★ Monsters of the Mind ★

Beaux awoke with a start, letting out a groan of pain as his muscles tightened. His head was pounding, each throb feeling like the slamming of a hammer against his skull. Bleary blue eyes slowly wandered the room. Faint light was glowing from behind the solid window curtain. On the opposite wall were some cupboards with a countertop beneath. A few jars sat on the surface, but they were too far away to make any sense of what was inside. A thick curtain separated the room into two so that the door wasn’t visible.

Beaux’s eyes trailed to his own body. He was lying in a bed framed with short metal bars so that he wouldn’t fall out. Covering his body was a thick ivory blanket. To the side of the bed stood a bag on a stand, a tube coming from the bottom and disappearing under his blankets.

Am I in the infirmary?... Beaux wondered to himself, his thoughts fuzzy. Why am I in the infirmary? What happened? The answer didn’t come to him. It felt like his head was full of molasses. Each thought was like a swimmer trying to make their way through it, but kept getting stuck.

The angel did his best to sit up. There was stinging pain coming from his abdomen, but he was scared to look. The edge of a bandage peeked from beneath the blanket on his chest. They weren’t bloody from what he could see, but he dared not push back the covering to see. Beaux glanced away with a gulp. With that, he realized he was incredibly thirsty despite the IV bag attached to his hand. Usually he was good about keeping his hydration up, but with the last day being a blank in his mind, he wasn’t sure the last time he’d consumed water.

Hazy blue eyes sought out a glass or a bottle or something to drink from. There was a sink built into the countertop. Surely there were plastic cups in the cupboards somewhere. Beaux was willing to bend down and drink straight from the tap if he had to. If he could just get there somehow…

The angel let out a whimper as he scooted to the edge of the bed. Everything was sore, but sharp stinging pain shot throughout his abdomen. That seemed to be the core of everything that hurt. With some effort and more soft cries of pain, he managed to get to his feet. Blankets were grabbed and wrapped around his body to hide what was beneath and to keep him warm. Beaux took a moment to steady himself, making sure that he wouldn’t collapse when he took a step. Each movement was shaky.

It took a few minutes, but Beaux made his way to the other side of the room. One hand supported him while he opened the cupboards. He searched the various shelves, only finding medical supplies. At last, he found a few glasses in the top row. He slowly reached up to grab one. Pain ripped through his chest as the muscles stretched. Beaux nearly sobbed at the sensation. Nevertheless, he was thirsty enough to push through and grab the glass.

The angel placed his cup on the countertop and took a moment to breathe as deeply as he could and tremble. Just what had happened to render him this harmed and weak? After he caught his breath, Beaux reached over to the sink and swiftly filled his glass. Raising up the glass, he let the cool liquid slide into his parched mouth. It was so refreshing he nearly moaned. Even swallowing hurt though…

Just as he was finishing up his drink, Beaux’s vision was overtaken. In an instant he couldn’t see the room he was in. All he could see was a pair of predatory blue eyes. The gaze ripped into his soul, hounded his mind until he could think of naught else. The eyes wrought terror throughout the angel’s body. His heart began to pound as he stumbled back blindly. Aching muscles began to tense as adrenaline coursed through his veins. With a single clench of his fist, the water glass was shattered. Shards fell to the floor, but many cut into Beaux’s hand. Blood and water began to drip in a slow crimson rain.

The blankets had fallen from his body, revealing the thick bandages covering the angel’s torso and some of his legs. Beaux looked down in horror. Everything suddenly hit him with headache-inducing clarity. Every second of his encounter with Sanguine replayed through his mind in excruciating detail. The angel doubled over as he was overcome with memory. His body ached where Sanguine had hit him, which was, well, almost everywhere.

After the physical memory attack had subdued some, Beaux found himself on his hands and knees in the infirmary room. Agony racked his ribs as he gasped for air. Fear caused every inch of him to tremble. It felt like someone was hitting his head with a sledgehammer in increasing power. What is happening to me? Beaux thought, groaning as the headache persisted.

In a split second he was overtaken by another memory-seizure. This time, it wasn’t his own memories. Beaux found himself looking over a chasm, edged by steep cliffs that dropped straight down into the darkness below. Shadows seemed to slink around like smoke from whatever was at the bottom. A piece of the cliff edge raised up into a platform, shrouded in a dim light. There seemed to be no other major light sources.

