After Life: Sara & Padma's Journey After Departure

She's my daughter, not yours.

SARA:

As I pressed my palm against the ground, a peculiar sensation surged through me. It was an uncanny familiarity—a resonance with the energies sustaining these bodies. It mirrored my own. The notion of absorbing this energy hadn't crossed my mind before, but it seemed the only way to halt my daughter's reckless rampage.

 It was worth a try. Closing my eyes, I focused on the network of energies, with Padma at its core. Connecting to this web was crucial to siphon off these energies. Drawing a deep breath, I concentrated harder. The connection solidified—a torrent of potent, dark energy coursed through me. It was intoxicatingly fresh and potent, engulfing me in a consuming darkness. Surprisingly, there was an odd allure to it.

 As I absorbed this energy, my pulse quickened. It was an overwhelming rush, an intoxicating sensation that surged through me, heightening my senses. It was an inexplicable, almost addictive experience. The animated bodies collapsed to the ground, lifeless. Padma's voice echoed in panic, demanding answers. But I persisted, drawing in the energies relentlessly. "Stop this!" she cried out, dropping to her knees. 

 A transformation began within me. My hands darkened, fingers turning an ominous black. Veins, equally dark, snaked their way from my fingertips, creeping up my arms and body. Tremors wracked me, my eyes rolling upward as I felt myself slipping away. Consciousness persisted, but my connection to my physical form seemed tenuous.

 Darkness encroached, enveloping everything. I focused on regulating my breath, attempting to steady my thundering heart. For several moments, I lay there, engulfed in a blanket of silence, devoid of sensation or sound. My breath steadied, and I cautiously opened my eyes. My hand—dark, its fingers cloaked in a murky hue—met my gaze. 

The change was stark; my arms appeared as if coated in a light charcoal powder, a shadowy tone enveloping them. Surveying Padma, sprawled on the ground, I summoned the strength to rise. Every movement felt unfamiliar, as if relearning the act of walking. My knees wavered, collapsing beneath me, returning me to a prone position. On all fours, I inched toward my daughter, uttering gentle words.

 "Hey, baby," I called out, reaching for her unmoving form. Cradling her in my lap, I urged her face toward mine, hoping for a response, but her eyes remained closed. I gently tapped her cheeks, urging her to look at me. 

"Padma, please, look at me," I pleaded, tears beginning to cloud my vision. The chaos around us weighed heavily on my heart. 

"Padma, please wake up," my voice cracked with emotion. I checked for her pulse, relief washing over me as I felt her heartbeat. She stirred, groaning softly. 

"Padma," I called out, my voice trembling. Her eyes fluttered open, and I felt a surge of hope. As she gazed at me, a flicker of fear crossed her expression. 

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" I asked, trying to reassure her. But to my surprise, she recoiled, moving away as if frightened. 

"I'm your mother, Padma," I reminded her, concern etched in my voice. 

"What's happened to you?" she questioned, her tone filled with alarm. 

"Look at yourself," she urged me. I slowly stood up, feeling the weight of my new reality. My clothes had transformed into a charred black, clinging to my body like the remnants of a fire. My hair, usually in a ponytail, now hung loosely around my shoulders. Padma approached me, a piece of mirror in her hands. 

As I glimpsed at my reflection, a gasp escaped my lips. My eyes, once familiar, were now surrounded by an ethereal darkness, resembling a smoky, gothic makeup style. The rest of my face retained its original complexion, fortunate that the transformation had spared my skin. I resembled an artist's masterpiece, as if I had used my entire body to create a charcoal art canvas.