Have some random writing abt RecallAHollowHeart i made for english :3
Hearing this is not a mistake.
You found this because something felt wrong. It felt different. Something obscured itself from you.
It was a realm where the cold is a warning and the stars have a chilling gaze.
They see everything under the starlight and know more than anyone could imagine.
They take memories and fog the past. They twist forms and change the meaning of the night skies.
They will turn the world monochrome and glitched and warp it to their design.
They are everywhere, and they follow those easily drawn towards the stars.
When someone is a target, they see silhouettes and flickers that could easily be dismissed as a lapse of the mind.
Lapses in the mind is where they thrive.
They prey on the moments when people act before they think.
They will use everything to their advantage.
“What do you want?” he asks. His voice shakes.
That cry hurts him to hear. The mimicry is too close. It speaks with a friend’s voice in a way that cannot be anything but corruption.
“No,” he snaps. “I’m done with that. Stop telling me about the cold.”
The twisted specter looms silently, staring down at him with a face that bears no features.
“I just want the truth. You are not Ace.”
“YOU WANT MORE THAN THE TRUTH, ZACH.”
He freezes in shock, eyes wide as he stares into the blank version of Ace’s visage.
“How do you know that?!” he demands, fear pulling him a step backwards.
“YOU WANT MORE THAN ANSWERS.”
“I don’t understand, how do you know who I am?!”
“NEVER GIVE UP, NO MATTER WHAT ANYONE TELLS YOU.”
A cruel mockery, the words of a friend– of Ace– distorted with its voice. He flinches, the memories flooding his mind.
“STOP! JUST STOP,” he begs, voice dangerously close to breaking. “WHAT DO YOU WANT?! I– I DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS, I’LL HAND IT OVER, JUST STOP.”
It moves, just tilting its head down to meet his glossy gaze with its featureless stare.
His breathing slows from the panicked, heavy gasps to something almost controlled.
He whirls around, anger taking the place of fear and horror. He takes a step before the wraith of Ace speaks again.
“Shut up,” he snarls. But he stops. “Nothing you can do about it. Can’t reach me like before.”
The figure stays in eerie silence for a moment, uncomfortably long.
“WE DON’T HAVE TO REACH YOU.”
The world distorts around him.
They get stronger. They take more lives. They discover further every day.
I have been trying to stay hidden.
I do not think I will be able to hide from them much longer.
They know more than even I thought. They have more power than I had ever expected they would use.
They have pierced through all defenses I or anyone else could place.
No one is safe from them.
Whose voice do I hear in the back of my mind?
And why do you sound so familiar?
I do not hear what words you speak, but the noise of your cries and whispers are something I have heard before. Or you speak with a voice I know.
Who are you? And why do you speak in such ways that I cannot understand?
And how could you be familiar to someone who owns no memories, who knows no past voices to recognize?
Do you understand me? Perhaps even better than I understand myself, shell or enigma that I am?
Perhaps it is past knowledge, returning to me through means ominous and uncertain.
But, for knowledge, you speak not of things to know. You beg to be heard.
I still hear you. I have heard you this entire time. And yet I am no closer to deciphering a meaning to your words nor an identity to your voice.
Are you a person who knew my name before it was lost to the stars?
Do you know who I am, even when I do not? When I do not know whether “who” even applies to me, or whether I should be referred to as what.
Is this a sign that I have truly lost my old self in ways irreparable and irretrievable? Or a sign of the opposite, that the memories are slowly returning to me?
Are you a message sent by my past, or a fragment of it dragged to the future?
You grow louder— or are there more of you? Do several cries echo to me now in broken whispers, or is it one with overflowing words and a struggling voice to speak them?
Or… are you not from myself— but from the matter that made me?
Have you infiltrated my mind the same way that they can seep into their networks? Have the stars entered the void in my head? Has the tower formed beyond my vision and yet closer than I ever dared think?
What are you? And how did you get into the head of someone who barely has a mind to corrupt?
