There was no dream to be had. But when I woke up, I sat up realizing my body could be felt, moved, and willed. Able to breath.

There was no pain. No delayed senses. No burns.

I took a deep, rugged breath and let the comfort of breathing settle into my body. To my mind. It felt cool. Without an ounce of worry in between.

But as I did, the decayed smell of wood and burnt flesh was gone.

I wondered. Blinking. Then wondering.

Although darkness still pervaded the surroundings, sight was something offered to me now. Allowing me to see the obscure form of my hand and the rest of my body.

I looked faded. Not in the transparent way. But in a way as if I was intangible. Soft. Or barely a figure drawn in the air waiting to be puffed by the next breeze to pass by. Maybe even by a mere touch.

But I was glowing. From head to toe. A very, very faint glow. Enough to just see the dirtied cement floor in an almost blurred way. Enough to confirm that the wall behind me wasn't a vast expanse of darkness. Just painted black.

I regarded my hands once again, curling each finger one by one to a fist—then clenched it hard. It didn't fade like I thought it would. More than that, I felt neither pain nor any sort of tenseness when rotating my wrist, all the way to the limit of its oscillation. Trying to pinch my arms, flick my backhand, touch the whites of my eyes, made me think that perception of touch seemed to have been cut off—

No. I bit my finger hard, not piercing but denting the skin.

I blinked at it, waiting for the pain, the sensation—the wince. As if the pain should be delayed when it didn't instantly register. But only the fading warmth from my mouth remained.

"It is gone," I murmured with narrowed eyes, focusing and finding the bite mark. Deliberating at it before shifting my sight on the cold ground. Polished, I further added to its dirtied surface. None of which I could use to further explain what was with my body. Of what was going on. But when I narrowed my eyes at it, magic happened.

Catacomb of the Departed

Words came alive. A reminder for everything that I am in an askance of.

And I calmed down and remembered. Magic.

Not really my true body, but still is me. A conclusion I settled for when I finally managed to see the scars on my knees and arms, the callouses that looked vague on my palms, and the almost indiscernible scarred incision on my waist that my left hand was tracing. There were too many to count. But they were there. Mine.

I felt relieved. So I took it to myself to breath out my worries. I'm alive. Probably. And exhausted.

There were still a few things to wonder about, but I felt the need to rest and let all things be. So I welcomed the prickling coldness pass through my skin, reclining on the uneven wall of darkness behind. I felt tired. And I just needed this.

But before I could even compose myself over the partial return of my body, to have even a rest and be wishful and lost in thoughts, to be excited that perhaps I had been given another chance at life, a feeling of dread assailed my mind. It jolted my whole being awake as my heart drummed a loud beat. An incessant and unwanted thump.

—–·–—

Magic. I reminded myself, casting away the creepiness that crawled through my skin as I peeked at the obscure, white blanket a few meters in front of me. No, not peeked—gaze with further scrutiny, to be precise. I had not left it beyond sight after finding out what it was.

Corpse(unzombified)

The word appeared once again, the white blanket becoming sharper to sight—the words' machination, I believed. Finding that it too seemed to glow like me, yet seemingly not the case as well. The dirtied surface around it never given light. Unless the floor itself was black, or the cloth itself was floating. Still, it looked surreal, making me momentarily lost in admiration for it. But the shudder the words took from me spoke otherwise, so I had it fade right away.

I initially didn't want to conjure words out of it, not when the drumming on my chest intensified when it was worded. But at least I knew it had not moved. Especially after noticing how elongated it looked like. It was tall—no, taller and bigger.

And here I thought that was just a blanket. I thinned my lips, not letting even a hum of shallow breath escape. Remembering how I gazed curiosly yet dismissively at that flatly and neatly laid body on the floor upon my inspection only made me rub a shiver that stood on my arm. My left arm. And that says something about what the cloth hides.

