~bit of a character I'll eventually use~

"Nine-hundred sixty-seven," she whispered, soft voice unnaturally loud in the darkness. "Nine-hundred sixty-eight."

She placed the last pebble in the pile. "Nine-hundred sixty-nine."

Years spent in this hole, years stuck in total darkness, and the only thing she could do was count rocks. Why not carve the days into the stone walls? Why not yell until her voice gave out? Why not look at the thing in the corner—?

No, she shook her head, years of unkempt dark hair brushing her arms, I mustn't.

So, she focused on the rocks again and counted. Most would've lost control of their mind to the solitude of darkness. And many before her had. Not being able to see the defined shape of a hand, or the color of stone, or even the glimmer of hair for as long as she had...

She was lucky, she was. Truly lucky. No, not luck. Fate. Fate, destiny, divine intervention, what-ever-people-call-it—that had been what led her here. Madness had threatened to beat her, the call of suicide lured her, and yet... she had resisted. And now darkness was beyond her.

No longer was she afraid of the dark. No longer did she worry about never seeing her own fingers and toes. She had entered... another world. One where shadows and secrets and lost things lived. To be found by her.

She had Reawakened, and that gave her light.

The light of darkness.

Or rather seeing past the darkness.

Still, she had this shadowy world, and the only thing she could do was count pebbles? She shook her head once again.

She counted, she relieved herself, she ate the food and drank the water sent down from the shadows above. Repeat day after day after week after month. And then again. And she still counted pebbles.

And that thing still sat in the corner.

She clutched the two-hundred and fifty-second pebble in her hand, hard. Hard enough that her nails bit into her own skin. Don't look at it don't look at it don't look—

"Of rocks and rain and roars..."

She whimpered, clutching the pebble tighter, feeling her blood drip down her wrist. The voice... made of raspy wind and unearthed secrets, it called her, tempted her. It was a lure she couldn't escape.

She was supposed to not be afraid of shadows. Why be afraid of this thing?

Because, she thought, it's not right.

Something about it was... off. Otherworldly. It was a creature of shadow, and therefore dangerous... right?

"...Of whispers and songs and lores..."

As always, when the voice sang, wisps of blackness glided over the shadow-world. Like the tails of invisible creatures, they wagged and twisted as they made their way across the shadowed stone. They whispered, they sang, they called.

And this time the lure was too strong. She turned, following the living-shadows. To the thing in the corner.

It was Void. Not black. Not shadows. Void. As if everything, light, sound, feeling, was sucked into its shape. With no shadows to accentuate the curves of the waist, neck, and elbows, it appeared two-dimensional. The shadows willing let the thing suck them into its void, swirling wistfully around its eerily blue eyes. No pupil, no white. Just a dull glowing sapphire. And from a small slit where the chest would've been—glowing, pure light seeped and shone brightly. But it cast no shadows, illuminated nothing.

"Tales they are

Truth and facts

Of those who are to come."

Somehow, she knew that its void mouth had opened to say the words. A mind-trick, perhaps? The words... the same words it always said, before she screamed, before it quieted. But she didn't cry out this time.

And she knew, somehow, the next words she had never heard. So, she said it along with the creature.

"Fate of the Untold."

There was more, she knew, but they weren't made aware to her.

Its quiet, intense, luring halted. The shadows around it followed in the stalled action, quivering in place as all stood still.

"What is your name, child?"

But you already know, she thought.

The quivering shadows went into motion again, but instead of reaching for the void-creature, they reached for her. It felt right, suddenly, to have the shadows she had been living with come to her. She had done the impossible, she entered the Shadow Realm, into a light past darkness, where everything was just a dark smudge, a shadow not showing the thing it was cast from. Why shouldn't they go to her?

She held a hand out, knowing without knowing how she knew, that the dark wisps would leap up onto her hand. And they did just that, whirling and circling and dancing around her fingers, her palm. Singing.

"What is the Caster's name?" They sang, speaking directly to her, the multitudinous, childlike voices twirling into a haunting melody of one.

She reached inside herself, searching for a name she had long ago forgotten.

"Raynsheryyk."