Upon the precipice stood a figure. It was tall, muscular, and mysterious. Beaux could almost feel the darkness emanating from it. Whoever - or whatever - it was had two lithe but massive pairs of pitch black wings. The feathered limbs stretched out over the cliffside, a menacing mass to accompany a sinister being. A breeze of an unknown source ruffled the feathers gently.

The figure turned to face from where Beaux was looking. It was a man, seemingly. He was shirtless but wore an almost skirt-like garment on his lower half. On his head was a large, decorative golden mask. Metal feathers stuck out from the sides and thin golden chains hung down to his chest. Oddest of all was the mask shape itself - it covered his eyes completely. The bottom of the mask pressed close to his cheekbones. There was no chance of seeing anything from beneath it.

The man reached out a hand towards Beaux, or whomever this memory belonged to. A finger beckoned him closer, then extended into a claw-like digit. Across the face of the dark being, a wolfish smirk formed. “I see you’ve decided to come for a visit,” the black angel taunted. His voice was the deepest that Beaux had ever heard. It was soothing, alluring, inviting. It called to him, deep within, and made him want to trust this man. Beaux would have shivered if he was able.

The angel was yanked back into reality by someone touching his shoulder gently. He glanced up through bleary eyes to see a doctor leaning over him with a concerned look on his face. Two nurses stood behind him, worried looks on their faces. The effect of the memories had caused Beaux to curl up in the corner of the room. He was clutching his bleeding hand and trembling. Baby blue eyes had stared at nothing as he rocked back and forth. To any medical professional, it was clear that he was suffering from the trauma he had experienced no more that 24 hours before.

As Beaux slowly came to from his episode, all of the sensations that were subdued by the memory attack came back tenfold. He felt a crippling exhaustion fall over his body like a wave. Sledgehammer throbs in his head made the angel cringe. His ribs ached from the effort of heaving breaths. He noticed the IV drip had been ripped from his hand and laid across the floor. “What happened to me?” he mumbled to the doctor, his voice quiet and afraid.

“I’m not entirely sure, Mr. Phacelia. We’re going to give you some relaxing agents so that your mind and body can rest. As soon as we figure it out, we will let you know. Right now we need to get you back to your bed so that you can work on recovering.” Beaux nodded drearily. He accepted the help of the doctors and nurses to get to his feet and stumble back to the hospital bed. As soon as he had settled down, the nurses added a new bit of liquid to the IV bag. Soon after, Beaux felt himself begin to relax mentally and physically.

The last thing he heard was the doctor heading towards the door. “I’m going to get the lead psychologist and therapist in the area. I’ve never seen a case like this before,” he told the nurses. “Stay here and keep an eye over him. The last thing he needs to slow his recovery even more is another episode of whatever that was.”

Continuation from above

Despite the doctors’ best efforts, Beaux had several more episodes in the infirmary after the first. Each time they seemed more aggressive than the previous. No matter what he was doing, they seemed to be without rhyme or reason with their timing. The doctors had been able to identify some triggers, but it was a guessing game beyond that. Beaux would be overtaken by the sight of Sanguine’s eyes. They stared into his soul, piercing his sanity with irrational fear and bringing memories from within. Each memory took to the angel’s brain as if it were attacking him. They wrought havoc on his mind. Beaux could only watch helplessly. Sometimes the memories were his own, but oftentimes they were not. It was unclear what the source of the strange sights was.

The doctors had tried medication, which was only successful in helping Beaux to sleep after each episode. Even doped up on strong substances, the visions found a way of breaking through. Experts across Fiore had been brought in to observe the Rune Knight. Each ran test after test, tried giving him experimental drugs, examined him physically. No conclusion could be made by anyone. The most they could do was try different drugs and send therapists in to talk to Beaux.

The therapy was helpful for easing any panic that the Knight was feeling. He couldn’t talk about his experience with Sanguine since that had been identified as a trigger. However, he could talk about many of his other issues. Hours were spent talking to professionals. Beaux found himself building mental strength against the problematic points in his past. However, each time he had a memory-seizure, the walls that had been built were chipped at.

No amount of preparation, medically or mentally, could prepare Beaux for a memory episode. When it hit, it hit like a freight train. It felt as if his brain was expanding, trying to burst from within his skull. Headaches had become a common visitor, never a welcome one. When he returned to reality from his mind, Beaux was often curled into a ball, shaking and shivering. Not only was his mind rocked each time, but his body ached. He was left without a drop of energy, save to uncurl himself.

