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Gloria nudges the poor soul napping next to her. Poor guy, he looks like he pulled 5 all-nighters in a row. The guy darts awake blearily and mumbles something incomprehensible. After being sure that he won’t keel over in the next 5 seconds, she goes back collecting her things and holds back a yawn. Professor Barisol’s lectures are never boring, but she hasn’t been able to sleep well the last couple days, her dreams filled with scenes she can’t decipher.
(It’s odd, because she doesn't have dreams very often, and certainly not on a daily basis.)
She blinks and notices that only a few people remain in the lecture hall. She scowls, she must have gotten lost in thought again. It’s another thing that’s only now popped up, but it isn’t any less annoying. Especially now, since she needs to head over to the library as soon as possible.
She hauls her bag over her shoulder, mumbling a three note melody that’s been stuck in her head lately.
As she passes by the professor, an odd feeling washes over her.
It feels like this person has some significance to her. An importance.
She feels…familiar.
“Is there something you wanted to ask me about, Miss..?” Her teacher’s voice snaps her out of it.
“Oh, sorry Professor! I was just lost in thought is all.” She laughs nervously. She fiddles with her bracelet, hoping she didn’t just offend her.
“It’s alright.” The woman says, gazing at her with sharp blue eyes. Those eyes seem familiar too, Gloria thinks absently. She leaves the lecture hall with the odd feeling that she is being watched.
After studying for a measly ten minutes in the library, she falls asleep.
***
Gloria blinks. She's in a small house, a cottage maybe, and she feels woozy. She can't feel her limbs, and her mouth stubbornly refuses to move despite her attempts to speak.
She's distantly aware that there's someone else in the room, a woman, but she can't see her clearly, almost like the world is out of focus.
Is she dreaming? She can never really control her body in dreams, and this feels like it.
The glint of metal catches her attention, and she finds her eyes sliding over to the bright crimson armor lying on the sofa a bit further in the back in lieu of making eye contact with the woman. The sight of it makes an unidentifiable wave of emotions swell in her, though she’s not sure why. The armor is clearly dear to its owner, and has naturally been chipped away over time. A few steps next to it, propped up against the wall is a sword. It’s not the only one in the house, but she can tell it’s the most used out of all of them, but still well taken care of. Once again, she’s not sure why (it looks worn out and the edge is a bit dull, indicating usage, there are faint blood drops on the blade from having been cleaned too late and–) or how she knows this, she just does.
“Seem familiar?” The woman drawls, her voice an amused timbre. Gloria blinks, she’s sure the other woman didn’t have alcohol when she walked in. The only way she could have gotten some is probably the cabinets behind her, but Gloria would have definitely noticed if she had moved. And now the woman is nursing a glass of alcohol. Probably wine, she thinks.
“Why would they?” Gloria replies not so confidently to the woman’s question, shifting on her feet.
The woman huffs and takes a sip, “More like why wouldn’t they…” she mutters, shaking her head.
They stay in uncomfortable silence for a while longer, and now she is sure she’s in a dream. There is no other sound at all except for the woman in front of her, no birds chirping, no distant chatter, no wind, nothing.
She lets out a long breath, trying to convince herself to be more relaxed, why be so rattled over a dream after all?
“A dream? Well you’re not exactly wrong.” The woman says out loud, knocking her fingers on the wooden table in some strange rhythm.
Gloria flinches violently, and takes a step back. Then, she scolds herself for being a wimp over some stupid dream, and straightens her back. It makes sense for the woman to know her thoughts, she tells herself, she’s just a fragment of her own imagination after all.
However, not even she is assured.
Because deep down, she knows. She knows in her heart, in her very soul, that this isn’t some dream. That this is important.
“Finally!” The woman remarks, setting her glass down and standing up. Her eyes strongly bore into her own and.
And–
Things snap into place, the woman's appearance getting infinitely clearer.
She has short brown hair
And all of a sudden Gloria knows that somehow, this woman is her.
Some years older, but undeniably and fundamentally her.
And she knows her name, too.
“You’ve definitely realized some things by now, but I’ll help you out. I don’t want to drag this on any longer than you do.” Germaine Avadonia says, stretching her arms and walking up to her.
“This place is a crossroad,” Germaine says, “A gateway.. to memories.” There is a slight smile on her face, but it’s not nice at all, Gloria thinks, oddly spooked.
“Memories of..?” Gloria continues, acting as if she is confused even though her entire being is telling her exactly what this place is.
Germaine must know that, because she glares at her as if she’s a particularly squishable bug, “The past, obviously.”
