On my end, I was largely in the dark about the nature of the beast. Though I knew we were looking at a heightened level of activity globally, nobody at Menagerie had ever spoken with me about The Veil Model. I was mostly taught to view it our study as a form of natural science, which was a fair enough thing to teach a beginner. But I was in semi-regular contact with Viola at this point who was a premiere expert on the Veil and did not mind introducing me to more advanced concepts. Even she was caught off guard by the manifestations we were encountering. Her specialty had been very ancient beings - with a heavy emphasis on the folklore. Folklore was the basis of a lot of our research as well, for the record. We had no problem recording new instances, but any presentation of an entirely new or unprecedented creature was a very rare thing. (We had reason to believe that even interplane beings have evolutionary timelines on similar scales of Earth. More on that later.)
There was a lot of confusion on whether we were actually encountering new creations or whether we were just getting better at detecting the old ones. Just that winter, we'd had a lot of new network architecture installed and scraped additional funding to replace the older machinery. Besides that, it just seemed impossible for new species to actually to be developing at the rate they were. They kept throwing around the term “invasive species” very unhappily. Everyone was very anxious.* This was also when I began speaking to Xavier most hours of the day, every day. He was in a particularly bad way back then and I felt some semblance of control being able to help him out and to gather intel from COBRA’s people. At that point, I think I was the closest connect any of us had to COBRA and kept it close to my chest. I liked the sneaky link. In retrospect, I don't know how much any of our conversations were tactically or emotionally useful to Xavier on any level or whether he was just humoring me, but it helped me greatly to prepare for the work ahead.
None of this is to say I knew what I was getting into. Obviously, that's not the case. The cosmological picture I had developed was only about 25% complete when I first set out to meet Lola. To this day I am unsure exactly how much Menagerie was aware of what was happening around us – all of that would’ve been hugely above my clearance – but my instinct says that if they had known, they wouldn’t have been so careless as to send me.
*What it means for member of Menagerie to be “anxious” is pretty interesting. There's a lot I'd like to write about this in the future and there are a lot of little idiosyncrasies that I'm sure will bleed into this work. I think some background about what it's like to operate within Menagerie might be helpful to understand the early days of this project, as well as some of the choices I've made throughout it. But to make a long story short, they wouldn’t want me to say “anxious”. What I should really say is “paranoid” and “schizophrenic”. That's more up their alley.
Dios te salve. Deus nos salvet.
Sickness had brought us to one another, twice. The first time strikes me as a particularly dangerous thing to speak of – easily weaponized. But I’ve carried that unique humiliation for so long I don’t think I can feel the weight of it anymore. I’ll say now that what was good about it then is good about it now. We knew to look out and look after. The hospital had left me in a constant state of vigilance. My own sentimentality had left it acutely attuned to her.
I still wasn’t been prepared to see her go from healthy to dying in the span of one week.
That had been the first breach, the first real contact in some months. I had caught her by the back gate, leading out onto the track field. We were in the building’s shade. It was a cold day in the summer but the sun shone eerily bright. Her skin was freezing too. It shocked me a little to see how fine she looked, knowing what was happening inside her. She did not seem to be nearing death. Still, I warned her. I let her know that *I* knew. I told her that she had really ought to do something about it before it was too late.
I think she laughed at me. My hand had been on her wrist and I’d tilted it up to see the black grooves forming within her fingertips. She could not see them, nor could anybody else. My face burned – though I knew it was real, this was a time wherein I was particularly insecure about my own sanity. She was the only person in the world who knew what I was seeing. We had shared the visions, sometimes. Her sight was best by the ocean or in bathtubs – elsewhere it was muddled. There was water inside her body and I thought this might clarify some things. She shook me off, thanked me for the concern – genuinely – but told me that she felt fine. That I shouldn’t worry about her.
“Don’t you worry about me?” I asked. I wasn’t being cute or cutting. I had meant it. It was what we had done for each other, what we were trained to do in our most sensitive years. She should’ve just told me not to breathe.
It didn’t matter. By the end of the week, she had come back. She was coming over regularly, throwing up in my bathroom, letting me play doctor with her. I wasn’t entirely useless, but we both knew that this thing was beyond medicine. Still, we(?) did not know exactly what this thing was. It was a unique dark spot in my vision, yet I could see it forming inside her. It had started in her stomach and made it into a pool. It fucking terrified me.
The aura that Lola was emitting at this point was only a fraction of what it would come to be, but it was enough to severely knock me off balance. I’ve been asked a lot whether I had noticed or documented any changes in the partition and my answer is Yes except I was so freaked out by the situation that I was also actively hallucinating a lot too and I don’t know how much of what I saw was real. I do remember seeing a lot more fairies than usual and a huge number of shadows – though as usual with shadows they are so nondescript that I couldn’t tell you if they were neoanima at all.