Beaux began to deteriorate slowly. All the stress was causing him to lose weight. Formerly he had managed to build a lean muscle mass, but the shape of muscles faded underneath his skin. What was once healthy flesh became gaunt against the bones beneath. The angel’s skin paled and began to take on an ashy tone. Lively blue eyes now stared blank and lidded from within their sockets. Even Beaux’s wings had taken effect from his decline. He lacked the energy to make them disappear, so they hung limply from his back at all times. Feathers lost their sleek sheen and became patchy. They began to fall out one by one. The majestic limbs resembled an unfinished quilt, missing vital pieces but somehow still beautiful in their broken state.

His personality had changed too. Normally he would cheerfully greet and talk to the nurses and doctors. Even in pain, Beaux never forgot his manners. However, he began to retract within himself. The peppy energy had simply left him. The angel felt no desire to interact with others. Smiling took more energy than it ever had. His days since the second episode had been spent staring out the window solemnly. Responses to his caretakers were few. The words that he spoke lacked energy, life, motivation. He turned away guildmates from visiting. They shouldn't have to see him this way.

Beaux was a shell of himself. This wasn’t depression, no - he had been through that. The feeling of hopelessness wasn’t present here. He didn’t necessarily want to cease to exist, he just simply felt numb. The angel didn’t know what he wanted. The days blurred into one another, the only distinction being the days where he was overcome by memory-seizures. He could feel the nurses gaze at him with pity in their eyes.

Some nights Beaux sat awake at the window of the infirmary room he lived in. He would watch the moon, the stars, and the bustling city of Era below. The angel’s face was blank of expression, but still he watched. This night, he would look down at his crippled leg, bathed in moonlight. The scars gleamed like silver. Beneath the skin shot a sudden pulse of black and purple. Beaux gasped. It couldn’t be that again. He thought it had been removed long ago.

On Beaux’s left leg were the scars of an old injury. He was crippled long ago. When he had lost his sister, he slowly was overtaken by some sort of disease. Ridges of black and dark purple had grown from beneath his skin. It had started at his foot and made its way up, slowly consuming his body until he was dappled in ridges and horns, spikes and scales. Back then, he had nearly died, but was saved miraculously by an angel that was on death’s doorstep itself. The disease had been banished and Beaux was freed of scars, save for the crippling of his left leg.

Night after night, Beaux would sit in the moonlight. The light bathed his bony shoulders and glowed from his cheekbones. He would watch the crippled leg intently, waiting for the darkness beneath the skin to appear once more. The first few times it simply flashed by, but over a week’s time Beaux began to notice something else. Hard black growths began to push at the skin, forcing their way to the surface. It was itchy and painful, yet familiar. The angel could only watch in horrified silence as the ridges and scales that had once consumed him appeared once more. Each time he had a memory-seizure, the growth’s spread would jump exponentially. It grew stronger as his body faded. However, whenever he would wake in the morning, it was as if the ridges had never existed. His skin was smooth, save for the cripple scars.

Beaux questioned his own sanity. Were the scales a trick of the moonlight? Was it his mind playing games on him? Doubts plagued his lethargic mind, yet the ridges appeared like clockwork every night.

Three weeks after Beaux’s original memory episode, he had another. This one was the most vicious of all. As usual, he had been struck by the vision of predatory blue eyes that kickstarted his fear. Immediately the angel’s head began to pound in a rhythmic pulse. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as he curled around his bent legs. Every heartbeat could be felt in the corners of his weakened body.

Beaux was shot straight into a vision. He could see it as clearly as if he was there. He was back in Napedia, in his room in the mansion that belonged to his aunt. This wasn’t the mother of his cousin Louie, but an aunt on his mother’s side. After his parents had passed away, Beaux and his sister had been sent to live with this aunt. She was to take care of them until they were grown.

Beaux was looking down at his feet. He was a young teen in this instance, dressed in the school uniform he had been wearing throughout the day. Perfectly polished shoes tapped together nervously. The voice of his aunt faded in, loud and authoritative. The angel was all too familiar with this memory.

