Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

People used to ask me things, questions impossible for me to answer. Every time someone met me, they would ask one of the following questions:

1. How do you perceive the world?

I couldn't answer this question. How do you explain your world to an alien? How do you explain something that has been around you all your life to someone who doesn't even know the most basic element of it? It was like me asking the ones who can see what color looks like. They would stop talking, stare ahead for a while, thinking, open their mouth, struggle with their words, and ultimately come up with nothing. That was what they were asking of me – explain what is so normal to you to someone who has no idea what you are talking about. It's impossible. Absolutely impossible.

Most of the time, I just said that I saw the world exactly as they do, but without color. I had no idea of knowing whether or not that is true. I suspected that it was, because I knew where to place my plates on the table, I knew where to get into the car, I knew where to duck in the woods. The clacks of my tongue let me know where everything was, and if they didn't, I had my stick to let me know.

I saw everything that seeing people do, but color. I was pretty sure of that.

The second question they asked me is: How do you perceive color?

I didn't. Or at least, I didn't think I did. I didn't know what color is. I didn't know what I should see. Again, the answer to this question requires a question in return: what does color look like? We have already established that the seeing can't answer this question, so why should I have been able to do so?

Next up: How do you dream?

I dreamed exactly as I saw the world; the seeing do too. They dream in color, I dreamed in, well, shapes. As we've established, I knew what a table, car, tree, any normal item looks like. I used those in my dreams.

Then they would proceed to ask me how those items look like, and I asked "How does a table look like to you?" and they'd reply "A flat surface on four pillars" and that was exactly what it looked like to me. I know what things look like, I just can't 'see' them.

Those are the questions they always asked me, and as you can see, I could answer none of them. Because they were asking me to explain my world to them, and, well, that is impossible.

…

Some people would also ask me if I disliked not being able to see. I would answer "no" to that. Sure, sometimes I would've liked to see. I would've liked to know what was going on in class without someone having to explain me it. I would've liked to get my schoolbooks in normal letters instead of in braille and save my parents some money. I would've liked to understand what people are experiencing when they yell "That's so beautiful! Look at all those colors!". I would've liked to be able to appreciate my sister's art.

But did I dislike not being able to see? No. I did not. I didn't care, honestly. I had never seen, I had never known what I was missing, so it was hard to miss it. I could 'see' just fine, in my own way. I had my world, they had theirs, and while I was curious about it, I didn't necessarily long to live in it.

So yeah, I was fine with not being able to see.

…

My parents weren't fine with my lack of vision, however.

They had taken me to expert after expert, to no avail. Every single one told them that nothing could be done: the damage was permanent. I had always been fine with that, but they weren't. They thought that I couldn't hear mom cry from downstairs, but I could. They think that I couldn't hear dad's hushed, pitying voice when he explained to his acquaintances that I couldn't see. But I heard that, that and so much more, and I knew that they weren't fine with this, even if I was.

The only one who understood my situation was Michella. She understood because she was like me. She, too, had been hauled to every doctor in a 100 kilometer radius. She, too, had heard our parents' cries and pitying voices. Her legs were unable to move, just like my eyes were unable to see, and she understood me just like I understood her.

It was not the same. Her world was completely different from mine, but her world was also different from other people's worlds. Not able to run, walk, cycle, skate, or even stand, she was bound to her chair whereas others were free to go as they wish. I couldn't understand her on this, just like she couldn't understand my sight (or lack thereof). But came closer to understanding each other than anyone else has ever come, because we were essentially the same.

Except for one thing.

Michella knew what she was missing.

I could never see the world of the seeing, but Michella could see the world of the walking. She could see them running, walking, cycling, skating and standing. She saw the thresholds that prevent her from entering a building, she saw the children laughing during gym. She saw the others use their legs, she could imagine what it's like, and unlike me, she knew what she was missing.

Yet, she didn't complain. She laughed when our parents dragged her to yet another doctor that was doomed to fail, she comforted them when they inevitably did, she listened to the complains of her friends about the pain in their knees, she cheered for the girls' team during gym.

I didn't think I would have been able to do that. I thought that if I had known what I had been missing, if I could have seen the other world beyond the fog, I wouldn't have been able to keep as calm as she did.

She's stronger than me, stronger than I'll ever be. I still stand by that opinion. I'm proud of her.

…

Once I screamed at them. My parents, I mean. I screamed at them after they planned an appointment with doctor This-Or-That and didn't even let me know until a day before we were supposed to go see him. I had had a bad day, and I was tired. I couldn't deal with this right now.

