Sofia watched the world lose its shape like paint running down a canvas.
The very concept of space unraveled, and all that remained were overlapping colors, forming a single painting of reality.
Her body seemed to flicker, existing one moment and fading the next. Fingers stuck together, palms sinking into her own flesh.
She searched for logic within herself, but found herself melting like wax. Her body was being reduced to a puddle in a rosy lake.
Her breathing, smell, and hearing ceased, reducing her to a creature of pure sight and touch. Two eyeballs floated in the current of paint, carried along by the stream of emotions.
The distinction between the world and the individual, the barrier of reality, was shattered.
Everything was within her reach and, as a consequence, every sensation clung to her skin like wet paint that refused to dry.
Bliss.
Her heart blossomed with pure spiraling pleasure. In art, there is no end or beginning: only transformation. Everything always was, and always will be.
She was born, grew, and died.
An ancient tree, a fleeting butterfly, a child in love with stories, a youth born under a solar eclipse, a spawn of dreams.
A new body, a new form emerged from the warm paint, bright as a flame.
Creativity shaped her, giving meaning to her thoughts and instincts. Her lungs tasted air for the first time, her heart beating like a drum.
The flame burned for decades, resisting powerful winds, adapting, consuming the candle's wick.
But in the end, it always went out.
A starving child stared at the sky, unable to move, and whispered: Did I do something wrong?
She never got back up.
A man condemned to lose everything he ever loved sat on a lonely throne, his hollow title hiding the truth: inside, he was already dead.
An old woman moved through endless waters, watching her life regress into nonexistence, all to fulfill her final purpose.
That was life.
Her perspective shifted again.
She was the eagle hunting frightened prey.
Talons pierced soft hide, spilling blood onto white fur. She smiled, savoring the thrill of victory.
She was the rabbit fleeing the ravenous bird.
Her body was torn apart, her throat drowned in blood by the same talons she had worn before. She screamed, writhing in agony.
The flesh sliding down her throat was being torn from her own muscles. She was the meal, she was the glutton.
Again… again and again.
Because in the world of imagination, there are no endings, only new beginnings.
Her eyes closed, never to open again…
And there, she found a golden flame. From its light, echoed laughter, adults and children murmured, celebrating.
Just another flame that would go out.
The years peeled away, and the wick was consumed down to the very last centimeter.
But the flame did not wane.
Snowstorms that threatened to freeze the world came and went.
The earth cracked, the river dried beneath the punishing gaze of a blazing star.
But the flame did not wane.
Seasons turned, and the laughter grew quieter, scattered.
The altar that held the candle cracked, and the woman who tended it left, never to return.
But the flame did not wane.
There was no more laughter, only light…
It was real.
Someone opened their eyes, regaining a thread of consciousness.
'I… need… to get out.'
But there was no exit or entrance in that place. Her existence tried to reach the edge of the sea of paint, only to return to where it began. If nothing was done, she would remain there forever, until she dissolved completely.
Would that truly be her end?
Things couldn't end like this.
They wouldn't end like this.
Deep within her soul, something activated. The ink around her bubbled, refusing to bend into something real, but her power was stronger, deeper.
Fingers manifested, floating in the infinite flow of paint, holding a simple brush.
The fingers drew a person they knew very well. Her hair, her arms and legs, her torso, and her face.
She was cowardly, sometimes contradictory, and maybe a little immature. And, often, she was harsher on herself than anyone around her.
She loved art and, now and then, ended up breaking her diet for popcorn or a hot chocolate.
Because of her nightmares, she spent many late nights awake, watching shows and cartoons in silence, hiding from her parents, because she knew they wouldn't approve.
Even when she was sad and unmotivated, she rarely let it show, afraid of disappointing others. Because their expectations mattered more than her well-being.
Shapes connected, and layered colors gave life… a real form to that person.
At the bottom of that sea of paint, Sofia opened her eyes.
'That girl… It's me.'
Her consciousness exploded, flooded with memories and intentions that had been stolen from her. The infinite flow of imagination turned turbulent, trying to drown her, to erase everything real, everything that still escaped the whole.
But she refused to yield a second time. Her Aspect awakened at full power, tearing through the colors and compressing her creativity into a finite limit.