A whispered suspiration once again escaped me as the corpse remained unmoving after a few minutes of observation. It was not like it was the first time I had seen a corpse or be in a room with one, but that thing meters away tingled my body to run away. Or to not move. To tremble and be silent. To fear it.

Fear it because of death? I doubted that. Not with what was happening. To what I had seen of death. And even if I did, it's not like dying is still an unsolved, mystified concept for me. For all I know, if that thing ever moves and snuff out my life, the same thing could happen again. I die. I get to darkness and muse in it. Magical words appear. And ha! I get to live again.

Yet that doesn't mean to say it would end and begin that way, though. I also believed that perhaps after this... afterdeath, the after-afterdeath would be an instance like: I die. I get to darkness and muse in it. I don't see the magical words. I get to live again. But ha! No magic.

That's something I didn't want to happen. Not when I already have the opportunity to know about magic, sooner or maybe now.

And what if the worst came? What if I'll be reclaimed back to that unfeeling place? To that vast darkness never to see again? Never to feel joy, dread, hope? I shook my head at that. I have to fight it.

Still, why do I fear it? My feet slid further to my left, hoping I'd find myself some reason as to not be afraid. To find the cause and throw it at the back of my head, or away, into the darkness.

But that remained as a thought, passing unanswered. The shiver unrelenting.

And that meant one thing, the corpse still tingled my whole entirety to a degree of wrongness.

That unknown word (unzombified) only made it clear for me to be apprehensive at all times. Who knows whether that word meant sleeping, fluke-ing, or monster or beast. Or better yet, something worse. It would be better if it was just human. But I knew, for certain, that it would just get worse if I stayed here.

I flicked gazes at the still indiscernible walls, making sense of it with the corpse in sight as much as possible. All because it hammered my chest with burden everytime it was out of my sight. The only way that could halt the dissonance was when the sheet was subjected to a stare.

Would it have been better if I was in that darkness? I thought, remembering how I couldn't feel anything in that state. No fear, no worries, nothing.

The darkness a mere color.

Stealing gazes around the walls proved futile. If even there was nothing to provide light and I was able to at least see some obscure images, looking and not moving was useless.

No. This is better. I answered to myself. Although I had been lacking meals for the most part of my life, that didn't mean I sat idly either. Strength wasn't the basis of all things. If that thing ever moves, I still at least has the capability to outrun it in this space. Enclosed or not, we'd be running around each other—or it'd be poked to inexistence first—where I'd come out on top.

Hopefully.

That's a corpse, after all. If experience and books told true that they turn stiff, that'd be the best outcome. Yet this could be different. I was dreading it for a reason. If I can have something like magic words and wonders happen, it's not impossible to think that everything would too.

A moving corpse, a crawling corpse, a running corpse or a flying corpse. Anything. Even it being a magical corpse can't be not considered.

Still though, it seems unlikely for any form of passage to be found if squinting against the dark is all that I could manage. So I immediately decided I had to move—check what's beyond that white sheet. I had already made sure that there is only a wall behind, hand grasping and poking here and there.

When I found myself at a corner of the room, I gazed for a second longer on the wall before taking it back to the cloth-covered corpse. Just a crack, the fourth I found. Nothing special. Then I continued moving.

I felt for the cold, wet, and sometimes moss-like walls trying to find an exit, tiptoeing as much as possible.

A drawn-out breath snuffed out the building pressure hitching my breath from time to time as I circumvented the corpse. Especially at moments when I almost slipped with a thud on the floor. Which i just had to take a breath to calm myself.

Then I continued again. Careful steps. Inspection. Then circumspection. All until I reached the wall across.

But to my dismay, I found no passage either. Just wet surfaces, slippery floor, some more wall cracks, damaged floor, and then nothing. The only thing that was different was the feeling of dread getting worse.

Would a peek on more magical words give me an insight how to get out of here? I mused, heading for the last uninspected wall.

