Chapter 68: 68. Tethers of the Material Plane

Valerie's office is foreboding at night. Shadows creep down the walls, cast by the vines of plants. Tons of them — nestled in pots — dangle from the ceiling by chains. At the slightest shift of air, they sway and their chains rattle, filling the room with a haunting melody. The melody of a a gaol-bound lich; of armored skeletons marching.

It sends goosebumps crawling over Avery's skin and resonates with the pain of her dislocated shoulder. She sinks further into the sofa — unable to do more than exist. I'm safe here. I'm safe.

Her usual internal contrarian fails to prod her: maybe it's too exhausted to carry on torturing her. Still, her thoughts aren't silent. They wax and wane, just like the moonlight outside shimmering through shifting clouds. Hazy, ethereal, unstable. Teasing the outskirts of sleep.

With a few more seconds, she's gone. Falling through her mind. She jolts up, out from the depths of the cushion's warmth and onto the edge of the sofa. No! I can't sleep. Not yet. Not until the police get here.

Tatters of her pajama pants stick to her leg, partially encased within scabbed over scrapes. Her movement jostles them around; forces them to tug against the scabs. She lets out a hiss and unpins some fabric that had been caught underneath her. "Ow."

Falling back into the cushion, she looks about the room. Nothing's changed since this afternoon. The plants may have wiggled a little, but—

Near the doorway — beyond moonlight's reach — emerald eyes glower from the shoulders of a giant enveloped in shadow. The outline of a sword dangles from the monster's grasp.

We were never safe. Now you've backed us into a corner and we're going to die.

Avery's heart lurches. She struggles to push free of the sofa with her one good arm, but a moment later and she's on her feet. The shadow steps forward.

Avery backs around the sofa, away from the approaching shade. "No. No, please no."

Another step forward; a reaching hand.

Her butt bumps into solid stone: the wall full of windows behind Valerie's desk. She cowers against it, throwing a hand across its rough surface. Searching for anything. A knob for a nonexistent door, a window latch despite windows not being made of stone. A weapon.

All she finds is a lack of hope: burnt as fuel for the pain that rips through her body. A body that longs for her to give up.

Then the figure takes one more step, passing the boundary between dark and light; clouds part and — with new vigor — the moon washes away all shadows within its reach.

The giant: actually a woman, clad in a priest's cassock. The sword: a cane. The emerald eyes: not even hers. A cat perches on her shoulder like a gargoyle, watching everything. Brown hair — more frizz than anything — zigzags out from the priest's head, down to just past her shoulders to frame a gaunt, uncertain face. She stares at Avery; her lips quiver, uncertain if they'll spew words or grief-stricken cries.

In the end, she does both. Tears flood her face. She bunches a sleeve over her palm and she scrubs them away, but they keep coming. "I-I'm sorry. So s-sorry." She cries.

Cowering turns to confusion. Tendrils that locked her in fear moments before now drift away: taut wires uncoiling to merely float, like a field of seaweed. Still there — threatening to drag her back into panic.

Avery stares, eye's and mind blank blank. Her brain refuses to dissect meaning from the sight in front of her; she might as well try her hand at translating an arcane spell scroll or fighting an elder lich. "What? What is this? Who are you?" She says.

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