The horror of watching a hand-shaped ident press against her elbow, guiding her skin to remain there for a moment longer as it smooths over the mistakes that had been made seconds prior.

She attempts to stumble away, but the hands are all around her, pressing her skin back into place. Holding her together.

Ah, dear. I don't think this was the best idea.

Oh, really? You know, I thought the fast breathing and rabbiting heart was because she was enjoying this.

Don't take such a tone with me, this was your idea in the first place.

I just wanted to show her how much better she could be! Lizzie’s brain begins to fuzz over, words becoming distorted, no longer making sense to her addled mind. Her eyes slip shut all on their own, no longer staring so intently at the remoulding of her skin. If you hadn’t pointed out the inconsistencies then she wouldn’t have noticed! If anything, this is your fault.

Well, alright then. Piece her back together will you? She can rest a little while. With me.

Whatever you say.

The burning hands press close again, before retreating entirely. She doesn’t know what to think. Only that the cool hands that brush over her face are much gentler than the previous pair. They carry the gentle care of a mother, of a childhood friend reunited.

She sighs, and gives into the comfort. Everything burns, and she feels as though she’s been fighting an unknown assailant for hours. Her limbs ache, like her muscles have been twisted back and forth by an unruly hand.

Leave us in peace. I have practice putting people back together…this shouldn’t take too long.

You're going to irritate Them. You’ve interfered with Their games now.

I am certain They will learn how to cope with it. To welcome the Void into that place, They already knew what was being invited.

I'm not helping you when this turns around and bites you in the ass.

Don't be so crude.

Lizzie keeps her eyes shut. Doesn’t have much of a choice with the hand still covering them. Though, if she did choose to open her eyes and resist the calm, she could lay her eyes on the stars again.

Though…she still isn’t sure which star is her own. Which is the one she is meant to return to.

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