Halfway

Somethings pressing against my lips, a soft hand lifting my head upwards whilst tilting me back, it smells... I'm not certain, it's somewhat sharp, but my head just can't seem to follow, the surroundings all around me are blurring, stretching closer towards some creeping darkness about to swallow anything within sight. Whatever's carrying that scent pools at the edge of my lips, flowing down my tongue, traveling down my throat accompanying an unexpected chill, freezing this infernal fire into nothing but prickling cinders poking, prodding against my flesh, my gaze becoming gradually flooded by yet another strange shapeless fog stifling these intense senses, burrowing them far down... down... below, somewhere.

How much time has passed now? All I can feel myself doing is shortly waking in between bouts of sweet dreamless sleep, these deep wood-like colors combed with this thick obscuring haze, whisking away recognizable details leaving it all looking like a soaked oil painting... oil, it was what was supposed to run if it was splashed by water... right? It's somehow hard to think, to recollect things I've read so long ago. Every time I seem to wake I spot one or two moving shapes keeping watch over me, the abundant chestnut undoubtedly being Mary, and the bright blonde flare being James, but I can't help but notice the arrival of someone else, someone encased in a nocturnal shade standing head to head with James... or at least I think it is, how many more times must I sleep before it clears up? Before... before I can make sense o...

A deep enveloping obsidian, giving spring to something in front, a dim flame flickering somewhere within this damp murky void, my hands and knees grasping against unseen stone overflown with a cold insidious stream. Another vision? Where am I? And why does it seem so familiar? That dying light in front, should I approach it? Find whatever path it leads down? But couldn't it be dangerous, what if I... no, I should, I need to make sense of everything, maybe then I'll be able to understand what happened to Harry... And my place within this brutal torrents of events since I passed beyond that door.

All my limbs feel numb, doubt I can sense much difference whether the grounds are rugged or smooth, every step I take just leaves the sense of prickling pressure against my sole which lingers as I lift them to progress through this almost sightless depth, broadening around me, completing a suffocating emptiness with no clear end but that distant fading flame. There's a strange pungent odor in the air, pressing up my nose, filling my head with its prickling pores. My right hand's brushing against something to the side, had I just been fumbling around for something till now? Without even noticing... this surface, it is somewhat soft yet more prickly than the rest of my shrouded surroundings, I'm slowly but surely closing in on that ushering beacon, will I find anything? Or perhaps nothing at all? A mess, this is all just a mess... just when did it start falling apart? Just when did my entire world fall into such chilling uncertainty? When...

It's a lamp, tilted down to the side against a moist wooden tile from the looks of it, one small stubborn fire refusing to let go, even when it has all tumbled over, if I straighten it out maybe it'll burn bright enough to illuminate what awaits in front? It's worth a try, it doesn't matter when I wake from this, all that matters is that I keep going, finding whatever I can. A flicker, then a blush of light, evening out this decaying path in front. Soft tiles and beams spotted with mold, spreading from somewhere in front beyond the grasp of my current light, it can not be, but still, if it is I need to carry on, just a few more meters ahead if this is what I think it is then it should show within the next few steps.

There it is, that black heavy door that has shielded me from the outside, the warning that has left me still with worries and empty dread, the one which held my known world for oh so long, and there, down that sidepath... the carcass of a king slowly merging with its dim surroundings, breaking down, piece by piece. The numbness, I can feel it fading, giving way to that stabbing warmth spreading like a web of pain, tearing at my flesh, yet... that pain's paling against that crushing claw squeezing my heart, stabbing into it with its very talons, claw after claw, shredding my insides with the pain of grief and longing.

I... I have to enter, maybe he left something here before he came to Cranberry, some clue, a message, some sort of explanation? If he'd leave it anywhere it would be at the place I've called home for the longest time, the rooms just there, all I need is to press down on the handle, and I... Where is it? Where did it go? It was just here a moment ago, oh... this submerged feeling, that pull dragging me through the earth, tearing this feeble reality into nothingness. I must be waking again.

It is shaping before me, that brown ceiling, that half-closed window at my side carrying that calming scent of herbs and woodwork. There are noises from beyond the half-light shining through those clean white curtains, sounds of sudden taps left by shoes, voices speaking in quick overwriting unison, in addition to laughter and cries spawned from both surprise and excitement reaching a crescendo of liveliness, soothing the pain harboring my left side. Soft, warm, inviting, there's a hand resting on my forehead, it feels like neither James, Mary, or Able, and it's not old and wrinkled like Arthur's, just who?

"There we go, how's it feeling? A nod or blink if you feel better, if not just remain like this and I'll see what I can do." Such a soft caring flow, gentle like the breeze rustling the curtains, the owner a lady dawning robust cyan robes with smooth red hair springing like a satin river from her head, eyes like a bright blue sky gazing at me with nothing but kind warmth, I should nod.