The Colour of Pain

In the beginning there was pain. Pain was breathing. Pain was moving. Pain was everything.

The pain blossomed beyond physical sensation into an unrelenting horror, Elorae's soul torn apart, then reassembled only to be torn again. Had she lungs, she would have screamed. But her body, her very existence, was reduced to pure torment. The space in which she travelled, if it could be called space, had not been meant for beings such as her. If her wish could be granted, she would have ceased to exist the moment she entered the void. But wishes were beyond her power. And so there was only suffering.

Until, suddenly, there wasn't.

The pain, the horror, was gone. Her body was returned to her, spasming in the memory of her transit. The world around her was a mystery; though brave enough to make the journey, she had no courage left to open her eyes. But she could feel the ground beneath her, and that seemed real enough. There was a smell, too. Earthy. Alive. It felt healthy, awakened something in her, perhaps an ancestral memory, passed down from before her world fell to the order it now found itself in.

All around her were sounds of life. Birds sang, unfamiliar tunes and tones. She recognized the sound of wind through trees. There were trees in this world! She loved trees, the way the ether tickled the tops of their boughs, the way they silently stood guard in unknown spaces, growing despite a world that would erase them into entropy.

It was the trees that gave her courage. She cracked her eyes, just enough to confirm that this world had light. Then a bit more to take in her surroundings.

And then she screamed.

It was too much. Her eyes burned, they ached, they were assaulted by colour. Gone were the muted, safe colours of her home. In their place were bright, dark, garish, and bold translations of the light bombarding her eyes. She had no language for what she was seeing. Scientists had long theorized that light could be diffused, could be split into new colours, but nobody in their right mind had attempted to make it happen. But this world, this bold and terrifying world, did it naturally.

Elorae closed her eyes and stopped her screaming. It was just light, she told herself. She could see it, therefore she had the ability to handle it. Yes, it was terrifying, but all new things come with an element of fear. She needed to survive this world in order to save her own.

And so she tried again, just a bit. She held her breath, then opened her eyes wider. In so many ways the colour was blinding, overwhelming. She blinked. She breathed. She looked. If she lived a thousand lifetimes, she would never grow accustomed to the visual palette that engulfed her. Everything was so different. Not just different from how it was at home, but different from everything else in this world. The leaves were different from the trunks, which was different from the sky, which was different from the grass. Everything. How did people live like this?

She stood, her knees wobbling, to take in more of the world. That was when she noticed.

The ether was gone.

Perhaps in this world it had never existed! She could see far through the forest, no ether eating away at the edge of her vision, taking away things not being held in active attention. This world was unblemished, uncursed. Was this how her world was before the dark times?

Elorae reached out with her power to find the idea that she had lost. She could feel it, far, far away. All she could feel was a vague direction. There was no sense if it had grown, evolved, or was even active. It was there, yes, but nothing more.

Lifting one foot, she stepped through the blindingly colourful grass in what she thought was the right direction. She had no idea how far she would have to go, or even how vast this world truly was, but she had need, so she would move. Another step, then another, passing trees, rocks, leaves, birds, each new image causing her heart to flutter with an overwhelming deluge of visual information. She would get to her destination, her world depended on it. She only hoped that what she found when she got there might still offer something—anything—that could help.