“I can’t believe you! Enfant insolent! I heard from Monsieur Daniau what you’ve done. Disgrâce! Holding hands with a boy? What do you have to say for yourself?!” his aunt shouted. Young Beaux glanced up at her with fearful blue eyes. Her face was red with anger and brow was furrowed over a furious gaze. The woman was tall, large, and intimidating.

“I-I… je suis désolé,” Beaux heard himself respond quietly. His voice was much higher than it was in the current day. Though it was a memory, the emotions of that day were beginning to resurface. His heart felt as if it were in his throat. Anxiety had twisted his gut into a knot so tight he feared he may never unravel it.

“You bring shame upon our family, Beauxregard. The neighbors will surely talk about this. If it gets out to the public, we will be shunned! Our family name will lose its place in Napedian society! Homosexuality is wrong and a bane on our society. You are un déshonneur, garçon.” The disgust was clear in her voice as she glared at the boy. Young Beaux tucked his chin to his chest, his ears turning red in shame. He began to sniffle as tears leaked down his face. The boy had gladly held hands with another of his gender. It felt right in a way that physical contact with girls did not. Young Beaux had wanted romantic contact with another male for a long time. However, between finding another boy who would be willing and trying to do it away from prying eyes, it had been a challenging task.

The fact that he had finally accomplished the innocent act set the boy’s heart alight. The entire day he had been walking on sunshine, head in the clouds. His mind and body had screamed at him that this was right. To be romantic with males was how things should be. It was against Napedian law and society, but it was right for Beaux. He knew that with every fiber of his being.

His uplifted mood was killed swiftly when he had returned home from studies and found his aunt waiting for him in his room. The glare with which she had pierced him made his stomach drop. Though he often got in trouble for minor things, this was different. This was not like being late to class or forgetting which fork was meant for salad. Her expression was different, her tone was deadly. Beaux knew at once that she knew.

Now he stood twiddling the edge of his shirt, chin on his chest and looking at the floor. Tears soaked his vision, blurring his sight. What he had felt was so right deep in his heart was wrong to Napeidans. His aunt found him disgusting now because of what he had done. How could something that felt so pure and true in his heart be so wrong? Shame and fear coursed through his body, and he began to shake. His aunt noticed and scoffed. “Quit your crying, enfant,” she snarled at him, but that only made young Beaux cry harder. She approached, her steps a thunderous, looming threat. The boy looked up in time to see her raise her hand and draw it back. He braced himself for impact.

But it came from a different source. The memory of his own had shattered into a thousand shards, replaced by a different one. This was not one of Beaux’s memories, but one of an unknown source. The angel found himself in a massive throne room. Arches raised high up above, supporting a ceiling of intricate design. Seven thrones sat upon a raised stone platform at the head of the room. Each one was designed uniquely.

Beaux couldn’t stop to observe them though. Whoever this memory belonged to was mid battle. He found himself skidding to a stop near the step that lead up to the throne. Armor covered his arms. Tips of white hair hung over his eyes slightly. In his peripheral vision, Beaux noticed the tips of six wings. Gloved hands held onto a sword whose hilt was wrapped in a rich red ribbon. The edges of the ribbon dangled down, which seemed to be dangerous. As the memory-owner parried another attack, the ribbon pieces stayed out of the way as if they were alive.

Looking to his opponent, Beaux realized it was some sort of demon. Long arms held on to a heavy, brutish sword. It stood taller than the memory-owner by at least a foot. With a roar, it leapt forward towards the person Beaux was occupying. Though he wasn’t in control, he parried and kicked the enemy’s foot out from beneath him. The demon crashed downwards and the man sliced upwards with the sword. His enemy was sliced clean in half and collapsed onto the floor.

Whoever Beaux was occupying spoke. “Mornath, cease this. You cannot beat me on my own turf.” The voice was gentle but firm. It sounded familiar to Beaux somehow, but he couldn’t place it.

“Ha! You know I will regenerate in a day or two. I’ll just come back for more. I’m starting to enjoy our little battles,” the defeated demon sneered with a chuckle. “Besides, I think he will deal with you this time.” Before the memory-owner could react, something sharp pierced straight into his back. In the real world, Beaux’s seizing body felt the same pain. His back arched in agony in the hospital bed.

The memory's owner let out a cry that echoed around the room. Whoever had snuck up behind him had punctured his back with long, sharp claws. The enemy leaned over his shoulder, but Beaux couldn’t get a good look. The pain was too real to him. This memory had started to blend into reality and he was feeling all that the memory’s owner was feeling.

