There was no time. No gravity. No light where he was, only permanent night. There were bursts and flashes, hints and tiny revelations as to what went on, but there was never a lot of input, unless *he* wanted Mizuhiro to see it. Mizu was spinning in the blackness. The space with no stars. They were cruelly taken from him, the constellations, the celestial beauty he used to look up and lose himself gazing, thinking about the future he planned. All the mortal things he wanted to do in this life before he was pushed off to the next….

But even that was no longer possible. As long as he was tethered here against his will, stuck in an Aetherial box with a lock and no key. The nothing was stifling. Like an intense burning heat, but nonexistent, the desire to feel, even tortured, but nothing was felt here. Even with all the spinning he didn’t feel dizzy, the only thing he was left with was his memories and his despair. The sadness was all he was allowed to feel, at least that could keep him imaginatively warm, but was it?

It was then that *he* turned it on, the deluge of sensory overload, this was one of those moments he dreaded and would have instantly, happily returned back to that bland, in between life fueled only by his regret and heart ache, but Vozhu used this to add more to the bloody pig pile that Mizu had festering inside him. Like rotten fat and sinew, bloated from spending the day in a blistering summer sun, the wretched and foul miasma that would assault and attack any olfactory system which encountered it.

His eyes were fully plugged in now, he could see it, hear it, taste it, feel it. Unable to blink, even once to keep a second from his mind. He experienced the guilt of being able to feel now, even if it was at the other end of someone else’s suffering. The sensation of his limbs was invigorating, but he could see it, what it was intended for him to feel.

His claw was at her throat now, he could see the glistening tears running down her face, the poor girl had no idea what was happening. Her face a deep red, darker than it looked to normally be. He constricted her airway yet at the same time he siphoned her Aether out of her, Vozhu could have just taken it, killed her and be done with it, but he did this on purpose. He chose them with a particular function in mind. They always looked like those he loved, the ones he called family, the ones he fought alongside, to frightening detail, skin tones, horns, eyes. Even down to their imperfections and disabilities. He had killed hundreds by now. How long had it been? How many years, decades, had gone by as Vozhu punished Mizuhiro for trapping him inside his body and depriving him of sustenance for twelve years? How much longer would he be made to feel this over and over?

*”As long as I desire.”*

As the life slowly left her eyes, Mizu could hear in his head one of the constant questions.

*”Which sister was that?”* followed by the low crackle of his void-blighted laugh. *”Should we go pale this next time? I’m thinking blue? Which one should we enjoy together next?”*

Mizuhiro didn’t answer, there was no reason, the raw screams and internal suffering was already known. It was savored, tasted, consumed like a fine wine. There was absolutely nothing he could hide from Vozhu. And as he left the sight and sound on for a few more brief moments to burn yet another image into his memory, Mizu tried to hold on, that one day he would have his chance to get out, escape and end this.