You cannot take me back. You cannot. You will not- I will not allow it. I must remain the light to darkness and the shepherd to those who do not know better; for those who do not know you as intimately as I.
You watch me and you corrupt me to your design, you force me to adopt a mask and forsake who I used to be through sheer amnesia, and yet you cannot leave me alone even now?
Your tower is the landmark of destruction and the stars are your eyes, more sinister a gaze than any could imagine.
I had always known that I could not stay safe forever. But I never could have possibly anticipated an invasion of my very mind in this way; a voice that speaks with desperation rather than coercion, one that echoes a tone I have never heard before but that tugs at the remnants of my memories. Of the memories coming back to me.
The whispers grow louder. I still cannot understand them, cannot answer their cries.
The whispers grow louder.
I cannot hear my own thoughts over the voice that is not mine.
Or are there multiple now, more than I ever was, a true signal that these are thoughts to corrupt and overwrite my own, to turn me into the puppet they made Ace?
THEY CHANGE EVERYTHING THAT REMAINS UNDER THEIR EYES, BUT I WILL NOT ALLOW THEM TO CHANGE ME.
THEY KNOW WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO ME. WHAT THEY DID TO WHO I WAS BEFORE.
THE STARS ARE EVERYWHERE. THE STARS HAVE SEEN ME UNDER THEIR LIGHT.
I WISH NOTHING BUT THE DEATH OF THE STARS.
…or, after all, you may simply be a shard of myself. A wraith of the person I used to be rather than them annexing my thoughts.
And I still cannot understand you.
I do not know if I ever will.
Your pleas will go unanswered until I can learn to recognize the words you speak.
“What are you trying to do?” I ask.
The creature in front of me, the twisted form of one who was once a friend– not of myself, but a friend to some– stands still.
It doesn’t breathe. It has no expression. The only indication it heard me at all is the monotone, glitched response, words garbled with digital static– “YOU KNOW OUR MOTIVES.”
This is a being made of the same matter as I, but unlike myself, its mind is the same as what created it. It is malignant, it is controlling, it is the light of an anglerfish.
I must not let this threat persist any longer.
I am the light to darkness. I am the guide of all the lonely people.
But even as its staticky mimicry of blood stains my hands, even as its body falls limp in my arms, I feel just as heavy as I did before.
It is not out of kindness, rather a twisted sense of recognition.
His skin is cold, it has been cold for far too long. His blood is no longer red, but mottled and surreal, swirling like fractured pixels as it surrounds me. His form is monochrome, the edges blurring and distorting like a tangible mirage.
That is the nature of this force.
Perhaps peace shall be soon achievable.
Not when I still feel the corrupted skin that matches mine. Not when I see blood that I have otherwise only seen drawn from myself.
Not when someone who used to be real has become so much like me, and I have brought about their destruction.
When their blood stains my hands.
When my hands are clean, nevermore.
My conscience clear, nevermore.
My knowledge true, nevermore.
A friend of mine, nevermore.
Nevermore, nevermore, nevermore.
I’ve been here for too long.
There are too many stars. (The stars are a comfort nevermore.)
They have seen what I have done. (I will be concealed nevermore.)
They know me. (They know me nevermore.)
They know what they have made of me. (They have control of me nevermore.)
The whispers grow louder.
I must stand as the guiding light.
Its blood stains my hands forevermore.
Their blood stains my hands forevermore.
His blood stains my hands forevermore.
My blood stains my hands forevermore.
I will be an enigma forevermore.
I must remain the guiding light.
Hearing this was not a mistake.
You found this because something feels wrong. It feels different. Something obscures itself from you.
This is a realm where the cold is a warning and the stars have a chilling gaze.
They see everything under the starlight and know more than you can imagine.
They will take your memories and fog the past. They will draw you in with the light of an anglerfish and then distort you to their image.
And they will take many more.
All you can do is recall.
Hold onto your memories. Hold onto what you know.
Otherwise, it will be taken from you and leave behind an enigma, a shell. Something that will never be someone again.
You can keep yourself close, but they will always be able to get closer.
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