Death is immortality.
Death is your second chance.
Velian Terrashine belongs to a classless society of equality, art and democracy; a land full of creativity and mindfulness. It is in that perfect political system that one wrong movement, one carele...
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COUNTLESS DAYS had passed since my triumphant entrance in that merciless, dark prison that was named Hell. I didn't know if two full weeks had passed since my first Red Day here, but my heartbeat didn't change its usual rhythm every time someone other than Ian came into our room, and that was a blessing. Nothing had drastically changed. Every day was a Red Day except for two days every week that we could finally rest. Ian was still here with me, rumbling about how much he hated this place, but how much he'd also hated his life before Hell. For some reason, he would always be the one talking the most, and I'd repeatedly assured him that I was more than okay with that.
I wasn't much of a talker, he must have figured that out by now, but that hadn't made him stop. Every story he'd recounted had had me either bursting out laughing or crying myself to sleep. There was not in between. As for me, I loved and hated his company at the same time. He would never question my decisions, devalue the way I was feeling or restrain my actions. He'd never been curious about my plan either---the one I'd been slowly mapping out every night before sleep. He would willingly share with me his knowledge about this world, offering me much needed and highly appreciated information. There was not a room we hadn't visited, not a person we hadn't started a conversation with.
But there had also been times when he'd lost his temperature and dove into a bottomless well of fears and terrors. Sometimes he would cry and then he would constantly talk about how pointless and meaningless everything was, while other times he would hurt himself. Every time the last had happened over that past week, Vanensera had never abandoned his side until she'd made sure that Ian's breathing pattern was steady and his wounds bandaged.
On the other side, I'd been constantly lecturing him about the way he was being irrational, allowing his mind to create monsters that could swallow him alive. Or even more well-said dead.
He was unpredictable. One day Vanensera would be his favorite person and then his enemy, depending on his mood and the way she would talk to him.
As far as I was concerned, I couldn't always be there for him. Sometimes the pain and misery he carried, outnumbered my will to try to make him think straight, to bring him back into the existing moment. I wasn't his savior, his lifeline. I had a mission here.
Everyone was dressed in misery, painted in the darkest shades of the darkest colors. I didn't want their darkness to cover me too. Maybe I was being selfish, but at least I was sane. For now. I'd managed to keep myself busy almost every minute of the day either by exploring the place, looking for signs, mingling with new people or trying to get myself back into shape.
There was always one thought lingering in the back of my mind. A thought that was enough to make me want to hold onto the last remaining piece of hope that existed in me.
Denfer had made it.
Denfer had lived here. Denfer had been tortured here. But he had survived. And he wasn't like Ian or Vanensera. He was kind and giving and confident and open-hearted. Not a mystery, not a riddle. Despite everything he'd been through, he seemed untouched. Yes, he still had bad days. Yes, his room had no windows, maybe as a reminder of his experiences in that place. Yes, he missed his brother. But he was still willing to hold on to his people, to himself, to his kingdom, to his values, to his hopes---to me.