... probably, but what could I do with it? I breathed out my discomfort, left foot moving sideways when another patch of wetness tried to slip me down the hard ground. I believed it was probably attempting to make me create a ruckus before finding out that the last of the four walls actually has the exit. Or maybe, make me face the reality that, in fact, there is no exit at all.

I hope not. I washed away that grim thought with the thinning of my lips, all the while thinking of the possibility on how to conjure the magical words that could perhaps obliterate the corpse. Which I found out was impossible. I already used all the imagination I had to conjure the strongest fire I know. Better than the red fire that had burned my room. But the promise of the blue-hued blaze didn't answer to my call.

And that made me all the more nervous.

I wanted to close my eyes, to meditate and un-tense. Yet I never dared. Not when a part of my mind screamed that the corpse would be just inches away the second I snapped my eyes open.

The thought of that happening, imagining the cloth falling down to reveal something horrendous made me tremble. But I quickly shook away such thoughts and focused on my situation. Sooner I'd be out here and that corpse would be—

A solid thud froze me in place when my foot hit something despite the darkness in front. It was hard and cold. For a moment, I shuddered upon the thought that the cloth-covered corpse was now before me. As if it was responding to my imagination despite it still in the middle of this small room.

But thankfully not. It was just the wall. The dark-painted wall I'd started from. However, with the confirmation that it was not the corpse, it also spelled something else.

There was no exit.

I didn't allow more stitchwork dabble on my forehead, instead I licked my dry lips and thought ahead. To find where an escape lies. Still, the intensified shivers on my arms and neck remained unabated even after a couple of drawn-out breaths.

If the exit was nowhere within these walls, then it could only be above. Which basically means impossible since my arms couldn't possibly reach that far. Twice my height and maybe I'd try. But even then, if there really was something up there, there's no way I'd face the wall and try to jump at it.

So this left me to think that either this place was completely sealed up. Left here to wait for my body to be completely restored—or, that dreadful sheet has got something to do with the exit.

Or perhaps the magical words would serve the medium of exit I'd need!

Delusional. I untethered my hopes on that, took a deep breath again despite knowing how almost ineffective it was now. But quelling the dread building up in my chest was needed, if even it was the futility of my stubbornness. At the same time, I tried to fit myself in the corner of the room, hoping that the extending walls of either side would bring me some comfort.

Yet still, I hoped. Wished that the words would provide the magic I'd really need. That with my insistence, the word would appear again and say: You have mastered the magical Fireball. Because if it did, no matter how near it would come, I had the assurance I could blast it off.

But that wasn't the case that occurred. Neither hopes of mine to have the ability to somewhat remain unfearful came to fruition.

Now I remained still. At the corner. Huddled and still thinking various ways to find an exit in here. Then I got to the point where, maybe, this was all supposed to happen. That I need to face of what's to come.

Just a corpse. It won't move. It. Couldn't. Mo—

Corpse(unzombified)

I read for it once again. Unchanged. Yet my now trembling arms told otherwise. One that halted me from thinking anything that could dissuade the image of fear a simple blanket could bring. It wasn't even a spider, or a horrible monster. But it laid there. The purity of its color shedding my hopeful thoughts. Bare. And never to be realized. In a way, it told me it was a fool's desperation. My denial.

Corpse(unzombified)

The words rang finality. All thoughts gone. Desperation gone. What remained was the increasing coldness encapsulating me. Making the stale air feel much humid. I still lack the sense to smell something, yet the words brimmed with scent that hammered my being to be on my knees. Huddled and wide-eyed.

It smelled rotten. Not the decayed flesh where white, ant-sized squirming worms swam in bliss. It was beyond the confines of my experience. Of what I had known. And there were no hopes to get away from it even if I wanted to. So I remained where I was, eyes still bulging with resolve but the unseen crease woven on my forehead suggested it wouldn't be long before an outcome was cast. My determination was wavering.

