The room was quiet again.
Fluorescent lights hummed softly above, their glow casting long shadows along the padded walls. It was late, but the air still felt heavy with unspoken things. Adrian sat across from Olivia, his posture composed, hands resting lightly on his knees. No clipboard. No pen. Just presence.
Olivia's blanket was pulled tight around her waist, fingers hidden beneath the folds. Her breathing had finally steadied
Adrian's gaze stayed on her face. Focused. Patient. But beneath that calm exterior, his thoughts were less forgiving.
What a shit path. No sane human would walk it. And I thought cutting off my own face was bad.
He didn't say it aloud. Just let the thought burn in silence. Even without knowing the full nature of the ritual she had gone through, it was obvious this was something twisted. Brutal. Completely inhuman.
And yet, Olivia hadn't broken. Not yet.
She looked up suddenly, as if sensing his attention.
"I didn't finish it," she said quietly.
He gave her a small nod, inviting her to continue.
"I tried," she went on. "I really did. I followed every step, even the ones that didn't make sense. But near the end… I just couldn't keep going."
Her eyes dropped.
"I think my body gave out. I don't remember collapsing. Just—one moment I was awake, and the next…"
Her voice trailed off. She swallowed hard.
"It wasn't sleep. It wasn't even unconsciousness. It felt like I fell into something."
Adrian didn't interrupt.
"It was dark," she whispered. "But not empty. It was like the dark had shape. Pressure. I felt it inside my head. Like something was pushing in."
She looked away for a moment.
"Then it started. The vision. That's the only word I have for it. It wasn't a dream. It felt real. It was real."
"What did you see?" Adrian asked.
"It came all at once. Like someone jammed a wire straight into my skull and hit play. I couldn't look away. Couldn't stop it."
Her breathing picked up slightly.
"Pain. Not mine. Other people's. Thousands of them. I saw people strung up like meat. Carved. Torn. But still alive. Screaming. Laughing. Praying. And the praying ones" she stopped "they weren't praying to be saved. They were offering more."
Adrian's expression didn't shift. But inside, his stomach turned.
"The walls were alive. Like skin. Wet. Breathing. Everything was red. The sky. The ground. The air. It was like I'd been thrown into a wound that never healed."
She pressed her knuckles to her temples.
"I wanted to look away. But I didn't have a body. I was just… eyes. Thought. Trapped. Watching."
Her hands trembled.
"There were thrones. Built from spines. Bones still bleeding. And they were full. Occupied. All different figures. Some looked human. Others… I don't know. But they didn't move. They just watched."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"And then the voice came."
Adrian leaned slightly forward.
"It didn't have a shape. Or a sound I could describe. It was just there. Inside my skull. Like it had always been there. Waiting."
She paused.
"It said: 'You are not worthy.'"
The words hung between them.
Adrian let them sit for a moment. Then asked, "Did you recognize the voice?"
Olivia nodded slowly.
"No. But I knew what it was. Who it was. There was no question. Not even for a second. I knew her name."
Her voice cracked.
"Crimson Matron."
She blinked, as if even speaking it was dangerous.
"I don't know how I knew. But I did. Like she carved it into my bones the second she looked at me."
Adrian gave no reaction.
"She was everywhere. Not just in the voice. In the air. In the pain. She was the embodiment pain. Like the whole place was her body. And when she said I wasn't worthy…"
Olivia touched her chest.
"I felt it like a sentence. Like a brand. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just… done. Final."
She looked up again. Her eyes were darker now, like the weight had settled behind them.
"That's when everything vanished. Not just the vision. My thoughts. My sense of self. I don't remember waking up. I just remember silence."
Adrian waited.
"I was in a hospital bed. No blood. No candles. But my hands hurt. My head was sore. And I could still smell it that iron tang, like wet coins and old wounds."
She shook her head.
"I thought it would stop there. That maybe I was free."
Adrian knew the truth before she spoke it.
"But she's still there," Olivia whispered. "At the edges. When I'm alone. When I close my eyes too long. I'll hear her. Just a breath. Just a sound. Just enough."
Her grip tightened on the blanket.
"I try to pretend it's my imagination. Or leftover trauma. But I know better."
Her voice was shaking now.
"Sometimes, I feel like she's watching through my eyes. Not always. But enough."
She looked down, ashamed. As if she had failed by being haunted.
"I think I broke something. Something inside me. And now I can't put it back."
Adrian shifted his position, grounding himself. He recognized the signs. Dissociation. Delusion threatening to take root. Panic beneath the surface.
Before he could speak, she gripped her head again.
"And sometimes," she said quickly, "I hear her say it again. That I'm not worthy. That I failed her. That I was supposed to be more."
Then she snapped.
It wasn't loud. Just sudden.
Olivia let out a gasp and slammed her palms to her ears. "Stop stop stop"
She rocked in place, muttering broken phrases. Her body shook.
Adrian rose.
He moved closer, slowly, not reaching yet. He kept his voice level, the tone of a professional used to handling psychotic breaks.
"She's not here," he said calmly.
"You're in this room. No one else."
"She's not in your head. She's not speaking to you. You're just remembering. That's all."
Olivia gasped again and looked at him eyes wild, unfocused.
"She doesn't control you."
