( a forest dark ) memory registry

[soulcarve]

	SOURCE	BRAND
the Song of Hell	test drive meme	stylized lotus, left inner wrist
"I know you know the way down."	cuddles	paired aconite and lotus flower, upper left thigh
battle frenzy	Princess Maker 2	stem of aconite, right ankle
LOSS: Leli's name	The Final Game	n/a
LOSS: test drive "dream"	The Final Game	n/a
the Vengeance Office	Negotiations Game	open lotus, right hand
the first mission and Sheriff Pferd	Bussing Sex	aconite leaves, left ankle
Louise and her scars	Wishing	lotus bud, below left ear
TBD	---	---

Comments

( regain 0 ) starting memory

[soulcarve]

They are taking her away from you. She's yours, and you're hers—down to your very soul, your core, your essence, you're hers—and she is being taken away. How can you serve the one you belong to (nothing romantic, much less sexual, about this belonging: you belong as a tool does to its wielder) if she is being taken away?

—Taken away to be punished, even. Her crime was defiance, and although she is wonderful and strong, she is not stronger than their laws.

(You know that there are others around you, who are also hers, but right now you do not see them, because, mostly, you are thinking of her. What will you do, if she is gone?)

There is a voice in your mind, though: "Don't worry—remember, I am always with you." And you know it to be true.

But nothing will stop you from bringing her back.

( regain 1 ) the song of hell

[soulcarve]

"Tell me," she asks, after it is done. "What music do you hear?"

(She is sitting before you, hands folded softly in her lap, and everything about her is tired—wounded, somehow. But she is beautiful: short dark hair beneath a simple veil, moon-pale skin, and her dress a shroud of night.)

At first, the question makes no sense at all. But then, you try it—try to listen for a song, and you do hear it, then, like the whole wide world (the whole universe?) set to a melody. How had you never realized before?

—It sounds like cacophonous, discordant glory. How could a requiem (and it is, somehow, a requiem) be so shameless? The music is more than that, though. It says to you:

Hell is always with you. In those times when you were petty and small and twisted, only Hell was there. Hell is what loves you even when you’re wrong, even when you're bad. And it’s fire and brimstone and poison and rotting things, too. It’s a punishment ground and torment-realm at the base and bottom of the tree of the world.

Hell means that there is always something with you, even if sometimes it is horrible. You could tumble to the bottom of the world, forsaken of and by all other things, and still you would exist, and still you would not fall into the Not, because there is a Hell. And that is comfort and horror all at once: because Hell would be with you, with its poison and flame, even if you wanted to be alone; to finally cease to exist. But also, if you were lost in darkness, longing for goodness and light, at least there would be Hell at your side.

It is the baseline of the world. It is the darkness that reaches upwards towards the brightness. It is the fire that longs to embrace us all.

The song of Hell is made up of the fires that screwed-up people like to stick their hands in. It burns you, it hurts, it’s awful, but it takes you away from yourself. It makes your whole world about, are you really going to do this? Are you really doing this? Did you really just do that? People think that burning in a hellfire is about being strong, or hurting, or something like that, they tell themselves all kinds of stories about why they do it, but really it’s to break the world you’re living in and just be in the fire for a little while.

Hell honors and bears witness to the things that would otherwise be entirely unloved. It will come to watch you, to listen to you, to know you, if you are a thing so horrible and broken that no one else would dare. The work of Hell is to love whatever needs them most; whatever would, without Hell, be alone. Hell’s eyes are open to you. They will not turn away.

When you are done listening, you tell her of the song you heard.

Then, there is the very faintest of pleased smiles on her lips.

"Good."

( regain 2 ) heaven's garden, or "I know you know the way down."

[soulcarve]

You are in a garden.

It stretches all around you, horizon to horizon, and somehow each flower is both impossibly perfect—each petal vibrant and unmarred, every bloom at the peak of fullness—and utterly unique. The sky here is that pristine early summer crystalline blue, yet somehow more beautiful. It is a sky that earth's sky can only aspire to.

"This is the Garden of Heaven," says ██████. He has his heavy black hood down around his neck, but his dark leather vest and kilt, heavy boots, and thick-muscled arms are intimidating enough without it. "Don't touch anything."

"Why not?" After all, the flowers are not just beautiful, but practically thrumming with power and purpose—it draws you in. You step closer to one with an abundance of blue, bell-shaped blossoms, and crouch down to admire it.

"Because the flowers are what make up reality." This is ██████, and her voice has the gentle-yet-firm quality of someone much-used to managing unruly companions. Her clothing is practical, designed for easy movement, but her long, dark hair is loose around her shoulders, and her light brown skin has a subtle but pretty sheen to it in the sunlight. "That one you're looking at is constancy. The two next to it are songbirds and recycling. And we don't want to damage any of those things."

"And," adds ██████, "if you touch it, it'll probably take over your mind. So don't."

You have to admit that that part does sound pretty bad; you inch back a bit from the flower.

"Besides," says ██████, adjusting his traveler's cloak, "we'll get in huge trouble if you do." He's a lean man with light brown, shoulder-length hair, stubble, and tired eyes, who often seems to be gazing off into the distance, like he's expecting someone, or there's something he has forgotten. "We're not even really supposed to be here."

"No. You are not."

You all turn around together to face the source of that booming, melodic voice. Down the path is a tall, winged man, golden-glowing, arms folded across his chest. An angel.

"Hello... Ariel." ██████ keeps her tone carefully even, but she still doesn't look pleased, and you wonder why.

"We're just showing her around," says ██████ with a jerk of his thumb towards you. Unlike ██████, he doesn't bother to conceal his look of pure distaste. "She has a right to see the Garden, and we haven't set foot in Heaven."

(██████ just looks anxious, and begins sorting through his leather knapsack.)

"Yeah, Leli sent us!" you add, trying to be helpful. It's kind of exciting to meet a real angel, especially one who's willing to talk to you.

"Hush," ██████ says to you, suddenly much more nervous. She takes your hand and begins guiding you down the path, then points out a flower to you which she says is scars, in the hopes of distracting you. (It is scars, and it is very wonderful.)

"...Le...li..." Ariel rolls the name slowly over his tongue, as if savoring the taste of some bitter wine. "Is...that...what she is called, now."

"Well, I think we'll show ourselves out," says ██████, but you can see he is beginning to reach for one of his axes.

"Yes... I think you should." Ariel curves his lips into an approximation of a smile. "I know you know the way down."

And then everyone but you smiles too, but they don't look very happy, and you do not understand the joke.