in the midst of a storm | yandere x reader

11. a curtain so opaque that it's transparent

A MAZE WITH NO WALLS—

—that's what this place is. A damn maze with no walls: an open space swimmin' in a whole lotta nothin', so much so that you can't even find your way out.

Why can't you find your way out?

A cloud o' golden grain blankets the land, chasin' after you with a giggle, a light laugh like the two o' you are just playing a game, like your legs ain't burning from the warning embers of that damned demon who bit its own blood possibly chasin' after you, all while the mist covers your path, giggling.

It's mockin' you, watchin' with derision as you stumble over your own two feet tryna get away, tryna get back home. An enemy to your quest: it obscures your path, and heckles your choices, poking at your sides each time you turn back for some sorta sign, only to be greeted with the vast expanse of limitless dust.

"Dang it, where the hell am I?!"

You shouldn't've said yes. You shoulda just stayed put, with your daddy and meemaw. You shoulda convinced Jessie to stay too, told her it ain't worth it, that whatever she'd found was prolly some hallucination she conjured up in her longin' to see her brother again.

You shoulda just. said. no.

But here you are, dancin' with death in the desert, no sight o' anythin' familiar—all 'cause you ran off in a random direction.

Goddamn it.

The sand is thick under your boots, and it's grabby too, mighty grabby, clawin' at your heels and pullin' with all its might to try and sink you in, get you to join it in its lonely, ever-expandin' abyss.

But you ain't goin' to. Not today.

You're a strong girl, you'll get outta this. You have to.

You have to.

It's cold out—it always is at this time; in fact, the bitin' chill is almost enough to cancel out the burn o' your legs, but the flames refuse to leave, and the lady what singed them through you won't retract her claws.

It's horrible, unbearable, a searing white hot warnin' you to stop, begging you to let it go. You're a horse, and it; yer rider, desperately pullin' on your reins to stop all your running, yankin' and tuggin' and haulin'—but you've seen somethin', and it's ran your blood colder than the burn, so you continue forward—

—that is, until your legs completely give way.

You taste the sand as you tumble down—the grains in the air, in the ground, and now, in your mouth.

A bitter taste, of pebbles and grime, of years o' dirt built in a cacophony of disastrous ringin' what sounds in yer ears and vibrates through your tongue, what shoots a shiver o' pure disgust down your spine and sends you spiraling down a circle of hacks.

The sight o' pebbles leavin' your mouth only grinds down the taste into further reality, forcing your hand onto your tongue to be greeted by a sticky, slimy assortment of bumps and grain.

You wince.

Then, a chuckle—

—and all at once, your hasty movements come to a halt.

Frozen still with your hand still hoverin' over your tongue, your shrinking pupils dart around, shakin' in their search for whoever just turned your body into the icy cold of a growing blizzard.

Nothin' in front o' you, nothin' to the side o' you... so that must mean—

"Well aren't you a cute one?"