On September 13, 2018, I switched the rating for this novelization from mature to teen. I decided that it wasn't very explicit when it came to sexual references, but it definitely still has a fair amount of violence, ie blow-by-blow fights, so be wary. If anyone disagrees with this choice, feel free to send me a pm. Anyways, hopefully it'll increase the publicity as I try to get back into the feel of writing for this story. To those still revisiting here, I'm not dead-I'm just a person that gets burned out way too quickly and am incapable of moderating myself lmao. Hopefully I'll see you soon once I finish learning what a transition sentence is.

A Glimpse of what is to come:

My mind is not my own.

I can't close my eyes without the fear of being unable to reopen them. I feel a void inside me; not emptiness as something fills it—but more like an eternal darkness that simply refuses to be squandered. It occupies my thoughts whenever my mind is idle. It exists in the deepest parts of every choice I make. How can I be sure what I do isn't influenced by this dark power? What if I am just a pawn in its master plan? Do I not actually have control, but am just convinced that I do? How can I be sure of any choice I've made recently? How can I be sure of anything I do—or even don't do?

To escape reality, I like to wander through the open expanse that is my imagination—to create the impossible. At times it's an endless cobblestone hallway with murals that spiral infinitely along the walls. Other times it's an open field with impossible creatures within it; majestic, soaring animals of scales, horns and feathers. Many of them could fly into the blue sky to get a closer look at the sun while those on the opposite end of the spectrum had the ability to swim to the deepest part of any ocean and find even more impossible creatures like themselves, but not anymore. The animals don't swim; they don't even fly anymore. It's a rare occurrence to even perceive one of the fake creatures I've made in my day-dreaming subconscious. Now, all my imagination can create is a dark room; one that has no walls and echoes endlessly if I were to scream. For some reason, no matter how loud I yell, I always get the feeling that no one can hear; that no one will ever hear my struggle. The only two tenants in my mind now is myself, the small voice that prompts me towards greatness, and the darkness sitting inside me, waiting ever-so-patiently to burst forth like a wave through my emotions. It terrifies me beyond words that one day, a day either a hundred years in the future or sometime within the next hour, I won't have the mental stamina to keep the darkness behind closed doors anymore; that it will have complete control to end my life as it had almost succeeded at last night. Or even worse, it could lock me in a safe inside of my own body and force me to watch as it commits atrocities.

The only reassurance I have is the smile of my beloved. Even though parts of my mind scream at me to get away from her, that she's my kryptonite, I stay by her side. She is my anchor to reality; something that I know is real and has the power to ward off the perpetual danger inside me. I tend to reminisce on the blue glow of her hands and the warmth that emanates from them; it's soothing almost to the point of addiction.

For at times when I find myself being pulled under by waves of darkness and malevolence, she is able to throw a lifesaver that would drag me back to the shore of sanity. But with each time I recover, so do the waves. The tides never seem to go back out but instead grow into an insurmountable force equal in power to a tsunami. The rolling waves that want to bring me back, to lock my mind into a labyrinth deep inside the darkness where I would never escape.

Each time I close my eyes, I see the rolling waves of the black water. There is no sun. There are no clouds and there is not a drop of rain. Each and every time I blink my eyes, an inexplicable feeling arises to keep them closed, to never open them again.

In a world of uncertainty, I can only be sure of one thing—my mind is not my own.