What I did see a lot of was Baikal, which was also scary as fuck. Lola had told me about him a lot when we were little, because he was a bit more involved when she was a child. But I had never actually seen him before that summer. I was lucky enough that he did not try to speak to me, but seeing him at the end of hallways or in the tree line honestly fucked with me worse than almost any other vision I’d seen. From what Lola’s told me, he also wasn’t speaking much with her at this point either. I guess he might’ve known what was coming and didn’t want it to be more painful than it had to be. I don’t know – Lola can tell it better than me.
By my count, it took about a month from the time she’d first gotten sick for the rego animus to take hold. It was gradual, in the sense that she was getting closer to death each day. It was also immediate, requiring that first immediate sacrifice that let that old god crack her skull open.
We’ll get to that.
To understand this story, you will need to have learned what I learned. Nothing about this is easy. Nothing about it is anya̶͎̹͒͌̈̋͌̒̑͒̂̀̂̐̓̿̇͠n̸̺͔̦̦̲̙̫͙͈̝͎̏̒͆̚ͅÿ̴̛̟͚͙̝̻̱̜̗̠̮̱ ̶̺̭̟̟̹̦̩̝͖̘̟̘͗̓̍̉̂͋́̋͊̾̾̾̀͝g̸̡̱͓̰̠͠ō̷̻̜̟̻̞͈̗̝͕̱͔̦̘̼̳̂͂̎̐̎̇̏͛͒̂͊̓̃̌̕͠ơ̵̧̲͕̗̫̪̊̽̒͋̀̉̐͌͌̋̆̈́̇̀d̴̫̪̯̲̠͙͚̺͖͋̀̽̆̇̒̾̎͛́͘̚̕͝͝.. There is no choice but to know.
The first thing I was forced to learn was that I was my body. I had been happy to imagine myself as the disembodied, ephemeral s̴̡͖̝̰͍̫̝̺̱̲̲̞͓̲͓͈̦̭̯̉p̵̯͙̮͇͚̳̀͊̍̆̈̎̄̄́̕͝i̸̛̠̺̜͔̮̲̦̟̗͚͍̩͚̝͚̱̠̹̣̳̦̮̗̓̂̓ͅŗ̵̨̧̛̤͍͇̻̦̪͔̻̲͍͇͚̗͔̥̪̣̺̳͖̙̦̪̘̈́̒͌̀͒̋͝ͅį̵̡̛̭̦̞͔̀̎͒̆̃̎̓̚t̸̯͐̔͆̒̈́̐̉͠͝͝͝͝ like the kind I had seen in my dreams. To have a body disturbed me - to be a body was worse. I could never escape it, still. Increasingly I thought bodily - acted bodily. Since I was a child I have felt that weightiness and viscera. It is a constant spatial awareness. Did I hate my body? No more than I hated myself. No, what I hated was the problem that the body presented for me. My propensity for violence and self-injury were in large an expression of the terror I felt to p̸̢̛̻̮͕͓̪͉̳͇̲̺̳̫̪̈́̉̍̔͆́̈́̈̈́͐̊̎̀͆͗́̿̽̉̇̄̾͘̕̚͠͝͝ǫ̸̛͖̯͔͉͕̟̤͕̰̼͔̰͚̝̩̩̤̣̤̟̞͔͗͌̇͗̈͊̐̍͒̈̏͐͘͜͝s̸̨̺̫̥̗͈̩̯͙̪̝̾̽̓̋͋̿̾̀̊͆̈́͝͝͠s̷̢̛͓̜͚̦̬̜͉̠̪̟̘̮̼͙͖͔̦̠̩̼̟̮͚̪̽̉̐̅́͐̌̅̊̕͜ͅȩ̴̛̖̗̥̿̾̎̌̀͆̐͌͐̽̈͌̔̏̆̅̏̋̌̎̚͝͝͝͝s̶̨̼͇̙̯̠̙̐ş̸̢̛̛̤̠̮̭̘͙̹͕̦̍̉̀̍̔̏̆̉͋̎̄̈́̀͗͜ it. The terror I felt to possess it was nothing compared to the t̴̖̱̬̥͍͕̣̬̫͚̽̂̄̽̿̂̒̊̾͊͒̆͛͑͂̌̽͌̏̓̕̚͠͠ȅ̶̡̧̛͕̲̟̘̬̫̮͔̜̠̲̦͍̽̉̎̎̅̿̄̋̄͐̂̓̏͛̕͘̚̕͘͝͝ͅͅr̸̢̞͍͖͇̹̺̯̬̮̭͔̝͓̭̪̄́́̔͌̀̿̊͑͑͑͛͋́̽̏͒͂̋͆̇̚͠ȑ̶̨̮̥͎̗̖̼̹̩̱͍̠̙̱͕̟̥̗̫͜ͅo̵̱͖̗̟̙̳͎̣̙͔̬͓̯̪̻̠̞̖̝̖̍͋́̊̀̿̉̌̿͊̉̈̃̈́̔̄̈̚͝͠͝͠ͅr̴̢̛̛̳̖̣̮͕̲̱͔͈͙̪̲̦̺̬̠̹̓̃͛̅͆̂̿̈́̔́̐́̈́̍̚͜ I felt to be it - and then realize there was no ce̵̔͜ṡ̶̮̙̰̋̈̓͑̀̊̈͛͛͋́̂̄̽̊͆͌̕̚͝͝c̵̡̺̻̝͕͔̪̲̭͉͍̩̫̥̩̞͚͇̳͒̍͂̌̈̔̈́̌̽́̕͜ͅͅa̶̢̧̛̛̝̬͇̙̻͕̪͖̙̺̭̜̪̬͕̿͊́͋̐̅́̀̎̊́̿̏̈́͝p̵̰̃̊̏̔̒̓̐̈́̍̈́̀͆̎͐͆̔͂̑͘̚͠ë̸̡̖͓̱̖̜̹̜̭͇̄̿̆̈́͐͂͑͐́͂̆̀́̃̐̾̕͠.ape. In this way, the terror of having a body had become the terror to exist at all. This generalized my fear and spread it thin across the world. I stopped biting myself.