A deep, alluring voice rumbled from behind him. It was the same from another memory that Beaux had witnessed, but he couldn’t think straight enough to match a face. “Goodbye, Soren,” it hummed mockingly. The sensation of cold stone spreading over his back startled the angel. It consumed him until both Beaux and the memory’s owner blacked out.

Continuation from above

Beaux awoke in a sweat. His back was still stiffly arched. The physical pain caused by the memory began to fade. The angel slowly relaxed, curling back up into a ball. His mind reeled, trying to process what had just happened. Not only had he relived one of the worst memories of his life, he had witnessed someone perish. Who did these memories come from?

The door to his room in the infirmary opened, and Beaux weakly looked up. He could not even attempt to raise himself to a sitting position. The energy just didn’t exist after the memory-seizure not minutes before. The angel turned his gaunt face towards the door, his defeated blue eyes waiting to see who entered.

The doctor walked in, another person trailing behind him. He was looking at a clipboard, his brow furrowed. Steady steps led him to the side of Beaux’s bed. The woman behind him followed. He glanced up, taking in the Knight’s appearance before glancing back down at his papers. “Mr. Phacelia, did you recently have a memory-seizure?” he asked, concern in his eyes. “The nurses thought they may have heard you.”

“Yes, just minutes ago,” Beaux replied, letting out a weak cough. The ache in his spine was still there. His eyes felt droopy. This latest one had taken his energy and left his body in a worse state than any other had. The angel felt as if his life essence was draining out of his body and through the cracks in the pristine tile floor.

“I see. Miss, you are free to speak to him. If either of you need anything, don’t hesitate to call us in,” the doctor said. He and the lady shared a long glance as if speaking to one another without words. With a slight nod of his head, the doctor turned and left the room

The woman turned to Beaux, reaching out a hand to her side. The chair against the wall skidded across the floor right into her hand. She pulled it next to the bed and sat. The angel raised an eyebrow curiously. This woman used magic, that was certain. Was she here to end his life peacefully? Beaux nearly laughed at the oddity of the thought. If she was, there wouldn’t be much of a fight. He was so weak she could probably flick his nose and kill him. He didn’t even consider that she might be a healer of sorts. Since all other medicine had failed, his hope was incredibly low.

“Beauxregard Valentin Carlisle Phacelia,” the woman hummed, staring into his eyes. They were a vibrant green, much like the buds that covered tree branches in the spring. She donned a cloak whose hood covered her head. Her cheeks were smooth with youth, yet she seemed mature and collected. Beaux couldn’t tell how old she was. She didn’t seem to have a malicious look about her.

“Do I know you?” the weakened angel asked. His once chipper voice had faded to a wispy croak. Deep, slow breaths kept his lungs moving.

“You should, but you do not,” the woman replied matter-of-factly. Oh great, now she was speaking in riddles. “My name is Orena. I am here to help you.”

“How could you help me? Everything the doctors have done has failed. They try to hide it from me, but I know,” Beaux replied dryly. He had all but given up faith that he would make it through.

“Don’t speak like that! If you give up hope then all is lost,” Orena hissed, leaning forward swiftly so that she was close to Beaux’s face. In the motion, her hood had fallen down, revealing her hair. The locks were a vibrant red-orange. Fluffy curls spread in a display of color and volume. Beaux would have gasped if he were able.

“Y-your hair…” he trailed off. Something about the color was familiar, tracing back to his childhood.

Orena rolled her eyes. “Yes, my hair,” she said with an impatient sigh. “And my skin,” she added. All over, her skin turned a shade of green for a moment before returning to a more human color. “Listen, Beaux. You may not believe me, but I’m here to help you. I can give you the tools to heal yourself.”

“Heal myself?”

“Yes. This is beyond what traditional medicine can cure. You are the only one who can bring yourself back from this.” She seemed agitated, as if there was a need to hurry. Beaux didn’t understand the rush.

“You can’t?” he asked, tilting his head curiously.

Orena scoffed. “No. I may be powerful but I cannot interfere with your life directly. I am only able to give you what you need to do it yourself. Now, take my hands,” she reached out her hands to Beaux, who placed his own bony fingers in them gently. Her skin was warm and the angel felt comforted. “Now, what we’re going to do is allow your mind to subdue these memories that keep taking over you. You’re going to need to use all your mental and physical strength to achieve this. I’ll be giving you a little boost of energy, but that’s all that I’m allowed to do for you. Now relax, let your mind clear of everything.”

