"Me?" I pointed to myself, acting dumb.
In the back of my head, I had an idea as to what she was pertaining to. More on the fact, she'd been insisting on it since I woke up. "What did I do?"
It's easier to act dumb than to act smart...
Hmmm...
It might probably be because I'm dumb.
"The dimension you went through was what we call a Pocket, or a Fold."
She reached for a linen napkin, shaking it out before spreading it flat across her lap. She smoothed the fabric with her palm with her eyes never leaving mine. "Think of reality like this. A flat, ironed sheet."
She reached down and nipped the center of the cloth, pulling it upward into a sharp, narrow peak. "A Fold is like this. From a distance, the sheet still looks smooth, but there is an entire space hidden inside that 'pinch.' A crease in existence."
Her gaze sharpened as she held the fabric taut. "It is a pocket of 'Nowhere,' where the laws of the Triumvirate are thinned to the point of breaking. Normally, if a Continuant or Dissent enters a Fold, they unravel." She released the cloth, letting it collapse into a messy heap on her knee. "The soul cannot sustain itself in a place where reality is tucked away."
Come to think of it, despite everything, I'd been extremely lucky. I still didn't know why I was here or what my purpose was, but I'd take whatever shit I'd get.
My soul likely carried a unique—Characteristic? Quirk? Property? Something along those lines, or at least one fundamentally different from anything in this world. It was the only explanation. I probably stood out like a neon light in a blackout.
Could it be that my soul simply hasn't assimilated with this reality yet? I mean, what is this place, anyway? How come it's reality from a video game? Is it a parallel world, or some corner of a vast multiverse?
Or are souls born on different worlds just inherently different? Hold on... what even is a soul anyway? What if, other than my soul, my memories were the only things that transferred?
"And somehow," She said, her voice dropping to a haunting whisper, "Why are you there?"
Hold on... This shit feels familiar.
"I simply don't buy it." Her gaze sharpened.
She assessed me from head to toe, looking for holes.
It was completely unnecessary. The weight of her gaze was enough to make an innocent person confess to murder. Under that icy stare, my clothes suddenly felt too tight, and the sudden urge to fidget became a physical ache. She was digging for a crack in my armor, and honestly...
"We just happened to be passing by," I said calmly. "Looking for a place to rest."
Her gaze never left me.
Well. This is bad. Beyond bad.
Wait. Is there blood feud between the Belmont family and the Church? From what I remember, there isn't.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, she pulled out a stack of papers from beside her and began skimming through them. "Mediocre. Mediocre. Mediocre... and mediocre. Mediocre was generous itself."
"I don't really know what to say when I don't have any clue what you—"
I didn't see the movement, only the glint. Suddenly, the cold tip of a blade was pressed firmly against my chin. I held my breath as the metal stung my skin.
I froze.
My eyes slowly fell to her open chest. I could see everything clearly. The top of her bosom was in full view, and if it dipped any lower, she'd be completely exposed. Her skin looked smooth, soft, and flawless.
I snapped my eyes up, quickly averting my gaze.
Even on the verge of getting myself killed, I just couldn't help but meet her eyes.
She didn't stand. She simply leaned forward with her elbow on her crossed knee, the sword dangling from her grip with a terrifying sort of nonchalance. Her gaze locked onto mine. With the movement, her breasts swayed egregiously, forcing me to squeeze my eyes shut.
"How?"
She simply tilted her wrist, the tip of the sword guiding my chin upward until I was forced to look at her. The blade caught the light, a cold sliver of steel waiting for an answer.
Another term that I haven't heard. She's been spouting a lot of random words to me like I know what they mean.
"Uhhhm..."
What do I say...?
"Guess, I—I'm unique??" I gulped, "I really have no clue what you are talking about. Even if you ask me thousand of question. My answer to you will be the same."
"I don't know" I added.
Right now, I have more questions than answers.
The blade's edge was a frozen line against my skin. I could smell the faint, metallic scent of the steel mixed with the floral aroma of her tea. My sweat slid down the metal.
Her gaze narrowed, then finally softened. She exhaled, a long, heavy breath that seemed to drain the lethal stillness from the room.
She retracted her sword in one fluid motion and stood up.
A long, shuddering exhale escaped my lips.
The vibrant green of her hair swaying as she heads toward the glass doors, her dress swayed against the wind.
I stared at her, my mind spinning.
Every single one of them is loosed in the head!
Shit!
It's literally one to one scenario!
Why can't they communicate like a normal fucking person!
Three fucking times this happened!
This is not a coincidence at this point!
Well… unlike the other two, her eyes were hostile.
But there's something behind that doesn't felt threatening for some reason, like there's no malice at all.
My eyes fell to her back, where the light cut through her dress, casting a distinct silhouette. I quickly closed my eyes.
I laid out a few hypotheses about what was actually happening here.
First, I think there's a specific characteristic or a trait—that allows a person to enter that sub-space in the first place. But what about the Saintess? There's a likely chance she possesses it, too. If that's true, then her death must be correlated to it.
Hm...
It wasn't the fact that I entered that forbidden dimension that kept bothering her; it was the question of what I became inside it. To her, the only priority is identifying the breach.
Am I a threat? Has this kid been replaced by something else?
Technically, yes—but way, way before I ever met her. Still, that seemed to be the only worry circling her head. From her tone, she made it sound like a damn Xenomorph had shit an egg inside me and I'd somehow walked away unharmed.
"What's going to happen now?" I asked, my voice echoing slightly in the quiet of the room.
"We will see." Her answer was clipped, maddeningly vague.
"You're going to keep me around until I die, then?" I raised an eyebrow, "Is that the plan?"
"If it led to that, then yes." She didn't turn around fully, but she spared me a glance.
"This is just ridiculous." I huffed, combing a hand back through my hair. "What would my fam—"
The words died in my throat. Our eyes met, locking for a fraction of a second that felt significantly longer.
"Never mind. Yeah, I don't think it really matters whether I'm gone or not." I gave a hollow shrug, a one-shouldered gesture of defeat.
Then, a sudden thought crossed my mind, cutting through the frustration. "Are you going to take me under your wing?"
"Like train you?" She turned fully now, her gaze sweeping over me as if she were waiting for the punchline to a joke that wasn't particularly funny.
"Yes," I insisted. I leaned in. "You're one of the strongest people in this world. I may be lacking," I added, patting my chest with a hollow thud, "in terms of... well, everything. But that doesn't mean I can't learn a thing or two. It doesn't mean I can't get strong."
First things first: I need to gain her trust. I'm not entirely sure what she's looking for in me or what she's trying to figure out. Even if the odds are terrible, I'm going to gamble on it. Logically, the only angle that makes sense is the mental one. I'm not really sure where to start, but I need to show her that I'm sane. I need to prove that I'm not some unhinged, possessed freak, and that I'm fully in control of myself.
If that's not it...
Well, I'll let future me worry about that.
She didn't blink. Her eyes remained a cold, unreadable slate.
"No." She said, raining on my parade. "Don't make me laugh."