A Long, Perilous Sleep
[@Everybody in Mephistos I guess]
"Clara…" A voice rang out like a single rain drop striking the water.
An all but forgotten memory was conjured into her mind.
Clara and her mother and father sat on a grassy riverbank, watching the sunset on the horizon. Her mother placed a warm and comforting hand on her head. She watched their mouths open and close but no sound reached her ears. The birds flying overhead, the river rushing by.
Once she'd been told that deaf people who one day regain their hearing, of all things, expect the sunset to make a sound. As the sun dipped lower and lower, that sound filled her ears. But above it all, she saw her parents turn to her in unison and utter five words to her with voices like corrupted rapture.
"We will never abandon you."Clara slowly opened her eyes. The first thing she remembered was the smell. The smell of wet flooring, combined with the sounds of water dripping inside the walls, and the rainfall outside. And though the room was pitch black, she knew regardless of whether she could see it or not, she would be greeted with nothing at all; except for the mattress she lay in and the threadbare blanket upon it.
The oh-so familiar sight of her childhood. There was no nice way to put it, there was no way for her to compartmentalize it or dress it up. It was an unremovable part of herself.
…But, well, as amusing as it could be, she didn't relish reliving these old sensations. There were those that said children didn't have the capacity to process the spectrum of emotions she was forced to at her young age. She had been told as such multiple times. She didn't doubt the facts. She couldn't dismiss the science. But still, she despised the weakness. She confronted her past self, and she destroyed the weak girl she used to be. Or so she thought, at any rate.
"…Let us quit this place," She muttered.
Her own voice was muffled, like she was underwater. But the words induced the desired effect. She felt herself float upwards.
The next step was confirming the self. This wasn't her first time in the nightmare. She had mastered a certain technique in order to vanquish its hold over her. Lucid Dreaming. There were many ways to initiate it, but this was hers. Lucid Dreaming provided her complete control over dreams she desired to control. Very useful, although it could be limited at times.
She brought her hands up to see them. This time they were ethereal in nature. She wasn't as in control as she would like, but at least she could lessen the influence of the dream. She took a breath, and the room lightened. Her control of the dream in this state would be limited to the current 'stage'. When the dream moved on, she'd have to reset any changes she made. Her greater psyche was in control here, and the changes she made wouldn't be committed to its memory, the same way most details in short-term memory are culled when encoded into long-term memory.
Once she had been afraid of the dark, but with its conquest darkness became her weapon. It was only fitting that she could control the darkness within her own dreams. Perhaps if her younger self were awake she might be able to see the change, or perhaps she wouldn't. She doubted it would bring her comfort either way, in the state she was in.
She was tossing and turning in her sleep. She let out small whimpers here and there as well.
How pathetic… was what she might've said. But, perhaps it was due to not having seen this dream in a long time, or maybe it was due to the recent turn of events, but she… she didn't wish to continue seeing her in such a sorry state. It wasn't approaching on the level of empathy. But… if there was a speck in your eye, would you not remove it?
She breathed into her soul, and exerted her influence on the dream. The air rippled, and in came her ever familiar Shadow Tiger… except it was smaller for some reason. It was less than half its size. Did that say something about her?
No matter, She chided herself.
This version of the tiger wasn't real, but it acted almost the same as its real counterpart thanks to her familiarity with it. Even in real life it followed her orders to the letter but in the dream she could control it with her mind, which made things even easier.
She had a purpose in summoning the tiger, it was one of her constant companions. Its presence had a reassuring effect on her mentally, and it should be reflected in the dream as well.
"Go," She said to the tiger.
It floated through the air and set itself down next to the sleeping girl. The girl's eyes flickered open for a moment at its arrival. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused, reddened from crying and tiredness. She seemed barely able to comprehend anything except for what was before her. Her arms shot out and pulled the tiger into a tight embrace. Soon enough she went back to sleep, at peace, at least for a little while.
It didn't appear that it would last, however. The dream was shifting. Clara was pulled back inside of the girl as the world around them spun to black. Before her eyes, the room disappeared and out of the darkness those two forms unwound into reality.
Those smiles warmed by the sunset in her dream, twisted into cruel masks once more.