So I screamed at them. I screamed everything that I had always wanted to say. That it was useless. That I would never get better. That they should stop trying to make it happen, because I was fine with this. That they should stop trying to make themselves feel better. That they should stop seeing me like a broken tool, and that they should start seeing me as my own person.

In the end, it was Michella that had to comfort them. She had to tell them that what I said wasn't true, and that they shouldn't listen to me. She had to tell them that, even though she agreed with me.

I had made my parents cry, and she comforted them.

I think that this illustrates the difference between us beautifully.

…

Hellsalem's Lot was the last resort and we all knew it, even if none of us said it out loud. We all knew that this wasn't just some simple vacation: it was my parents' last attempt. The last ditch effort. The last change for a miracle to occur. Which was exactly what they wanted to happen: a miracle.

I was pissed off, I have to admit. Really, really pissed off. I wanted them to stop already, to just leave us alone. I knew that they would never do that, but it didn't matter to me anymore. I wanted them to stop. To stop right now.

Then, a miracle occurred. Whether this was a good thing or not, that was debatable.

I didn't see it, of course. The wind changed, the background sounds faded, there was a large presence by my side. That's how I knew.

It asked us which one of us it should save. It asked us to choose between Michella's legs or my eyes.

And this, this right here, is why I showed you guys the scene between my parents, me and Michella in the previous paragraph. Michella, as we've established, is a braver and better person than I am.

So when I froze, she spoke up.

Then everything burned.

Chapter Text

Hell. That is the word I would use to describe those first days. Hell. Absolute, breath-taking hell. The hell that you can't escape from, no matter what. It tortured me, day and night, constantly. I didn't get any sleep for a week. Everything was moving, spinning, shoving itself in my face.

It was like knifes were constantly assaulting my eyes. The pierced right through my eye sockets into my brain and kept cutting and cutting and cutting until everything until it was mush. And after that, they just threw acid into my eyes. Constantly.

I screamed non-stop for the first day. My parents told me that the doctors had tried to give me sedatives, but that I had almost killed them when they came close.

To be honest, I barely remember anything from those first few days. Nothing but excruciating pain, the worst pain that I had ever experienced in my life.

It wasn't until three weeks after the incident that I started to get clear memories. I remember being only mildly surprised that the images in my head matched reality almost perfectly.

I remember the first time I held a book in my hand, a normal book, one with non-braille letters. They had to teach me reading all over again, and even after several weeks of teaching, I was still only at the level of a seven-year-old.

I remember the first time I saw myself in the mirror. I didn't know what I had expected, but this wasn't it. Looking at the image reflected in the mirror... it didn't feel like me. The disheveled brown hair, the somewhat chubby posture, that dumb smile... was that really me?

Of course, I got used to how I looked over time, but to this day, I still don't feel fully comfortable with my appearance. It just... didn't sit well with me. Still doesn't.

But I wasn't the only person whom I 'met'. I remember the first time that I saw my family. My father had somewhat broad shoulders, while my mother and Michella were both as slender as can be. Dad's voice didn't match his body. It sounded much more feminine than he was. Mother's voice, however, seemed to be tailored after her appearance. Michella also seemed to have a perfect fit.

The first time I saw him, my father's brown-green eyes looked at me with a mixture of sadness and happiness, if that was even possible. My mother's blue ones looked at me with despair, the same despair as that had always been laced in her voice when she talked about me. It seems that Michella's sacrifice hadn't even managed to change that.

Michella. She was beautiful. Her light brown hair – the same color as my mother's – shone in the sunlight, but her hair wasn't nearly as bright as her smile. That looked exactly like I had imagined. But, as bright as her smile was, so clouded were her now milky eyes.

Colors. How did I forget those? Am I already so used to them that I even forget them now, as every other person who has experienced sight does.

I remember colors. They had been assaulting me for weeks now, and I didn't know what it meant. They got me this coloring book for a kindergartener in order to teach me the them. It was a bit humiliating, but also fascinating. I was entering a new world. It was incredible.

I would've enjoyed it, too, if it weren't for the constant, hammering guilt.

I was a coward. I knew it. I knew it, as much as I hated it, but what was I to do about it now? The deal had been made, Michella had gotten out with zero and I had gotten out with the jackpot.

It wasn't fair. Michella had known what she was missing, and I knew that she had been craving it. I also knew that she knew that I didn't care for the other people's world. So why, why had she sacrificed herself for me?

I asked her. I asked her during my sixth week in the hospital. She smiled – it looked so beautiful – and said: "Because even the princess has to save the knight sometimes, doesn't she?"