"You're safe."
"You're not alone."
Her breathing began to slow.
Adrian waited.
After a minute, her shoulders dropped. Her hands fell to her lap.
He sat back down.
The room was still again.
Olivia looked at him with hollow eyes. But they weren't empty. Just tired.
"I don't want to go back there," she said. "To that place. To her. It felt like it ate something out of me."
Adrian met her gaze.
"You're here," he said. "That's what matters."
She gave a faint nod.
He didn't smile. Didn't offer hollow encouragement.
But he was watching. Listening.
Calculating.
This was no ordinary patient.
This was a survivor of something far deeper than trauma.
And something inside Adrian sharpened quietly, beneath the surface.
Because if a girl like Olivia could reach the edge of a god's madness…
There was no telling what she might become.
And no telling how close that madness still was.
Olivia's breathing came in sharp, uneven gasps. Her fingers clawed weakly at her scalp, the tremors still running through her body like residual static. She swayed forward.
Adrian caught her.
One hand steadied the back of her shoulder. The other slipped beneath her arm, guiding her weight gently against his chest. He didn't squeeze. Didn't speak. Just stayed still, letting his posture anchor hers.
Olivia pressed her forehead against his shoulder.
Her skin was cold. Sweat clung to her hairline. She trembled.
Adrian lowered his voice, steady but quiet.
"You're here. You're safe."
No response.
Just more rapid breaths. Shallow and clipped.
He kept her upright.
Slowly, her pulse began to slow. Her ribs stopped jerking with every inhale. The muscles in her shoulders began to ease under his palm.
He didn't let go.
Her eyes opened slightly still unfocused, still caught in some far echo of the nightmare. But there was recognition there. Her mouth parted as if to speak, then closed again.
Minutes passed like that.
He didn't rush her.
Eventually, she drew in one longer breath and exhaled without choking on it.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"You don't need to be."
She shook her head slowly, still pressed against him.
"I didn't mean to lose it. I just… when she said it again not worthy I couldn't get it out of my head."
"I know."
"I think she's still there. Watching. Waiting. Like I passed some test and failed and now she's just… waiting for me to do it again."
Adrian didn't reply.
He only adjusted his grip slightly, letting her sit back, though his hands remained near her shoulders, ready if she collapsed again.
She looked at him, eyes clearer now but rimmed red.
"Is it always like this?" she asked. "If I keep going… if I try again… will it get worse? Will I lose myself?"
A faint quiver trembled in her voice.
"Will I ever be okay?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately.
He held her gaze.
Then he said, quietly, "If it ever happens again I'll be there."
"You won't be alone."
The words came with calm certainty. Not warm. Not sentimental. Just true.
And that seemed to reach her.
Her hands relaxed in her lap.
Her back straightened a little more.
Her eyes flickered with something fragile not hope, exactly, but an edge of belief.
The kind of belief that makes a person decide not to give up.
Not yet.
Adrian let silence settle between them again. The weight of the moment didn't need words to define it.
But inside his mind, another dialogue played out.
Crimson Matron, huh.
A god of pain.
So this path has a master.
His expression didn't change, but his thoughts sharpened.
If you walk it, you don't become stronger. You don't grow. You kneel.
You bleed. You break. And if you survive, you're just hers.
He studied Olivia again — the dark rings beneath her eyes, the tight grip she still kept on her blanket, the quiet exhaustion in her posture.
Extreme. Self Harm And for what? Agony? Suffering?
There's no benefit. No power worth chasing. Only submission.
His jaw tightened slightly, though no emotion showed on his face.
Who would ever choose this?
He looked down at Olivia's shoulders, still faintly trembling.
She didn't choose it. It chose her.
And yet she'd survived.
He didn't say it aloud.
He didn't commend her strength. He didn't offer sympathy.
He simply remained where he was seated beside her, his presence as steady as stone.
Eventually, she adjusted the blanket again, and he released his hold.
The tension had drained from her body. Not entirely. But enough.
Adrian checked his watch.
11:00 PM.
He exhaled through his nose.
Quiet. Still.
Without a sound, he moved one hand to the side of his coat and pinched the space just above his chest.
To anyone else, it would have looked like an idle movement — a casual flick of the fingers.
But in his mind, he reached.
A familiar presence stirred.
The Scripture.
It unfolded invisibly into thought space, its jagged writing whispering in layered contradiction.
He focused on the metrics.
A new number hovered at the edge of perception.
[Progress: 80%]
His expression didn't shift.
No smile. No pride. No celebration.
Just a silent acknowledgment.
Huh. It went up.
He dismissed the window.
Let the Scripture fade back into nothing.
Across from him, Olivia had begun to breathe more normally. Her hands now lay relaxed on the blanket, and her gaze had drifted toward the far wall — not distant, just thoughtful.
Neither of them spoke.
There was nothing left to say tonight.
Adrian stayed with her a few more minutes, then slowly stood and moved the chair back into place.
He didn't tell her to rest.
He didn't need to.
She was already drifting back into sleep.
He opened the door to the secure room and stepped outside, pausing just once to glance back at her seated form wrapped in white, surrounded by padded silence, still clutching a tattered paperback in one hand.
Then the door closed.
The hallway was empty.