11

My eyes are glued to the board. They are not detachable, totally hypnotized.

I am the fly attracted by the light of a bulb, and this bulb is the sparkling green of this wood. I who praised the beauty of my forest, it will pale in comparison to the one in front of me. A single desire obsesses me: to go to this place and never leave there again. The fly knows that it will die approaching this celestial light, but it flies, ever more sure of itself. So not afraid to smack my hand against the board, I lift my fingers proudly. Ezequiel copies me a second later and a mad race starts between us. The slower our hands approach the canvas, the more our senses awaken. The woody smell tickles my nostrils. I recognize the scent of the soft freshness of the rain mixed with the first scent of the forest daffodils. I want to stick my nose in the grass and sniff every bit of this forest; caressing its soil and feeling its pieces crumble between my fingers; touching the drop of water trying to balance on the arm of a leaf; embrace the purity of each of its inhabitants,butterfly fireflies. The wind blows through my black hair and lets out a sigh of pure ecstasy. The leaves fall in an aerial dance until they caress the ground in an ethereal and magical choreography. I don't even try to catch the one that falls a few centimeters away for fear of attracting divine lightning. I cannot, simple lycanthrope dare to think of touching one of these archangelic creations. Such a beautiful work can only be celestial.

I have the impression of having committed a sin when I feel the harshness of the painting waking me up abruptly. Ezequiel's hand hits the painting just like mine. I look at him not wanting to believe it was just a dream. I want to go back, even for just a second; this world of illusion is calling me. I close my eyes again, unable to believe that this story has such a brutal ending. The sublime magic seems to run and my nails are beginning to take root in this supernatural undergrowth.

The fly got sucked in by the light. His wings are burning.

I should have wondered before what happened to the fly once it had arrived at its objective, it would have saved me from finding myself alone, in the dark, standing waiting even for a interaction. The forest has disappeared and currently, nothing heavenly is emerging on the horizon. But what horizon?

I can't see a millimeter in front of me. I remain to poiroter, when I perceive, after a few regular beats of heart, to appear a blue sphere. This translucent form approaches me, the story of the fly having taught me nothing, I try once again to move forward from this source of bluish light. But I can't move. My legs are anchored to the ground, as if two stakes had been violently driven into each of my feet. This sphere seems to me immediately more frightening, more dangerous, my heart flies away slightly. Its intense blue now reminds me of a deadly coldness freezing me forever. Animal instinct drives me to look for an escape, a solution at hand, but in a place darker than my heart, there are few ways out. I am a kitten caught in an indestructible cage of ice. I don't know why, but an intense and instantaneous panic pierces me impetuously. I am distraught, disoriented, bewildered. I'm not used to losing my temper in the face of dangerous or strange situations, but here I am suffocating as my white cage approaches.

The surface of this silver prison tears me apart the instant the blue glow disarms me. The first icy wound is felt; I feel frozen blades surgically cutting through the layers of my skin. I'm not crying, tears are flowing from my eyes. My pearls, symbol of my suffering, are no longer in a liquid state; they break on contact with the ground. My pain wants to materialize through my cries, my screams, my calls, but in this winter silence no sound crosses the barrier of my cage. Nothing comes out. I'm bad at the pain. It burns me alive, gradually preventing me from breathing. I feel like I'm dying inside. My teeth sink into my lips, piercing me bloodthirsty. I see the air turning white with each breath I take reminding me that I am still alive. The effects of this long, slow torture are felt when I taste the metallic taste of blood that quickly plunges me back into my fucking shitty past. It had been a long time since I had felt my own vermilion liquid flow. But all this seems laughable to me in the face of the many blades that run through me and the burning coldness that freezes my boiling body.

My cry finally pierces this silver cage and it sounds like a release. I am finally free from this prison. No more suffering. Freedom. I collapse to the ground, exhausted, but calm. I stay, I don't know how long on the ground, totally miserable and weak. I'm just a big pile of trash waiting to be picked up. And the long-awaited outstretched hand is none other than that of Thais; my friend. I raise my head in search of his angelic and familiar face. And seeing her in her white, silky clothes, images of the forest come to mind. I focus on his mouth, which keeps saying a single word. Squinting my eyes reddened by the last few minutes, I manage to understand: Loren. She smiled at me, reassuring me with that single sincere expression. The wood elf seems totally peaceful and serene, clinging to reality away from all the coldness of the room.

I close my eyes, and I feel myself thrown back into something warm and comforting. It is the fire that brings consolation and protection, which is so useful. I open my eyes after several seconds and discover Ezequiel's arms. Beta is lying on his back and I'm lying on top of him clinging to his top. I walk away quickly totally embarrassed, but I'm still straddling him. I stand up suddenly, unable to bear his presence any longer.

As I move, I'm surprised I don't feel any pain, the only thing I feel is my cut on my lip. It's the only wound I have left from this episode: the one I inflicted on myself. I try to pretend that this whole story didn't exist and say, not to mention this damn painting:

“I don't want to hear anything about these last seconds.

- You mean the last few minutes. Did you lose track of time when you were in my arms? »

I don't respond to his teasing. I rush into the bedroom of the house claiming:

“I have to go and look at something in the wardrobe in the bedroom. »

The instant I am beyond his judgment, my hands begin to shake. I see in the mirror that sits above the dressing table that my eyes only reflect fear. For a moment, I returned to that cold room that had been my prison and torture chamber for years.

My eyes turn red and my fist cocks, ready to destroy my reflection. I throw my hand towards the mirror when I see Ezequiel in it to my right. I stop and turn around completely frightened by what he has just discovered about me:

"I was hoping that what I saw in that painting wasn't true...

- What did you see Ezequiel, I ask totally uncertain and fearful.

- When you were "sucked in", I saw you years back, sitting, prisoner of your tears and of a person who tortured you. He took knives, heated them white and you...

- OK I understand. I cut him off.

I feel the emotions take over and in this kind of situation the only solution is to become the stone statue that I embody. I straighten up, unfold my outstretched fingers, dust off my outfit, put my bluish hair back and I make my voice resound in a neutral tone:

“I know who the person who lived here is. Tomorrow Luna's future quiche will have to be told to stop the search, the person is fine.

- More relevant information to say about her, Ezequiel asks me.

- Obviously. »

But not giving the famous "relevant information", I ask him to go there. Before stepping out the door, I see the canvas lost on the ground in the rubble of the house. I turn around and tear the painting from the frame. I roll up the work and slide it away from the weather. I take a deep breath as I leave the house, temporarily forgetting what happened in this place.

It's time to go home with Ezequiel...