Sofia didn't need infinite possibilities or sweet lies. Her gaze scoured the flow, searching for its secret, its mechanism… something unique, unchanging.
Before, using her ability had felt like drowning in another layer of reality. But this experience was like a switch flipping in her brain.
She feared drowning, and so she struggled, afraid of the truths she was forced to witness. But Sofia had drowned in something far worse… and survived.
'Where are you…?'
Her search for an exit met resistance at every turn. Sofia was in a tropical forest, lost, with no sense of direction.
'Not anymore…'
The forest changed, opening paths and dirt roads that would guide the young woman to her destination.
She took her first step.
The forest transformed into the corridors of a familiar academy. No matter how far she walked, it seemed impossible to reach the end.
'I remember where I wanted to go…'
The corridor shifted, no longer a straight line, curving to the right. There, Sofia found a bench and a vending machine, packed with drinks.
A boy drank coffee alone. His expression was obscured by darkness.
Scene after scene, Sofia forced her way forward, drawing an exit where none should exist.
She refused to be a slave to her own imagination.
'Finally!'
Her hands reached the sea's threshold, and her body reached what lay beyond.
White.
Devoid of color and form, it felt like just another prison, only wearing a different face.
A Realm with no author.
But Sofia had seen many blank pages in her life… and learned, firsthand, what they were for.
With her fingers, she sketched shapes and angles, forming a wide, luxurious bedroom.
From the green and gray furniture, to the large, comfortable bed, the vast balcony just beyond… and a painting made by the most talented of artists.
Sofia drew her reality, seeing herself right beside it.
In an instant, the memory broke apart into golden particles.
"Argh…"
Returning to the physical world felt like thermal shock.
Hearing, smelling, breathing, Sofia was a living being of flesh, not a bundle of colors and scribbles. To her, the entire experience had felt like days, weeks, months… perhaps many lives.
Yet here, in reality, only a few minutes had passed. Sofia tried to stand, but faltered, trembling.
Her body was sensitive and exhausted, to the point where all she wanted was to sleep. On top of that, drool ran from her mouth, dripping down her chin.
Even so, she forced herself to sit on the mattress and summon the [Dusty Diary]. Warning Giovanni about the danger of that memory was extremely important because she had experienced firsthand how powerful it was.
Then she noticed something strange. At some point during the trance, she had undressed.
When she summoned the dagger to carve words, she felt her sticky fingers clinging to the handle.
"Gross…"
She ignored the discomfort and wrote as fast as she could on the page.
"D-O, N-O-T, U-S-E, M-E-M-O-R-Y, D-R-U-G-S"
***
Through the corridors of an enormous manor, massive knights, armored in glamorous garments, marched mechanically, repeating an endless patrol that had long since lost its meaning.
Their helmets mimicked the imposing horns of a dragon, and the plates of their armor were like prismatic scales.
In their hands, they were usually armed with spears or pearlescent swords, forged by master craftsmen.
Equipped with the finest gear, each of them was a deadly opponent even to the most experienced sleeper.
One of these corrupted knights wandered the highest floor of Tidelord's Manor, searching for intruders… for fresh prey.
And there, he came across a peculiar figure. Small and seemingly harmless, a human walked toward him.
Covered in rags and wearing a pale, translucent dress, she carried a thurible in one hand and an insectoid head in the other.
The knight's sword was raised, ready for battle.
The air grew heavy with murderous intent.
But then, the tool was lit. A cloud rapidly expanded from within it, flooding the corridor with a tide of warped hues.
The maddened consciousness of the nightmare creature sank into a feeling it had forgotten…
Bliss.
Sofia, on the other hand, kept walking unhurriedly toward the monster.
Her unfocused eyes resisted the powerful effect, keeping her Aspect active at all times, using the secrets and true shape of the environment as an anchor.
When she got close enough, she braced herself and swung the thurible with all the strength she could gather in her muscles.
The lit tool collided with the knight's leg, shattering his armor and knee, knocking him down, completely inert.
A second strike followed, this time from above, aimed at his head… and then, everything went dark.
[You have slain an Awakened Monster, Tidelord Manor's Royal Guard.]