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Hallia Yellir: Seas of Consciousness

Hallia Yellir

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She could feel them — the alien thoughts worming their way into her mind. Every passing second felt like an eternity whizzing by, and gradually, she could feel her sense of self drifting. Being torn apart and worn down into nothing but concepts and ideas, and then eventually it was like there was little more than a vacuum to fill the space. 


An image flashed and then vanished from sight. It was checkered flannel.


She could feel it in her hand, the soft fibres brushing and then gliding against her skin. The gentle weave massaged the gaps between her fingers as she could feel her hand balling up the fabric. But everything else felt numb. The touch was so familiar to her, and her mind gravitated towards it. Until a muddy image filled her vision. 


He was staring back at her. She recognized that form, pale skin, a long neck, but everything else seemed… strangely out of focus, but his mouth was moving, he was wearing that same checkered flannel. Ragged and torn, holes and missing buttons ran across the garment. Red and black tones overlapped and behind him, everything else melted together. Colours, images and sounds all bled into one another, ever so slowly forming the whole picture. Neon lights contrasted the dim backdrops, empty tables scattered around the pair as some kind of music seemed to practically suffocate the two. 


The bass thrummed deeply into the woman’s chest as if it were thunder and her eyes darted around the seemingly empty room just to make sense of it all. 


‘This wasn’t where I was a second ago…’ 


She watched as he mouthed the word “Mirrin” repeatedly.


Even the woman’s own voice seemed alien to her. But that wasn’t simply a word, the meaning it carried, the ease of which she resonated with the phrase seemed almost otherworldly.


‘Is that my name?’


But everything about this memory seemed so painfully familiar, as Mirrin read the man’s lips. It was like she could understand everything that was being said. But there was an itching feeling—  that she knew this wasn’t real.


And there it was— that influence Mirrin could feel, taking root deeply into this thought, this moment and these feelings. There was a deep discomfort, like ice-cold water dripping down your shirt.  


The image began to shift and distort, blurs and blank spots formed like little tears and imperfections in the image. Colours began to seep out of the world, and the echoes of the heavy bass grew softer and softer until there was nothing left. Suddenly, it all went dark— there was nothing but a void, nothing more than an absolute vacuum.


Mirrin’s eyes cracked open, wincing at the artificial light filling this chamber made from stone. A hand pulled away from her face, she felt a release of pressure most notably around her nose and temple. A form with pointed ears and a slightly unkempt bowl cut unveiled itself as her eyes adjusted to the sudden intense lighting. The floor beneath her suddenly felt solid, and cold sensations on her bare legs, mixed with the warmth of heavy cloth was relieving.


“Are you all right?” The man spoke. His voice was monotonous 


The wave of exhaustion washed over Mirrin and her eyelids grew heavier and heavier. She didn't know where she was or who was in front of her. Words passed in one ear and out the other, nothing seemed to make sense.

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