The magic was swallowing her whole. It was blowing up every part of her mind, screaming and shouting and crying out for some sort of release, but no matter how much it built and built there was no end. There could never be an end, she knew that an end to the pain would be impossible.

It was the force of a million different soldiers pounding on the ground as they ran, following their command. It was the force of a flood washing away whole nations. She couldn't breathe, couldn't see, couldn't hear or even touch anything. Her fingers were cold, her feet were numb, her body was slowly not existing. No blood coursed through her veins for there were no veins to course through. Inside of her she could feel something sharp tugging at her chest, pulling into her body like a needling making its way through the harshest fabric.

She was spinning on a top, her world moving every which way. Everything was so bright it blinded her, and her head wouldn't quit moving no matter what she did. Bile rose up in her throat, then fell right back down, twisting about her insides until she couldn't remember a time when they weren't. The pressure inside her head was unbearable. If her lungs would work she would scream, but they weren't, they weren't.

Nothing was working.

Nothing would work.

Only the pain, the sheer pain and numbness that wouldn't end. It was dragging her through a chasm of terror, keeping her tight in its grasp. Words began to pool into her mind, words she'd spoken before. The only words she could remember, the only ones that made any sense in the nothing-yet-everything that was happening. Again, again, again, they floated about in her mind like a mantra, free from everything else. She found herself grasping for them, screaming them out, and other words too. Things she couldn't remember even as she said them.

Again, again, again.

It was an urge she just couldn't fight, and she gripped her hands tight, holding it. Holding the again. It had to be the again, she knew it had to be, because the tighter she gripped it the more things hurt. The more they hurt the more they made sense, the more she could feel the again working. Her mind was exploding within the force and she didn't care. All that mattered was the again-it was all that had ever mattered.

A voice creeped and crawled its way into her mind as well, silent yet more deadly than anything she'd ever heard before. She knew the voice, she did. It was the again. "Don't fight it." She didn't fight it, she knew better than to fight it. Fighting it would start more pain. It would hurt worse, she couldn't allow that. Not again, never again, she couldn't have that pain. She couldn't live without it either. "Don't fight it," it reiterated. "Don't fight it...let it go in, let it consume you."

Again, again, again.

"The power is all yours. You can keep it."

Again, again, again.

"You need the power. How could you live without it?"

Again, she couldn't stop herself, again, again, again. The words were too strong for her too fight, too dark and thick and too heavy. She was so little and weak she couldn't stop it. But not for long. No, no. She was about to become strong, stronger than she's ever been before, stronger than anyone could ever tell her she couldn't be. No more would she be weak, useless, pathetic. No more would people laugh when she spoke or disobey her.

The world was hers, as long as she had the again.

It was disappearing inside of her hands, and she began to scream. She couldn't live without it, couldn't do anything without her again. Where is it? Where is it? Someone was pulling it away from her, someone was trying to keep her from it. Someone who didn't want her to have power. Someone who wanted her useless.

"Die," she spat out, unable to see but able to feel again. She reached out, grabbing it and pulling it back to her. Still, it was disappearing into her hands. It was seeping into her blood and she grinned wildly, unable to stop herself. "Again," she said, "again. Mine, mine, mine! Die."

She could hear a scream from somewhere, but she didn't care about the scream. She didn't care about anything. She had her again and the world was perfect.

Outside of her mind, the world was chaos. Metal fell from the ground, chains appearing out of no where and holding people hostage. Magical blinds were enslaving every guard, soldier, knight, and servant in the kingdom. Shouts and screams and uncertainty filled the air, people fighting but there was nothing to fight.

Directly outside of her mind, the world was shocked. A king and a queen were held back by magic and forced into chains, locked up where they stood. Both of them struggling to escape and finding it impossible. The king was shouting insults and obscurities only to find that he couldn't move his lips anymore.

Again was talking to them. "Did either of you really expect to win?"

The more they struggled the smaller the chains were getting. The queen's breath faltered as they got too tight around her chest. "Why...are you...doing this?" she managed to get out, voice withered.

Again was laughing at them. "He desired power and you desired freedom, but he threw away his power and you locked it down. I am the only one who can truly hold power. I have been pushed around my whole life, having everything taken away from me. Mine sister ditched me to learn magic in a foreign place, disguising herself, but I am the one who stayed. I have been unjustly accused, I have been burnt, abused, beaten down! The world hates me and I hate it back. But now," again said with a laugh, "now the world is mine! You cannot take it from me ever again." Again's long nails gripped her skin tighter, holding her down, keeping her there. She found herself feeling so light, so gentle in again's grasp.

"Everyone who hath hurt me will pay. Only once I obtain all the magic in this worthless world will I be satisfied."

They were saying more, more words and things, but she couldn't hear anything anymore. Her eyesight had come back and in front of her she saw an old man with tough skin that was covered in wrinkles. She saw him angry and mad, yelling and waving his arms at her. She didn't see anyone behind her or any reason for him to be upset. She only saw how mad he was at her. How much he hated her, how much he treated her badly. How he ruined her life and pushed her down and how he never taught her what she needed to know. She saw him frowning and she saw him bleeding. The blood was coming from his eyes, his ears, his mouth. It was gushing from his fingers and splattering against the walls. She saw him falling to the ground and curling up into a ball.

She could hear.

The sounds he made as he gasped for air. His body hitting the floor with a loud thud and his hands scraping against themselves, trying to make it stop. She could hear his pathetic whispers as he spoke names over and over, the same two names, two names she couldn't bare to hear.

Then, she heard again. Again touching her shoulders and again's breath on her ear as they said, "That's enough for now. They can't do anything now."

