Welcome to Gaia! ::

He found himself once again before the Goddess, but this time she was unconcerned at first with his presence, busy tinkering with whatever was emitting the soft glow in her hands. Her cold yellow glow bounced off of the swirling grey mist the coiled around the room, the snapping wires a brief illumination against the colorless backdrop.

Loffie watched, not at all curious but preferring her company to the aching rain and crumbling ruins that stood outside. Beyond that, she was the key out, the key to ascension and all he wanted to do was to fly away.

She turned to him, with her small offering and he accepted it warily, examining the bag before he opened it.

There was nothing inside and his pale eyes turned to her again, wondering was the meaning was of an empty gift. The Goddess herself looked unhappy with the lack of something inside, explaining it as an error, and inquiring for his help. He nods, slowly, taking the offered scissors and thinking little of her words. Though he didn’t mind her, he just didn’t care; nothing mattered except the slow plodding of putting one foot in front of the other, trudging towards his goal.

Even her parting smile does little to lift his spirits, and without a word to her, he steps through the opening with the bag in hand.

Everything was dark as he stepped inside the opening, but as he made his way through, three doors stood before him, illuminated by their sigils. The first, a pumpkin, called softly, in a friendly sort of way but he ignored it, the sigil making him annoyed with its smiling face, as though it were mocking him. The next, a spiral, made his stomach queasy, unease settling in the pit of it. He traced the angry notches of it, ignoring the feeling but then ultimately decided to ignore the door. It was unable to make up its mind about whether to be approachable or scary and he had no use for its indecision.

The third door however, was carved with a tree and he was drawn to the nature of it, the angry hatred of it that terrified Loffie to his very core. He felt like this was the door he deserved, the horrible feelings washing over him all at once spiraling him in to despair yet leaving him impossibly calm.

He placed a hand on it, and pushed it open.

Loffie continued on past the crate, now light enough for him to push it out of his way. He clutched tightly onto his bag, determined not to drop it as he held it close to himself, clinging to its fading warmth. He knew the warmth wouldn’t last forever but it was different from all other warmth and he needed it, he would die without it. Without it there was no point in going on.

But suddenly there’s a wall instead of more hallway and no way to progress further. Loffie stared at it, glaring, until a sloshing sound behind him forced him to spin around sharply, staring with narrowed, wary eyes into the darkness in front of him.

There was nothing there.

With nowhere else to turn, Loffie started back on the path he’d came, the floor slick beneath his feet. The sloshing sound came again, and a voice accompanied it this time, whispering softly to him to give something back. Loffie ignored it, and walked faster.

As he walked, it only became slicker, water lapping at his heels as he broke into a run but it was no use, the water only pour in faster, until he was swimming, the dark liquid pooling around his neck. He didn’t even have time to gasp before something heavy was pushing him down, holding him beneath the water. He writhed against its hold, but it was no use, it was larger, stronger than him. A pain erupted in his chest, and he clutched at it, the bag still in his hand, flailing helplessly as he was pushed deeper and deeper below the surface.

As the world began to grow dim around him, his very existence fading, he finally caught sight of the figure, of large grey eyes, hollow and glassy, demanding its heart back. The eyes are different, yet somehow the same and it triggers another memory, a continuation of the first. He can remember the eyes being warm and brown; can remember the soft warmth of her breath on his face, the gentle caress she gave him as he first tried to stand on wobbly legs. In a flash he remembered everything, and then the memory was gone, leaving only the glaring figure behind.

Loffie stared at her, his heart aching with an unbearable pain. Mother, he mouthed softly.

The Goddess’ stare was hard and piercing, her red eyes swathing over him, judging him.

Loffie didn’t like it.

He didn’t like even more when she proposed he that he face his fears, nor when she brought up the topic of eating. It especially didn’t sit well with him when she slid down from her perch, circling him like she very much might like to eat him.

Instead, she handed him a dagger. Loffie looked at it, considered it for a moment, then pondered briefly the repercussions of handing it back. No, he thought, shaking his head, he had to do this, even if he didn’t want to. The tasks were the only way he was going to escape this place, the only way he was going to become a Goddess and fly away. He had to persevere, if only so he could escape.

Glaring at her, he turned toward the opening. He held the dagger in both hands, trying to quiet his shaking.

He wonder if she knew how afraid he was.



Loffie awoke with a gasp, startled that he’d somehow managed to fall asleep. The air was cold around him, licking icily at his grey skin. He wasted no time getting his bearings, the cold and unfamiliarity sending him into a panic and he hastily slid off of the hard metal table, shielding his eyes from the blinding brightness of the white room as he stumbled forward. The room is filled with an unnatural humming, emanating from the painful light. His head ached from the combination of the two, the ringing like a steady drill boring into his brain.

Hazily he spotted a door in front of him, and with great relief, he found it unlocked, whipping it open to escape the overpowering room.

But the hallway offered no reprieve from his headache; it was just as bright and buzzing as the previous room. He took a couple steps forward, only to hear a loud bang as something slammed shut. The sharp sound pained him, and he clutched at his head as turned back to glance at the door.

It was still open.

Paranoid now, and dizzy, Loffie hastened his pace, each recurring thud driving him on a little faster. He glanced over his shoulder with each thud, but there was nothing, nothing each time until suddenly there was something, and the thudding turns into heavy footsteps and something scraping along the sterile white floor.

Scissors.

Loffie stood still, frozen on the spot, useless. The black figure approached him, dragging the scissors with an ominous screech until it stood before him, reaching for him with black claws.