“As if I were meditating?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. Just focus!” Beaux closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. What else could he do but trust Orena? His options were running out, and if there was a chance that this would work he was more than willing to take it. It took a few minutes for his mind to clear of straying thoughts. What he saw in the last memory-seizure kept flickering into his mind’s eye, but Beaux pushed it away. The effort would have sapped the little energy he had, but he felt Orena’s strength flow through his hands. It wasn’t enough to invigorate him, but it kept him pushing onward.

“Now picture yourself in an open space. This can be a room, a field, or whatever you think of. Each mind finds their space to be different.” Beaux found himself standing in a meadow in his mind’s eye, full of wildflowers. Mountains rose in the distance, resembling closely the ones that bordered Napedia to the north. A sweet summer breeze rustled the flowers. He turned to the left to see Orena at his side. Her intense green eyes watched his every move, filled with encouragement. While she wasn’t necessarily the kindest, he felt that he could trust the strange woman.

“Across the space, do you see a gate?” Orena turned her head to look over the meadow. Beaux looked over as well. At first, he didn’t see anything, then a gate appeared. It was made of quartz, the pillars sticking high up in the air. The actual gate was made of silver, gleaming brightly in the sun. He was awed by its majestic beauty.

“Yes.”

“Good. Go to it.” Beaux strode across his mind field, the wildflowers brushing comfortingly against his legs. The sun was beginning to set, sending golden light across the space. The angel’s hair blew lightly in the wind.

“Put your hands on the gate and recite after me: This is my mind’s garden. I have naught to fear, for I tend to it with the utmost care.” Beaux reached out and grasped the silver bars. The metal was cool beneath his frail hands. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, repeating the words that Orena had spoken. Glowing light formed around the gate. After a moment, the gate doors swung inward. Behind them was a garden, truly.

“I cannot accompany you in here,” Orena’s voice echoed around Beaux, stopping him from stepping inside. He turned to see her standing away from the entrance, hands clasped together in front. “But you must listen to my instructions. This is your mind’s garden. The outside will reflect a place where you find the most comfort. The inside layout is unknown to outsiders and unique to the person. Within this garden, you must create a virtual container of sorts. This can be a chest, a cottage, a bottle, whatever you see fit. It must be stable and secure, for if it breaks, your mind will be lost. You must imagine these intruding memories as an object. Gather them up by collecting the items which you imagine. Then you must use this avatar of yourself in your mind to place them within the container. Secure the container in any manner you wish, just ensure that it cannot open unless you will it. That way, no matter how reactive the memory items are, they cannot harm you. The next time you have a memory-seizure, you will need to be present to hold the container shut and ensure the seal does not break.”

“I understand,” stammered Beaux. There was a lot to take in. Normally he would have thought this all sounded like superstition and dark magic, but at this point he was desperate enough to try it. Anything to stop the horrible agony that the memory episodes were causing him. Orena had given him a chance.

“You must tend to this garden every day for a while, then every other day after you feel secure. This process will protect your mind while you begin to heal. It’ll help prevent any future attacks and keep you safe. It will also hold back the disease that has been resurfacing on your leg,” Orena continued solemnly. Beaux gasped. “How do you know about that?”

“That doesn’t matter!” Orena snapped. “If you take care of your mind garden routinely, the likelihood of another one happening is scarce. However, should you ever find that a memory-seizure is coming on, find a safe place and retreat into your mind garden. Wait out the attack within the walls here. That should keep you alive through it. Now, make haste before the next memory comes around. Good luck, Beauxregard.” With that, her voice and presence faded from Beaux’s meadow.

“Thank you,” he called after her, unsure if she heard him or not. The angel turned to the gates, looking them up and down. This was all weird. Very weird. However, he knew deep down that it was real. The mind garden was a part of his consciousness. It needed to be protected. Beaux stepped through the gates and into the white light beyond.

As soon as the light faded from his vision, Beaux found himself in the center of some sort of garden structure. Beneath his feet was a large hexagon-shaped platform paved in limestone bricks. Patterns were carved within the stone. In the center of the hexagon was a pedestal big enough to place a large chest upon. That seemed to be where he should put the memory-restricting container.