Many had wondered at Clara's past. Well, here it was. Her father was an alcoholic, and often beat her while her mother watched, and sometimes laughed. Some would perhaps call her description lacking in the dramatic. Missing a little gravitas, perhaps? The simple reason was that there was nothing more to tell. She still remembered the experiences, and most of all the sensations. She hadn't been able to understand. The standard tenets of acceptable society hadn't embedded themselves in her yet. She didn't know right or wrong, but she knew pain. She knew it hurt, and she didn't know why.
The reason was something she sought after, later in life to help overcome her trauma. It wasn't something everyone who'd undergone trauma needed to go through, but her whole life until that point she had been asking that question. The answer was far too simple.
They were failures. In a world of those blessed by the Gods, some would be more blessed than others. And yet, they, like so many others were led on by their false hopes through their childhoods, adolescence, and early adulthood. Little by little it began to slip, and by then they were trapped in a loveless marriage in a dead-end job from which they felt there was no escape. For them it was reason enough. To beat her senseless. To unleash their frustrations upon her.
That's why Clara decided to walk the path of Evil. The world was not only goodness and light. To pretend the darkness didn't exist was arrogant and cruel. To all those who would suffer injustice like her, they would elect to ignore it.
That was weakness. That was complacency.
But how far was too far? She was aware of the cycle. She didn't want to be the one inflicting pain because pain was dealt to her. That was not her will. If she allowed herself to fall to that level she would be no better than the humans that spawned her.
But she had already failed, hadn't she? What need was there for her treatment of Katherine and her sister?
There was no need for it. As much as she liked to pretend otherwise, she envied their bond with each other. She couldn't help thinking somewhere deep in her heart, that if she'd had a bond like that perhaps she wouldn't have turned out this way.
Only one person had borne witness to her darkest moments. One person in front of which her soul was laid bare.
The dream shifted once again. The girl was left alone as her birth parents left to go to work. Only, she was not alone. Slowly, she became aware of a presence in the empty room with her. A presence she would later become very familiar with. The presence of a God. The God of Death.
"Who are you?" The girl in the dream asked.
The God of Death rarely appeared in her full form to the fully living. And yet, Clara could be her only exception. Clara separated herself from the dream once again, for a moment. It was that very question that perhaps sent her into the dream. The God of Death had told her once in the past, but try as she might she couldn't recall that moment. Though she remember almost everything in her childhood, as proven so far by the dream, she couldn't find the right memory.
The God of Death had always been cold. But there was one exception, when they first had met. Although, it would be charitable to call it warm. But it had been different in the beginning. This meeting had to contain her answer.
Death appeared. Unlike some other depictions of the Gods, Death wore plain clothing. A long cloak which touched the ground, and a pale white half-mask was all that adorned her. She appeared to those close to death, but it was said that still amongst those, only those who were now fated to die could see her blade. Even in the dream, this was true. Clara, separated from her dream self, could not see it.
But, the Girl in the dream could.
She stood, amazed. Eyes fixated on the weapon of the God of Death. She reached out for the handle with more than a curiosity. It was almost like a hunger. Like the weapon was calling her soul to come forth from its body and join it. The figure of Death quickly shifted the handle out of reach.
"…Yes, it is." Death replied. "…Especially for one such as you. Even touching the handle would be enough to sever your soul from your body."
The Girl looked up at Death with a perplexed expression. She didn't understand the words yet, nor could she comprehend the danger of something calling for her so sweetly. It took a few moments more of the Girl staring at Death in stunned silence for Death to speak once again.
"…Are you doing well, child?" Death asked. "Are you happy?"
That Girl went to reply, but utterly failed. The girl knew very little but she knew she wasn't happy. She saw sometimes how her parents felt, and how it looked so divine when they felt like that, but she could never match their expression. Their elation, which would all too quickly turn dark and sour anyway.
"…The silence tells me all I need to know." Death spoke softly. The God crouched down and stroked the side of the Girl's face. The girl flinched at first, until she realized it wasn't a hostile action. She began to lean into it, and before she knew it she'd begun to cry. Clara remembered vividly, the hand was cold, but comforting. It was hard to explain why, but if she had to put a word to it, it was because as soon as she felt that touch, she realized the power of the person standing before her.
She was instinctively aware of how far it was beyond her wildest imagination. In the face of that absolute power, there was nothing to fear. Nothing would be able to touch her while she was in the presence of this God. Nothing could ever pierce the veil and inflict harm on her while she was here.
They stayed like that for several moments before Death spoke once again.