She refused to say anything more on the subject, no matter how hard I begged her to.

But the worst thing?

The worst thing is that, despite the guilt, I was secretly relieved.

I'm a horrible person, yes, I'm well aware. But the world, this world that I hadn't known I missed, was beautiful. The colors were radiant, exquisite, like an exotic bird from Paradise. At every turn, I was discovering new things, exploring caves that I had never even knew were there. I loved it. I couldn't enjoy it, but every time I found a new one of those caves, I eagerly went into it, learning more and more about it the deeper I went. And finding a whole secret society within those caves, because apparently, everyone knew their way within them.

I was blending in, I realized. I was beginning to become normal.

My world was slowly turning into theirs.

I was immigrating to another, fully unexplored world, and I wanted to see it all.

I was, deep within my heart, grateful. I had this constant urge to throw myself at Michella's – non-walking – feet and thank her a thousand times over. I even seriously contemplated beginning a shrine dedicated to her.

She was the goddess who had created my new world and I would never been able to thank her enough.

Yet, never once did I say "Thank you" to her. Because that would be implying that she had done the right thing.

…

I remember asking someone about a week after my first clear memory: "Is this what you have always seen?"

They answered yes. But when I proceeded to ask them why they couldn't see the patient's broken hand, then, they got confused.

Turned out that the patient was in another room getting scanned for broken bones. And it also turned out that being able to see this wasn't normal, not normal at all.

My world was still different from theirs. I was still different. I could explore the caves deeper than anyone else from that society.

I was still different.

And I tried not to laugh bitterly, because even after all of this, I still wasn't the same as everyone else.

…

It was one of the doctors that mentioned Libra. The organization that dealt with beings from the Beyond. Like the beast that had given me my eyesight.

My heart had skipped a beat.

This.

This was my chance.

…

I got a job at a pizzeria and pursued a job as photojournalist. This world was amazingly beautiful, and I wanted nothing more than to capture that in pictures for everyone to see.

It was a bit funny. Everyone constantly asked me why I was taking pictures of the simplest things, like my free refill of coffee, my pizza-delivery scooter, the beings from Beyond, the humans on the street, the diner I came to every day.

Those boring, everyday things, the ones that nobody cared to look twice at, those were my miracles. To be precise, those were the result of the miracle that was given to me by the beast from Beyond and my brave sister. They were special, every single one of them, and I wanted everyone to appreciate them.

So I memorized them in pictures, in the hopes that, even when I had explored all the caves, I would still remember my wonder when I found them.

…

I found Libra after only a month. Or rather, they found me. Or rather, they confused me with someone else and then decided to use me anyway. Whatever, I now had two jobs: one as a minor member of Libra, and one as a pizza deliverer.

Yeah, my life was getting less normal by the minute.

…

Klaus asked me once why I constantly clacked my tongue. I hadn't even realize that I was doing it. Apparently, it was a leftover relic form my blind days.

I didn't tell him that, though. I hadn't told anyone what I had been before I got these eyes. Instead, I told him a half-truth, that it was nothing more than a tick.

It was, but if that wasn't the full story, that was none of their business.

…

Apparently, Libra didn't only deal with unruly beings from Beyond. They also dealt with unruly humans, even if they did so less often.

Don't get me wrong, their primary objective was keeping the human world save from beings that were obviously more powerful than us. But sometimes, after a particularly vicious hate crime against those same beings, we got called in to refute some rumors about the people from Beyond. A lot of nasty, untrue rumors were circulating, and giving education about the others could help prevent crimes. So, since we dealt with them often, we were the best choice to give that education. Libra's goal was, after all, to uphold the balance between species, and in order to do that, we need to have an understanding of the other species. Hell, with members like Chain and Zed, we were probably the most integrated 'company' in all of Hellsalem's Lot.

But even among the Libra members there was some natural suspicion towards those of different species. Despite – or maybe because of – their work, the human members from Libra were more likely to suspect a being from Beyond to be guilty of a crime, rather than a human. Likewise, Zed and the other non-human members were more likely to suspect a human. Even among Libra, probably the most open group in all of Hellsalem's Lot, there was suspicion.

They weren't the only ones. Like I've already said, there were a lot of terrible rumors going around, resulting in fear and prejudge. Even those open-minded weren't likely to help someone out of they didn't look like them.

I never got that. Living creatures were living creatures, no matter how they looked. That thought was slowly starting to get a hold of people, and places like my regular diner where all species were allowed in were slowly starting to pop up. But still, it was going way too slow.