Fear. I succumb to it or fight it.

So I picked a choice.

I stood, beyond what my heart tried to beat away from my resolve. I kept my breath steady, unabated but better than what my mind told for it to be less. I fear, yet it shall not be my downfall. It was never—and would never be my undoing.

... a corpse? I looked at it again. Resolve and uncertainty clouding my eyes.

Corpse(un—

A corpse, same old corpse. Why had I thought it would be something worse? I took a little step towards it. Then another and then after. Much, much closer to it than I had been. The comfort of space whittling away by the moment, by the second. It took long yet short. And the silence? I have always enjoyed it, longed for it. But now it accompanied me in ways I had thought impossible. It felt heavy. Like a burden measured not by strength but by the paper-thin determination which would soon die out. So much that hesitations were showing between my plod.

It was just a simple white sheet—uncaring, yet it was worse than everything.

But I took the step nonetheless. And brave it I shall.

When the cold white sheet—its ever smooth and unblemished fabric—traveled my entirety from the tips of my fingers, I knew it told more than shivers. More than the fear of the dead, more than that of the dread. It spoke of something from within. As if it knew, that deep in my memory there was something worse than the unknown. Like it wanted to scoop the treachery of my resolve, then make me realize that all I did. Was. For. Naught.

Even then, I grasped the corpse by its shoulders, gripping it with all force I could muster even if, to my eyes, it seems weakening by the second. Still, I clung to it. This was my plan. My resolution.

A deep breath was all that I could do. It didn't lessen the shiver, didn't stop the crawling wrongness besieging my mind, nor did it cast away the unnecessary thoughts.

But this would suffice.

I sat on the corpse's chest with as much just a touch, made sure that my grip on its shoulder was as firm as my resolve was. Letting any shiver pass past my mind and body, before letting it struck the darkness rather than me.

I have magic now. And I believed it.

I quickly willed the magical words to life.

Fireball. Fireball. Fireball.

The corpse remained. I stared.

Fireball. Fireball. Fireball.

The white fabric remained unburnt. Still, I stared.

"FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL. FIREBALL—"

Corpse(unzombified)

The words responded to my hard look. To my echoing voice. But not the promise of magic. Not the promise of my resolve. But the futility of my attempts.

In magic, there is life. I remembered.

But if magic is without, so shall life can not. I. Remembered.

Corpse(unzombified)

It appeared again, dashing my hopes that having magical words might have allowed other magic to come to fruition. Words that could've helped. Fire that would bring me warmth.

There was none.

There's no magic I could use.

Now, I regarded the white sheet with one final thought. Not even noticing that my hands were already unclasped from the cloth—and were shaking still.

A smile. A stretched one. That was all I could manage before my shaky hand took ahold of the cloth once again. Now or never, right?

That's all I had to think. Rather than be huddled at the corner, awaiting something I knew is worse, this was easier. Let all things be. What could a corpse offer worse than a scare? Death? I've already experienced such!

Still. Again. A stretched smile. Forced. One that was fleeting, easily forgotten with what's underneath.

I was unprepared of what's under—of the horror I'd soon face.

Even then I took off the blanket. And it was enough.

All of the wrongness I carried with the lift of my hand. And my fear? Oh, they assailed me still. But I made it clear to myself: it won't do nothing less to me. Thus, the harmonized dissonance of my mind and chest did one thing. The dread was gone into the darkness. Like what I would do. Like I always do.

How have I forgotten it? This is how fear dies.

Ding!

You understand your fear, and you know when and how to brave it. As a subject who's willing to face her fears. You learn of the magic befitting of who you are.

'Primal Spell: Redirection' has been gained.

A series of sound woke me from my stupor. But that wasn't I was onto.

The secret under the sheet wasn't a corpse. Not a beast. Nor a monster. Nor was it a decaying flesh of abomination. Not even a normal body as my least expectations of it to appear to be.

It was a door.