"This is your gift, child. From me." She handed her a large tome. The one she would come to recognize as the Grimoire.
"It will keep you safe, child. Safer than I could possibly make you." She spoke. "I hope you come to understand it one day. Truly understand it. It is not the gift it seems at first glance. It is something greater."
And then just like that, she was gone. The divine presence vanished, and she was back into cold harsh reality. The Grimoire was missing too. Try as she might, she couldn't find it. Soon enough the memory was locked away inside her mind.
As the surroundings shifted, she remarked the dream was beginning to move quicker. Or rather, it was accelerating towards its climax.
A day like any other, only the difference was this time they drew blood. The blood dripped down, and they laughed. She cried. But keeping her on their leash was something they were used to by this point.
"It hurts because we love you," Her mother had said. "Those other kids don't know what love really is."
She embraced the crying child and said the words which would seal their fate.
"We will never abandon you."
And suddenly they became aware of the Grimoire at their feet, as if it had always been there. It was open, with blood spilled onto it. Some loose coins which had fallen from their pockets had found its way into the fold. And the sudden, terrifying presence of a God surely caused them to feel something akin to fear.
She spoke one phrase, to the girl more than her parents. But her voice was clearly meant for all in the room.
"The pact has been made," She said. "Observe it, or Death will find you."
With those words, her childhood was over. She couldn't tell what had been going through her parent's minds when they decided to put her in an orphanage. Did they think in their heart of hearts, that promising to return would be enough? Did they really think they could run away from Death?
They found their crashed vehicle not far from the orphanage. The mysterious book never left her hands again. Rumours spread quickly throughout the orphanage that she was cursed. Perhaps she was. It was thanks to these rumours that she attracted the attention of Mephisto. Through Mephisto, she conquered her fear of the dark and made it her weapon. She came to know of the world and all that was in it, and she especially came to know of evil.
But that was a story for another time. For now she had to find out why she was still in this gods-forsaken dream. There was nothing for her to do but wallow in her misery while watching her past unfold itself. It wasn't something she had planned on doing, and she certainly wasn't having a good time.
Besides dealing with her tragic past yet again, she had to put up with her younger self's lack of awareness about the world and herself. Running away from every fear, refusing to confront her weaknesses.
…Well, wasn't she doing just the same anyway?
Suddenly, her younger self turned a corner, running for one reason or another. Nothing unusual perhaps, but the dream remained stationary. Clara didn't feel the pull to move on from the scene and continue, like she remembered it being usually. After a few moments she decided it was time to investigate.
She turned the corner and found herself in a short sunlit hallway leading into the orphanage library. Was it unusual for an orphanage to have such a thing? Perhaps but she supposed it was the kind of place it was. She didn't have a grudge against the place. Perhaps it would've been quite nice under different circumstances, but her rocky introduction had only been accentuated by a short stay and a swift exit.
It hadn't been long until Mephisto had followed the trail and found her. But that was a story for another time.
She had been fond of the library. It wasn't very well maintained. It was half storage and half books, and she had liked both in equal measure. The books offered an escape and the various pieces of furniture offered ample space to hide, if only for a short time. She had never been able to venture into the darker recesses due to some early fears, and as a result in her dream those darkened corners in the library turned into a fuzzy darkness which she couldn't venture into.
She turned her attention to the shelves. In her short time at the orphanage, she had managed to read every one. Since they were almost all for children, it hadn't exactly been a difficult feat. Still, she could almost recall them all, just by the feel of the spine. She toured the shelves, looked under the rotting chairs, but there was no small Clara to be found.
She floated over to a sitting position and sighed. She had never been trapped like this before. What was the nature of the dream, and what was she meant to find out? There was no trail, no sign of what she needed to look for. It felt like some sort of illogical mystery which couldn't be solved without some sort of lucky coincidence.
Her eyes drifted over the room and they happened to fall on an tiny, empty space in the shelves. She felt a sense of déjà vu, if that was at all possible in a dream. She remembered the shelf, and each book that was on it. Unlike the others, this shelf held a lot of the less liked books. The library was stocked through donations, some of which were of debatable quality.
All knowledge was new to her, and she may have been the only one to read every book on the shelf. She had been meticulous about the library shelves. Obsessing over the proper order of books in her spare time which wasn't occupied by reading or hiding away. She knew which book came before and which came after, but this one was a blank spot in her memory. She couldn't recall the title or what it was about.