Maybe it was a side effect of my former blindness, I don't know, but I've never seen how someone's looks mattered. As long as they were capable of having an intelligent conversation with you, they were deserving of the same rights as you. I didn't see how appearances mattered, and I still don't.

Seeing other people that didn't share that opinion made me very, very sad sometimes, but hey, that's what you need to put up with in Hellsalem's Lot.

…

About three months after I started working for Libra, Chain pulled me aside. To say that I was surprised was an understatement. We had never had any special bond, though she had seemed to like me fine. I liked her fine, I knew that. But we didn't hang out or anything, nor did she stalk me under the pretense of protecting me (right, Zapp?), so I had never really spoken to her.

Hence my surprise when she pulled me aside and started talking with this serious face of hers.

"You should be overly dependent on your sight," she barked. "Normal humans already are, with their bad eyes, and with your amazing pair, you should be even more dependent. Yet you're not. You don't even look like you're using them most of the time. I want to know why."

What was I supposed to say to that? I could lie and say I didn't know what she was talking about, but I think that even without her superior werewolf nose she would be able to smell that bullshit.

On the other hand, I didn't want to tell her. It didn't feel right. I didn't want them to know what would most likely happen if we found that monster. I didn't want them to pity me. Yes, I know that is the oldest cliché in the book, but I'm probably the most normal kid in Hellsalem's Lot, so I can get away with a few clichés.

Besides, it was true. I doubted that they would actually pity me, but if they knew that I was planning to trade my eyes for Michella's legs, it was very possible that they would try to stop me. Either out of caring – I hoped that they had become my friends by now – or out of selfishness – my eyes were, after all, a valuable asset to Libra.

So yeah. Telling her was not really an option either.

"Listen, could you just – drop it? Please? I really don't want to tell you yet."

Chain looked suspicious, but after some persuasion, she relented and I got to keep my secret a little longer.

…

It had almost been three years since I had started working for Libra when we finally found my beast. I recognized his presence, and after battling with the help from Libra, I convinced him to take my eyes back in exchange for my sister's legs.

The beast looked at me and said: "I'm not sure if I can reach her if she's this far from Hellsalem's Lot, but I can try."

That wasn't important. What was important, however, was this line:

"You are much braver than I expected you to be."

And then, the world collapsed.

…

Michella was angry. Very, very angry. So were the people from Libra. I think the only ones who weren't angry were my parents, and even then, I think that that was mostly because they were too sad. I couldn't see their faces, not anymore, but I could imagine them. They didn't look happy.

My world had changed yet again. Sight had fallen back on echo, and I could no longer see the colors. Largely, I had gone back to my old world.

But it was different, now. Now, I knew what I was missing.

When someone shouted "Look at that beautiful color!", I could ask which color they were talking about and imagine it. When my sister showed me her art and described what it was, I could form an image in my head. That was what was different. I could see everything now, if only in my mind's eye, and not with my real ones.

I was blind, yes, but I had gotten a taste of what the other world was like, and I was satisfied with it.

Before, I had said that Michella was stronger than me for holding out when she knew what she was missing. I won't deny that now. She is strong, probably stronger than I'll ever be. But I get how she managed to hold herself up, and why she decided to give me my eyes instead her her legs.

Because, even if the pain was greater now, the pain of not having something I knew was beautiful, I at least could see it now. I could watch it from my world, as if it was a distant island far away. On one hand, it was torturous, because I had no way of going to that island. It was forever out of my reach. On the other hand, it provided such a beautiful view from my world.

So, to make it short: the pain was more intense, yes. But the knowledge, the knowledge of what that magical world looked like, made up for all the pain.

…

It has been a year since I returned to my world now, and I still don't regret a single thing. I know that Michella has tried to convince Libra to help her search for the monster so that I could get my sight back, but they refused, thank god. I'm not sure if she has given up by now, but she has never said anything about it, so I hope so.

I don't live in Hellsalem's Lot anymore. It's simply too dangerous, being blind like this. I miss it, I admit. I miss the commotion, the abnormality, the rush of danger. But it's better like this, and I'm slowly re-accommodating. Normal is slowly replacing abnormal as my, well, normal. If I have learnt everything during these past years, it is that I am surprisingly flexible. I accommodate. I change. I think I like that.

I still have contact with Libra. They call regularly, and they even visit every so often. I'm glad that they continue to see me as their friend, even if I can't contribute anymore.

Why am I writing this down? I don't even know. It was supposed to be a letter to Michella, explaining why I did what I did, but it kinda went somewhere completely different.

Oh well.

I hope the person who finds this can read braille.