She felt it leaving her. Again was leaving and going away, pulling itself from her body. It was ripping open her mind and body, toying with her heart before shattering it. A scream burned through her neck, acid eating her alive as it got stuck. If she let go of again, she would die.

Her heart was beating wildly, faster than a rabbit's heart, faster than a marathon runners. The pain was back again, consuming her, the pain was her. There was never anything but the pain and yet the pain wasn't even existing. Wet fell from her fingertips. Hot, the wet dripped onto her thighs. It was killing her and she couldn't stop it.
Cold wet fell as well, from her eyes, dripping down her cheeks and coating her neck. It shook and stung, salty and bad. The wet grew as again was yanked again, someone desperately trying to pull it away from her.

"No!" she screamed, holding onto it. "No." She couldn't let it go, couldn't let it go. "No, give it back! Give it back, give it back!"

"Mirianette," they said, but she didn't care. She didn't care that they could say a name. She didn't care if it was her name. Names were nothing. Nothing was everything. Everything was again, everything led back to again, and she couldn't let it get taken away from her. Yet it was. One second she had it and they next it was gone and she was on the ground.

The blissful, cold ground. Her fingers touched it gently, then her cheek rubbed against it, trying to keep it inside her. The cold was taking away the nothing.

Again was gone.

The wet was no longer falling from her fingers, but it continued to fall from her eyes. It dripped past her lips, wetting her mouth and falling into the chapped cracks that had developed over the years. It dripped into the cuts she found covering her face, cuts she couldn't remember making. Something else was there besides just the cold and the wet. It was warm and stung, something inside of her chest, something that wasn't right. It was a pressure that wouldn't go away, and suddenly she knew. She knew what it was, what that terrible feeling was.

Guilt.

Guilt was killing her, but she knew that couldn't be it. Because she had killed him, and that was the guilt. She had done it and she couldn't take it back. Why? Why had she done it? She didn't know, couldn't understand. She just wanted again back. She wanted to feel the power, to know she was something, something aside from a weak, guilty thing. The power could make her feel better again.

"Again," she muttered, hands reaching forward and grasping. They fell upon the stone, but she didn't let it stop her. "Again..."

"Look what you've done," they were saying. It was a lady, a nice lady, she knew, because they sounded upset and worried. "She'll die now. You've killed her, and him, are you not yet satisfied?"
"I will never be satisfied."

"Why?"

They were laughing, the other one, the mean one. The one with the cruel voice and the sharp needle-point nails. The one with the mystical words and beauty. "Only once I obtain all the magic in this worthless world will I be satisfied, did you know hear me? Or does thou only listen to their own pathetic words?" they asked. They sounded so happy, so amused. As if they're the nice person, not the mean one. As if everything is working for them. But that can't be, because the mean ones never have things work out for them-they're supposed to fail, to lose, to never get a chance to win.

But no.

She could feel herself falling down yet wasn't moving at all. Her body was floating, rocking back and fourth, and suddenly she was a baby in her sister's arms. She was being rocked to sleep by a rough body with a gentle voice that was singing a sweet song to her. In the background she could hear an old man singing as well, his voice flat and rough, but it only made her feel good. Her head nuzzled up against her sister, body light and gentle, and smiled as hands smoothed out her hair over and over and over.

It was nice, so nice.

And it was gone again as she opened her eyes, seeing the woman in chains, talking, the man in chains knocked out, and the old man on the floor not moving and lying in a pile of blood. Reality crashing down on her that she would never hear his voice again, never have him tuck her in before she went to sleep, never have him yell at her for nothing...never anything. Never again would he sneak her candy and pence for her gang's activities. Never again would she play with him or be taught for him.

That pressure was back, and so much worse, eating her alive and not bothering to make it go away. Not bothering to become numb. The wet fell and wouldn't stop falling until she was gone, gone, gone down a deep dark hole that wouldn't let her up.

Mirianette, she knew that was her name, wept. Her body was shaking in such a way that she could feel it but no one could see it. Her heart was breaking in such a way that she didn't know how they couldn't hear the sounds of it falling apart. It was louder than stone breaking open, louder than a roar from a dangerous predator, louder than the screams of those dying or held back in chains. She knew that if she had the again she could make things better. She could stop it, make them right, if only she had the again. The again could help her. The again could fix everything, make it all perfect again, take away all pain and all nothing and only leave the good, the parts that were wanted and desired.
But she didn't have the again.

The lady, the lady with the nails and the wild hair and the sharp face had the again. The one who was talking and hurting. The one who killed Destrim, she had the again. No one else but her and she had to pay, she had to pay dearly.

Another pressure was consuming her, much like guilt, but darker and thicker. One that she knew would never be calmed down though she was going to fight until it was. A pressure that came from her stomach, her neck, her head, her hands. One that was growing and expanding but useless because she was so weak. It wouldn't let go of her and it took away her tears, removing them from her face and throwing them far, far away. She couldn't cry anymore, for she was useless but she knew that the uselessness couldn't last. For soon, soon, she would be strong and she would fix everything.

Those whom she loved were gone.

One was dead before her, his body lifeless and covered in blood. One that she watched die and couldn't stop because she didn't know how or what it was. Mirianette had let them go because she didn't know what to do, because she was scared and stuck in something that was not, and would never be, herself. One that filled her with pain and made her eyes throb from the tears that just kept flowing.

The other one never came. It had promised to always come, to always save her, to never let her get hurt. And it let her get hurt. That one left her to die and didn't even try to save her, leaving her alone to get something else. Someone they thought was more important than her, something that wasn't her. One that filled her with anger and made her want to scream.

They were both gone and she didn't want to see either of them.

No, again was all she wanted. Again was all she was going to have. And once she had it...they would pay.