It was strange, like someone had plucked the information from her memory. She reached out to touch the empty space, and then suddenly she was taken somewhere dark.
Once long ago, when the Gods created humanity, the humans walked the earth as immortals.
A voice sounded in the darkness as if it was from all around. She couldn't tell whose it was. It sounded familiar but also so alien.
They could not die, but they faced no dangers. They faced no fears, and flourished over the earth.
She reached to the sky and found that she had no influence over the surroundings.
But one day, the Evil came. They couldn't slay the humans, but the humans could not fight back.
Something was amiss. It was as if it was no longer her dream. But that couldn't be possible… could it?
They bestowed blessings upon them, but it wasn't enough. The Evil was immortal too, and they themselves were not deprived of blessings.
Slowly she realized the voice wasn't familiar, but rather the words.
It was realized some greater measure needed to be taken. Death. For all in their realm.
The words continued regardless of her thoughts or actions. She doubted she was the true subject here. She was what you might consider 'self-centred'. That extended into her dreams. All of her dreams revolved around her, when she had them, and wasn't simply suppressing them.
The god of death was one who had existed since the beginning. However, his domain was limited to those minor things. The plants and animals which benefited from the cycle of life and death.
Revolution. Revolving. Orbiting.
She snapped her attention to the sky once again. It was faint. No, it wasn't even visible but she could feel a sort of current, flowing in one direction to another. She had no doubt, this was some sort of deeper unconscious she had never accessed before. But at its centre, she would find the cause for it all.
In the distance, she began to see a light. What seemed to be a huge area bathed in white light which looked so insignificant at the distance she stood away from it. As she entered she felt long lost memories flooding back into her. She walked and walked until nothing but bright white light enveloped her.
It came time to decide where to stretch his domain. It was too much for him to cover all of creation. But all must be subject to it.
She saw a speck in the distance. As she got closer to it, more and more memories returned. They were clustered around her very early life. Details she had missed in the moments she'd experienced up until this point. Emotions, thoughts and feelings. Those kinds of things she'd discarded as unnecessary so long ago.
None of these memories moved past the orphanage. Slowly, but surely, she was beginning to understand the bigger picture. She'd lost something, here in these memories. They were converging on some point of departure. The book, she hadn't recovered all of her memories of it yet. She put an ear to the wind as she continued onwards.
The Evil prevails because it cannot die. The 13 Lords of the Ancient Evil, equal if not greater in power to the Gods. They must be subject to it. The Gods too, could not be spared.
Her memories of the book itself were starting to return too. From this point on, she knew where the story was going. The pieces were moving into place.
This was beyond his power. It was beyond all of their powers, save for one. His daughter, the God of Dreams.
He said to her:
"My Daughter, this task is important, perhaps the most important of all. The shadow of Death must stretch over all creation, and only you have the power to do so. I will be destroyed and reborn within you. I have resolved myself, but still I give you a choice.
We may win this war without Death. It seems impossible, but there may be a way we have not yet found. But just as likely, there may be ways of defeat we have not even dreamed of. Above all this, remember. Even if you choose to accept your new duty, your new role, death is not the end of a living being.
Death is a cycle, a rest. A way to move forward and leave behind those things that are better left behind. Even if I die, I will become a part of you. Death is never meaningless. The duty of the God of Death is to make no death meaningless."
"…And then the God of Dreams chose to take the mantle of the God of Death, and so it was decided to be the law of the world. The dead must remain dead, so that life may flourish forevermore."The girl in front of her turned at the sound of her voice. At the center of it all was the Girl. Clara. But not Clara. So who was she? The pieces had all fallen into place. She knew who exactly it was before her, but she doubted the girl in front of her was even aware of
what she was.
"Who… are you?" The girl asked.
Everything about them was different. The voice, the body, the countenance. But their eyes were the same. Looking into them was like looking into the mirror of the girl she once was. The girl which she still was.
She let the question hang in silence for a few moments.
"…Have you enjoyed your slumber?" Clara asked.
The route was finally clear. Everything about the conversation ahead of her was plotted out. If she had to appear as a demon then so be it. To reveal the truth. That was something that needed to be done. The world isn't only good. To close your eyes and choose to believe otherwise caused weakness, but it wasn't in and of itself a weakness.
That was one of the things she had lost; innocence. And while she could never regain it again, there was some merit in it. To be able to find a path in the darkness, one either needed to be the shadow, or the light. Shadow was her only path, and shadow would still be her only path no matter what else she had chosen.
