Francis ran his fingers along the vast volumes of books. Of course, he was entirely aware of what was happening outside, at least until a point, that was. Frances’ plan, her thoughts, her innermost feelings. The yearning of her heart that he had never experienced before. He was acutely aware of everything.

With a thought, he zipped past the library. Overlooking the sparse mountains, blanketed by the great starry sea above. Apparently, those lights twinkling were home to thousands of planets just like his own. Spheres of rocks and water, orbiting around an unimaginably large ball of fire. And, he too was aware of the visitor.

“Welcome to the library, intruder.”

“Now this certainly is strange.”

The voice belonged to a mysterious young boy. He was nowhere, and also simultaneously everywhere. He had entered after the intrusion of the head priest. A virus, sent to destroy Frances from the inside out.

“I just finished rearranging the books. Please, do not touch them without care.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Who? Certainly not. What you are, however? You’re just an intruder.”

“Then why are you so confident?”

“The only reason why I haven’t kicked you out is due to the boredom you’ve caused. Keep me entertained as Frances fights you off on the mental level.”

“You? Kick me out?”

A bolt of thunder struck. The young boy screamed out loud, his high prepubescent voice screeching throughout the great library.

“My dear intruder, do you know what a lucid dream is?”

“I-”

“Simply put, it is a dream in which the dreamer has complete control over it. But, as you might know, Frances Rayleigh is not dreaming.”

“But this doesn’t make sense. Who are you? What are you?”

“Well, it's not as though you can just leave.”

Francis closed a book. The environment shifted, and he ended up in front of a bookshelf. A book shaped hole in front of him, and he slotted it in. It wasn’t a good book. A dry recitation of facts and descriptions. Nothing gripping. It certainly made sense, however. The volume covered several months worth of schooling that Frances attended. Biology, maths, physics, chemistry. Worthless formulae that collected dust over the years, just waiting to be used. But they would never. The words written, and forgotten long ago. Playground crushes when Frances was in the single digits. An extensive history of his love life, and somewhat tragic life in general.

“I numbed your pain. If I’m correct, that should only have felt like getting flicked on the forehead.”

“Still doesn’t excuse you.”

“I don’t recall seeking an excuse. Now, do you have a sort of physical form?”

“No- What even are you?”

“Perhaps I should start with that. I act as something called a firewall. Initially, I was rather unsatisfied with my situation, but that has since changed. The memories I can access here are a far greater reward than anything I could think of.”

“What’s a firewall?”

“I’m not too sure of it myself, but it's a security system that protects Frances’ soul. Frances, by the way, is the person you tried to invade.”

“I’m confused. Are you Francis?”

“Yes. I am. And the woman you tried to take over is Frances. There is a long story behind it, and I’m afraid we won’t have time. Either way, you can’t touch the soul while I’m here, so its best to give up on your objective. Unfortunately, I cannot interfere in the mental state of things.”

“So you two are different people?”

“Yes. Though it's pronounced the same, I assure you, the spellings are very different. She’s Frances.”

“But she called herself Francis.”

“And I know her better than she knows herself. I have access to approximately 95% of everything here. Though, whenever I try to access particular details of her past life, it shocks me. Quite literally.”

“So you know everything?”

“Even things she forgot. Formulae, faces, names, voices. Even her older sister that she was so attached to.”

Francis closed his eyes. He spied on the scene playing out. It was a strange type. A foreign place he didn’t recognise. It seemed to be a futuristic city, with bright lights and a heavy rain.

“How does your ability work?” Francis asked.

“Well I’m here. So the mental prong of the attack is automated. Usually, the one that I target has to fight it off. Those with strong wills usually win without issue.”

“And how long does that take?”

“Depends. Typically more than a few days, though.”

“Interesting. Aren’t you being awfully cooperative?”

“Would you go against a literal god of the realm?”

“Good point.”

A book fell out of its place. Followed by another, and more. But, with a single thought, a great gust of wind fought against the earthquake.

“You know, this is the first time this happened,” the intruder commented.

“I would be rather surprised if you had experience with this.”

“I’m Geraldine, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

“Really? I was under the impression that you were male.”

“You’re not wrong, but my parents wanted a daughter instead.”

“That’s a stupid reason.”

“Trust me, I know. Not really worth the bullying, but at least the head priest is nice.”

“Right, but why are you working for him?”

“Oh, he bought me from slave traders. Since then, it's been pretty nice.”

“Slave traders? In the empire? Slavery was outlawed long ago.”

“There are still slaves going around, far away from the eyes of the capital.”

“Is that so? Tell me everything. Do you have a physical form?”

A young boy appeared beside Francis. His acorn brown hair shifted as it settled down. For his age, he was rather tall. There was a certain cuteness to him too, an innocent aura, no doubt false.

The table that Francis conjured up resembled those of the Rayleigh household. Fine wood with a layer of glaze above. The rings spoke of its age.

“Tea?” Francis asked.

“If you’d like.”

“Hm. Would you like to try some wine?”

“I’m underaged, so no”

“By the way...”

He snapped his fingers. A beige cone, with a waffle-like pattern dropped into his hand. 3 white balls melted above, with hints of green that dotted the spheres. A similar pair found its way into Geraldine’s hands, albeit replaced with a more chocolatey type.

“Try it. Apparently, this is supposed to be something called ice cream.”

Geraldine took a lick. His face instantly lit up, and wolfed down the ice creams with ease. Chocolate leaked from the edges of his mouth.

“The cone’s edible too.”

“Really?”

For once, he really looked like a child. This otherworld treat really could reduce even someone as despicable as him into such a state. His eyes sparkled, and Francis chuckled.

“Would you like another one?”

“Yes please!”

And just like a child, he fell into traps easily. With the supreme, uncontested power Francis held in this realm, he pumped up the sugar in the chocolate ice cream. It was the best thing outside of drugs. Frances Rayleigh might not have minded using drugs to her own means, but he certainly did. Especially to a child. Still, people got addicted to sugar. It was a common ailment in some place called the United States.

“There are many flavours that I can make. But for now, let’s just talk.”

“Really? Okay!”

At the end of the day, no matter how many people he turned into mindless slaves, he was still a child. A brat like him, against what equalled a god. The table warped to the level above.

Sitting on an invisible flooring, in the sea of liquids. This was the mental realm of Frances Rayleigh, or at least an interpretation of it. Francis himself had theories as to whether people could even understand what that might look like, and he certainly didn’t. Instead, the pure imagination was put through his own filter.

“So this is your automated attack?”

“Yes, but I’ve never actually seen it in action.”

“How does it work?”

“Well basically, it tires you down until you give into despair. Loved ones show up and torture you.”

“So you either give up or have the willpower to kill the ones that are closest to you. Tough.”

“Only one person managed to fight that off, but still the second prong got him in the end.”

“Who was that?”

“Just a serial killer.”

“Then I believe you’ll have issues. What happens to the body while this is happening?”

“Hmm. How do I describe it? All the personalities that you’ve had mix around a little bit to emulate yourself.”

“It draws from history?”

“Yes, exactly that.”

“A computer’s ‘backup’ it seems. I think Frances is waking up with her personality matrix.”