The second truth was that my body was not my own. That’s a fresh wound. Maybe I should have seen it coming. Baikal had always told me I had a great destiny in front of me - a dire purpose. He had left out much of the details. I didn’t know what was coming for me until it happened. T̸̢͙͎̪̹̮̖̣̠̎̑̑̓́͌͗̎̽̈͑̀̍͂̓̕͠h̴̟̙̠̝̠̦͓̍̅̓̂̅̐̅̐͊̊̈́̔͋̀̚͠e̶̛̪̼̱̦͆̓̂̉̓͗͂̃̌̆́͂̀͘͘͘͝͝͝͝ͅr̴̡̢͔̗̜̞̬̺̞̺̣̖̳͍̩̣̥̩̳͒͊͆̍̂̏̉̒͗̓͌͌̕͜͜͜ȩ̶̢̧̛͈̮̦̰̺̫̱̥͓͍̲͕̝̝̤̼̬͖͚͈̟̺͙̌̒̆̀͌̑̃͌̀̏̽̎͑͜͜͝͝ ̷̨͎͎͓̘͚̞̗̲͕̜̤̙̣̀͜å̵̲̺͚̻̭̩̩͚̩͙͇̲̀̀̋̀́̒̃ŕ̷͕̽͌̀̄̌̃̉̈́̊̄̕ȩ̸͔̟͖̬̦̙̗͛̀͂̓͐̑̾̽̎̓͆̓͑̆̀͛̾̕͠͝ ̶̨̡̢̧͔͕̩̤͍̐̎̑̈͂͒̅̈́́̍̂͌͝͠ͅn̵̢̢̢̠̗͉̦̙̪͚͚̫̱̘̺͇͆̍̑̑͑͛̀̇͊͌͜͝ǫ̷̱̫̝̮̯̫̮̜͍̭̘̫̝̰͇̼̲͉̩̻̮̑̓̇̿̋̿̐͐̀̆̓̈́̔̓̔̾͘ͅ ͎̯̠̐̆̍̐̆͗͊̉͆̓͠ͅẅ̶̳̺̞̻͖̰͖̪̹̦̟̳̬̦̖́̓̄̊̂̂́̍͜͠͝ḁ̶̛̎̄̋͌̀́͆̒̉̃͂̾͊̊͌̾̑̏̚͘̚͠ṭ̵̄̏̔̂̒́̆̽̎͘e̵̢̲͖̱̱̜̯̬͉̲̖͔͙͐̽̾̿͒͋̉̂͛́͂̊͋̄̅͘̕͝r̴̹͎̗͚͖͙͓͇͍̼͎̠̔͑̂̽̈̑́́̉̎̆̈́̃͗̚.̷̡̛͚̮͖̣̻̻̎͋́̐͑̂̆̋̽͂͐̈́̽͝͝ͅ
But when it washed over me, all that terror was replaced with hard fought conviction. Every cell in my body found itself endued with purpose. My body wanted it and because I am my body I wanted it too and there was no room for fear. What stays is the dread - the dawning horror. I fear that what is left of me is only a whine, a last gurgle before drowning completely. Would I ever have wanted this?
Another dawning fear is that they have already gotten the best of me. This is not a fear, is it? My loved ones have known me for the last time. The untouched me, the secular body - it will never grow old. She will be a child forever in their memories.
Then again, maybe the body was never mine at all. Has there always been this darkness inside of me, from birth or earlier? I behold my own face in the mirror and it tells me: Something bad has happened. Something is wrong. Some small thing has changed and now everything will be different.
They’re afraid of me. They feel towards me now the way I have always felt about myself.