But to have a choice was important. The ability to choose one's own path. So she would show her the truth. And she would make her own choice.
"…Do you remember, how long you've been asleep?" She asked.
The girl didn't understand.
"Do you remember your first dream?" Clara continued.
She still didn't understand. Clara began to circle her as she talked.
"The sunset on the riverbank? The moment that you would remember forever? But even more than that, the moment after, when you awakened. And finally, you realized." She continued.
"Something was wrong. Why didn't the sunset hurt? Why did it make you feel warm when nothing was done to you? Slowly you came to realize life shouldn't be this way."The girl swallowed a lump in her throat which all too quickly returned. An elevated heart rate. Shallower breaths. She was on edge.
Had it hit a little too close to home? Of course, but it was necessary. She had to press forward to the source of the dissonance. The moment which caused the crack, and began the cycle. And yet...
"Do you remember the last time you fell asleep?" She pressed on.
"Do you ever remember whether you ever woke up?"The girl was trembling now. She felt a stab of guilt. She knew exactly what she sounded like. What kind of emotions it would trigger in the small child. This was necessary. This was-
She changed her plan slightly.
She crouched down to wipe away her tears.
She held the small face in her hands just for a moment.
To agitate her was indeed part of the plan. Easing into a heightened emotional state from a less tense emotional state was a tactic to help circumvent shock. But perhaps, like always, it had just been too much.
This was the way Clara had learned to deaden her emotions, and her reaction to trauma. The concept of exposure therapy, exposing oneself to a large 'dose' of the source of a trauma to help overcome it.
It had succeeded with her. It had molded her strength. But it didn't have to be this way.
There was no longer any doubting her path, but she needed to know how to be gentle.
She closed her eyes and molded her memories into something more suitable for the approach. Every moment she'd spent in this dream, she'd never been sure whether she was wrong or right until the final moment.
It was only now, looking back, holding her hand and having found what exactly it was that she had lost. She finally felt she had found the right way.
"…I know what happens when the dreamer wakes." She said after a while.
"When the dream was over, she decided never to dream again. Because her dreams always turned into nightmares. Even when she'd conquered them, and turned them into her strength, still it wouldn't go her way. But she found something out there. She found something worth keeping, but she didn't know that she'd tried holding on in all the wrong ways."When had she become this sentimental? She couldn't really say it was an act anymore. She was just… venting her frustrations. Airing her grievances. Admitting her failures. She let out a sigh and proceeded.
"You wanted to know who I was," Clara continued, holding out another hand to the girl.
"Do you really want to find out?"The girl hesitated for a moment but eventually she took Clara's hand.
And that was the end of the Dreamer.
The girl absorbed the memories Clara had arranged for her to see.
Her mind had already been shattered once. The death of their parents was the catalyst. She rejected everything to do with Death, and the God of Death at that moment, and subconsciously created this world of dreams.
Clara arranged a specific set of memories to show her what it was exactly that she had become. But there were certain moments she felt would have broken her again, like they had almost done to her.
Or at least that had been the plan.
But sitting here talking to the small child that she once was, she remembered again.
Though one of them was simply Clara, and the other became Clara Deimos Erdrigan, they were both the Clara. What she had already conquered, she could conquer again. Whatever mountains she climbed, she could climb them again.
And this time she didn't have to be alone.
She poured everything into her. Every thought and emotion she'd experienced. Every moment with the Student Committee, with Mephisto and the other factions.
Clara's dream form shimmered. The white light and the sounds of her memories began to fade away and give way to the darkness once again. The other Clara's form had changed as well. Not physically, but her presence was scattered. Less distinct. Like she wasn't sure of what she was anymore.
"I…" Dream Clara began to talk, but couldn't find the words to continue.
Her voice was more mature now.
Being a phantom, absorbing her memories seemed to have aged her closer to the current Clara. In a sense, she had been the original Clara, but when she retreated into the dream world, she became a separate entity from her physical body.
A Dreamworld Phantom.
A 'Clara' still existed in her physical body. A Clara which would grow and become what she was now. Meanwhile in the Dreamworld, her other self had done nothing of the sort.
She had experienced the same memories hundreds, if not thousands of times. Trying to imagine a better scenario. Trying to plant a new tree with the same seeds, to try and find a better outcome. An outcome where her parents didn't die, the ones that didn't deserve to live.