It was then that he remembered his legs, and bolted in absolute terror.

35/40

Looking ahead, Loffie spotted another piece of paper. Hastily he got to his feet, reading the letters scrawled across it. Flighty and anxious, he nervously kept checking over his shoulder, moving while reading to keep ahead of the creature. His hand shook as he stared at the papers, trying to put two and two together. When the sequence finally shaped itself in his mind, he let out a cry, rushing to the door and scratching the code into the number pad.

The door slid open, and he clattered through.

Across the bridge led to an even stranger scene, a rickety house sitting drably at the end of an unkempt cul-de sac. The road was cracked and weeds had managed to climb their way though every nook and cranny until the place was littered with them, any semblance of well-kept lawns choked out.

The figure was still behind Loffie as he loped over the concrete, staring in dismay at the house before him. Strange shadows snaked from its base, their dark tendrils twisted and curling as though waiting to reach and ensnare their prey. It didn’t appear to be any safer than the creature pursuing him.

Loffie glanced over his shoulder, and the figure was indeed still there, the scissors glinting dangerously in its clawed hands. He had come to a dead end it seemed, and Loffie panicked, searching around desperately for a way out, ignoring the figure’s constant jeers. But there was nothing, and nowhere to turn, and Loffie wailed hopelessly.

“What do you want from me? LEAVE ME ALONE!”

As if to answer his question, the Goddess’ voice echoed in his head, now or never. Suddenly he remembered, the dagger! It sat glowing against his side and he reached for it, as the figure closed in.

Up close, the twisted face of the figure had an unnerving familiarity and it triggered something in Loffie’s mind, something he’d long forgotten existed, something that some part of him hadn’t even known existed. A memory played, of ropes wrapped around him, digging into his face as he was led away from the figure. He screamed for the figure, the sound loud and piercing and wretched.

He screamed for his mother.

It was to no avail, the ropes and the hands holding them dragged him away, farther and farther until he could no longer see her, until the memory faded and it was just he and the figure, the horribly warped version of his memory. He hesitated, the dagger shaking pathetically in his hand. He couldn’t do this; he couldn’t kill this figure, no matter how little it resembled what it once was. His heart ached painfully, and tears streamed over his cheeks.

But his hesitation was all the opportunity the figure needed and the scissors drove through his skin, as the creature knocked him to the ground, driving the scissors into him over and over.

He certainly felt very small.

Loffie approached the Goddess, though warily, not trusting of her smile. But the smell that wafted from her tray was enticing, and he couldn’t resist as she offered him one of the cookies. He took it and munched it with a feeling he could only describe as happiness, the sugary treat easing his despair just a little. He glanced at her again, not sure what to make of the Goddess. She seemed glad to see him, and even spoke of loving him. He blinked, thinking, did he love her? No, he loved what occupied the tray in her hands. But he liked her, and her treats, as she offers him another and that was well enough. It was enough for him to stay, and listen to her proposal of a tea party.

He wasn’t eager to begin any more tasks, having had quite enough of the Goddess’ trials. But her warmth made the decision easier, it reminded him of someone, and gave him just enough courage to shake of his melancholy and continue.

Following her beckoning hand, Loffie stepped after her through the hedged gate and towards the table.



Music softly played his entry into the small yard, chiming in an inexplicably familiar way. Flakes of something unknown fill the air, soft and swirling, cold as they meet the dark grey of his face, only to melt into nothingness. He watched them swirling, envious, wishing his existence could be too simple. To come from the sky, to fall and then to be no more seemed much easier than having to ascend a whole body, filled with muscle and tissue, heavy with a heart of discontent.

He sighed, and walked towards the table.

The Goddess had left him now, and the warmth of his cookie faded from his stomach. He was left standing in the strange cold, the ground crunching beneath his feet. Looking at the footprints he left, he started a little, eyes widening; the round shapes were not entirely what he had expected.



Deciding that it was far more than he wanted to worry about, Loffie shrugged it off and turned back to the table. Two jars sit on it, one pink and one blue. The pink one is cheery and inviting and wonderful, and Loffie immediately hated it. It made him angry, he wanted to smash it. How could something like that possibly exist in this place? Glaring at it, he snatched the blue jar from the table. He’d taken it to spite the pink jar, but the truth was that the sadness spoke to his core. The sadness was familiar and inviting, and one couldn’t get hurt if they were already sad.

Picking it up, he examined its contents before noticing the tag attached to the neck of the jar.

Drink Me.

Loffie had his concerns about drinking it, but he supposed that he had eaten the cookie without much consideration, and had lived to tell the tale. The liquid slid easily down his throat as he tipped the jar to his lips but he drank, the more disconcerted he felt, the more agitated he became. He wasn’t merely sad anymore, but anxious and worried about something he’d forgotten, a feeling that only grew as the table began to spin, and spin, as magically a cloth settled over it, white and lacy; he looked away, unable to bear it. When Loffie dared to look at the table again, it had stopped and was now covered in an assortment of sweets.

He blew out a sigh, sweets he could handle. In fact, sweets were great; their sugary goodness would ease his troubled mind. He ignored the fact that the treats looked questionable in their edibleness, reaching without thought for the cupcake.

The first bite was disappointing, the cupcake stale and tasting as forlornly as it looked. But he finished it anyway, and his heart quickened in his chest, beating with an uneasy feeling he couldn’t quite put his finger on. The cupcake wasn’t enough, and his throat was dry. He needed something to drink.

Luckily for Loffie, two teacups had been cleverly placed near where the cupcake had sat. He reached for the black one.