Gloria wants to ask ‘what past?’ but she is very sure that will be met with even more derision. The answer, after all, is very obvious.
My past.
“But how?” She asks weakly, “I already know my past! I know who I am, and I know what life I’m living!”
“Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?” Germaine asks, not unkindly.
“A past life,” Germaine continues after a brief pause, “It’s not as mystical, or even as rare as you’d think.” She stares out at the window, smiling as though she knows something Gloria doesn’t. “Neither is reincarnation.” The woman gazes at her meaningfully, but Gloria doesn't realize.
She now knows what this place is. Neither of them need to verbalize it, not when they both intrinsically know the purpose of it deep in their bones.
The crossroad analogy is accurate, she thinks, looking at the uncomfortably familiar pictures that appear on the walls, the furniture that are replaced every second. It’s like her mind is only now comprehending the weight of another life’s worth of memories and is trying to fit everything in, except it keeps getting overwhelmed with more and more information as memories keep arriving.
“So?” She is suddenly interrupted from her reverie by the ancient swordswoman, who has now chosen to sit on the table, “What will you choose?”. Her appearance is changing too, Gloria notes. Instead of the simple red dress, she now wears a yellow kimono. Instinctively, Gloria knows it’s the one she and Chartette picked out together when they were in Jakoku. Germaine hadn’t been sure if it looked good on her, but Chartette had assured her otherwise.
(The redhead turned around and flashed her a smile, “Trust me big sis, the yellow really fits you, brings out your eyes yannow!”)
In a flash, everything around her changes, and for a second she sees Chartette in front of her, eyes blazing with determination, gaze imploring her to–
She blinks.
And Chartette’s eyes are dull. Lifeless.
She killed—
She blinks and she is back in the house again.
“Is that supposed to be your choice? You know how to speak, don’t you? Fucking use your words instead of that.” Snaps Germaine, looking shaken. She is in her father’s armor now, and the atmosphere weighs on them both, like a guillotine, about to slice their neck.
Gloria blinks again, disoriented. “Just to be clear, I’m deciding whether to let go of your memories or to keep them?”
“More or less.”
Two options that are equally damning…but there is a third one.
After all, one can always go back when at a crossroad. She can choose to leave this choice for another day and leave it open to herself just in case.
But, she thinks as she looks around the humble house, Do I want these memories back at all?
Even just being in this house again leaves her with a tornado of emotions. In the corner of her mind, Germane Avadonia sees flashes of a dead father, of revenge, of a revolution, of betrayal, of a brother and a guillotine, of guilt choking her, of red pigtails and of a red cat and being displaced in time, to die alone and friendless without anything left and—
Gloria blinks.
Everything is the same. The ghost of who she used to be is still staring at her, silently. The house is exactly the same.
She’s made her decision.
She steps back and turns around.
She steps out of the house.
When she places her hand on the door knob, she knows that she can close it behind her forever, or leave it open. Just in case.
It’s only right to close it forever. She's a different person now. She's in college, something she had never believed to be possible until her dad adopted her. She's living in the modern world, not in some medieval age with revolutions and princesses and sorceresses.
Besides, what did being Germaine Avadonia ever do for her?
She has a different life now, allowing it to be tainted by another would be unwelcome. That life brought her nothing but grief and despair anyway, it should be an easy choice.
Yet.
And yet.
With her hand grasped around the doorknob, she hesitates.
Overwhelmed, she turns her back to the house again.
“Trying to leave the past behind? Really? Why delay the inevitable?”
Gloria’s eyes flash to Germaine in lightning speed, the other woman stands confidently, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I've never been able to let go. Never been able to leave the past behind, to stop chasing after revenge, to bury the hatchet. In the end, I can’t help but look back.” Her voice is bitter, her smile is sharp, her eyes are filled with grief, and the corners of her mouth are pulled taut with anger. “Everyone has their sin.”
“This,” She raises her hands, gesturing at her, at the house, at the past. “Is ours.”
“What we?” Gloria replies shrilly, “I am not you!”
She whirls around, harshly throwing the door open, and bolts.
She runs away from the house, and from her past life. From Germaine Avadonia. From herself.
She runs. And runs. But she knows that no matter how far she runs, she won’t be able to leave the house behind.
After a while, she comes to a stop to catch her breath, and wipes non-existent sweat from her forehead.
She’s run a long way, but she can feel that the house is still lurking near her.
She should leave. She should end this dream, lock away the memories of her past life forever.
She should.
She should…
And yet–
She looks back.