And for what? Now that she knew the true reality, it had all come crashing down on her.
She was silent for a long time.
And finally, she asked a question.
"What… am I… to you?" She asked.
Her eyes gazed into her soul. A mixture of longing and some other indescribable emotions.
Clara had planned for dozens of questions and a variety of responses, and still she'd managed to ask something she hadn't anticipated.
'Who am I? What am I?' Those questions she could've provided an objective answer to. But to think only of objective answers, Clara must have been avoiding the very same question.
Manipulating the flow of conversation, anticipating what they would say next, treating every human interaction like a numbers game was something she had been raised to do.
Clara returned her other self's gaze, her own eyes clear and focused.
She deserved more. She deserved a true conversation.
It was long past time to try and continue to deceive herself. She had her own share of flaws. Just because someone else's mistake was larger, it didn't mean her mistakes became any smaller.
So Clara would talk. They could talk. They didn't have to solve everything in one night.
They could just talk.
And talk they did.
"Oh, so is Andreim like us then? I want to meet him!" Dream Clara yelled excitedly.
They sat together on some grassy hill in Rhea she had dreamed up for her. The color had come back to her.
She had changed her form to be a little older than she was before. An adolescent rather than a child, but she seemed to be fond of changing forms now that she realized she had control. She was also experimenting with flying and manipulating the environment in the Dream World using Clara's learned techniques.
"Well… I'm not sure how that would go now. It's been quite a while since I knew what he was thinking." Clara replied with a laugh.
Was this the first time? That she'd been able to talk to someone like this. A sister. Someone who knew everything about her. Someone she could share everything to.
Inside the Dreamworld her senses were muted. The sun shone brightly but it wasn't it's warmth she was experiencing on her skin. She only knew her own sensations and emotions in the Dreamworld. She knew that. This feeling bubbling up from inside her, was this what it was like to be happy?
"So, what will you do when you come back?" Dream Clara asked.
Urgh. Yes, she would have to think about that, wouldn't she?
"I… would rather not be thinking about that right now," Clara replied.
Dream Clara stared at her for a moment, before giggling and pinching Clara's cheek.
"That's just like us, isn't it?" She said.
"Don't worry, I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to think about it when you wake up."At the tail end of that sentence, Dream Clara slipped into a more melancholy tone of voice.
It seemed she'd already accepted her role. Physical Clara might have been the 'second' Clara, but in her heart Dream Clara had accepted her as the real one.
"When we wake up," Clara said, clearing her throat.
"There's no way I'll be leaving you in the Dreamworld. I'm sure I can find a way to bring you back."Dream Clara's mouth opened in shock.
"You... you're not kidding me right?!" She said.
She suddenly exploded with energetic vigor, and Dream Clara began shaking Clara around. Clara decided to relish the feeling rather than pull away from her embrace.
"There certainly should be a way," Clara said.
"The God of Death and the God of Dreams are one and the same. The extra spells from my Grimoire have nothing to do with Death, and not so directly with an unspecific aspect of 'Dreams', so I'm sure they must come from here."She had wondered once where her spells could stem from, considering what the supposed origin of her blessing had been the God of Death. With the information she had now, she concocted the hypothesis that excised fears and anxieties from the Dreamworld manifested themselves from the Grimoire itself in the real world.
During their conversation she'd all but confirmed it. She remembered the time each power manifested, and it correlated to Dream Clara's experiences in the Dreamworld.
Now all she had to do was figure out how it worked.
"Even if that's not how it works, I won't leave you here alone ever again." Clara said.
"I'll find a way to release you, no matter what it takes."She'd found a new resolve down here in the Dreamworld. The resolve to continue on the path she believed was right. She wasn't going to go back on herself an longer. She would do everything in her power to achieve her goals.
Dream Clara nodded and went to speak.
"Soooo, what happens after you settle everything out there, and you get me out?" Dream Clara said, shifting the topic. But she was smiling, and blushing red on her ears. She betrayed her emotions without even having to ask.
"I have to rebuild my web," Clara replied.
"I need more power, more connections and more resources. But once we rebuild it, and perhaps even if we don't..."The two Claras looked at each other, and shared a smile. Then they turned and pledged to the sunset in unison.
"Then we'll kill Mephisto." "Then we'll kill Mephisto." They said.