Beaux turned in a tight circle, observing the rest of his garden. Hexagons spread out from the center one, seeming to have no end. The angel could feel the boundaries of the garden beyond his sight, though. A ring of limestone hexagons surrounded the one he stood upon. Outside of that ring was another, each shape housing a statue. The rest of the hexagons were filled with plants of all kinds, spreading out into an array of vibrant green dotted with color. Bees created a low collective buzz as they traversed from flower to flower.

Beaux let out a gasp as he realized that each statue was of an angel. Around their feet were gardens full of different plants. There were six in total, with the space for a seventh that remained unoccupied. Mist covered their stony faces, but Beaux could see their bodies and wings clearly. These were the angels that he could transform into! He recognized the one with six wings, the stormy one with big wings, and the golden female one! Some of the others he didn’t recognize, but Beaux was still excited. Perhaps with his magic connecting so closely to his soul, the angels were able to appear here. Why would they be statues, though? The angel's blue eyes observed every inch of the statue with six light wings, which he realized were carved out of rose quartz and housed a pink tint. Each statue was expertly carved, but had chips and cracks beginning to show should one look closely.

Beaux clutched his hands to his chest. This garden was beautiful, so much so that he nearly wept. He crouched down to look at a flower in one of the hexagons. It was a hyacinth. Beaux was no florist but he knew this flower very well. It was the one that his sister was named after. He cradled the petals gently with his fingers and he watched it with affectionate eyes. The angel had only been to his mind garden for a few minutes, but he already felt comfort here. This place was created by and catered directly towards who he was. Beaux knew he had to protect this place at all costs. Due to the bees and the hexagonal shaped stone, he knew exactly what to name the mind garden. I’ll call it the Honeycomb, Beaux thought to himself. A little smile graced his paled lips.

A distant rumble shook the ground of the mind garden. Beaux steadied himself, then looked around frantically. This could mean that another mind-seizure was coming! He scrambled to the pedestal in the very center. The angel placed his hands on the stone surface and closed his eyes. Beaux felt magic begin to pour from his chest and through his arms into the quartz. Glowing from beneath his hands lit up the angel’s gaunt face. The tidbit of energy Orena had bestowed to him was depleting fast. He had to follow her instructions before it was too late!

After a few seconds, Beaux felt the magic flow fade. His baby blue eyes were graced by an interesting sight as he opened them. Atop the pedestal before him was a large oaken chest. It was an old one, but sturdy. Metal bound the corners and edges of the rich wood, shaped in designs and depictions of ancient symbols.

Beaux recognized the virtual container at once. It was the chest that had contained all the items his parents had left behind after their deaths. Their photographs, clothing, trinkets, everything precious that could be salvaged was stored in this chest for Beaux and his sister to inherit someday. His aunt had kept the chest hidden far away in her study, but the boy often snuck in to look at it and run his hands over the aged metal and wood.

While the real chest had a large magical padlock on the front, this memory version had no lock to be seen. Beaux shakily flipped up the latch. He took a moment to run his fingers over the wood, then stuck his fingertips under the edge of the lid. Slowly he lifted it up to find that the space was empty. Though he knew logically that there was no chance of his parents’ belongings existing in this version of the chest, Beaux couldn’t help but feel disappointed. If only he could see what the real one held…

The angel let out a sigh. Another rumble shook the Honeycomb, scaring the bees into an unsettled buzz. Beaux had to find the memories quickly and contain them within the oaken chest. He dared not find out what would happen if he didn’t. Frantically his gaze scoured the garden, searching for something that seemed out of place. He noticed a little alcove at the base of the six-winged rose quartz statue. Beaux nearly ran over to it, only stopping to keep his balance when another rumble shook the Honeycomb.

Within the alcove sat a book bound in worn leather and held together by red ribbons edged in gold. It was housed in a pristine glass case, which Beaux opened the lid of. Despite seeming like it had been there for a long time, not a speck of dust covered the surface. Beaux reached out cautiously, running his fingers over the cover. Perhaps something within the book could tell him what to look for. He picked it up with gentle hands, taking care not to damage the pages. The angel gently flipped open the cover. The paper was yellow with age. The first page simply held one word, a name, written in elegant cursive: Soren.

As if taken up by some invisible wind, the book flew from Beaux’s hands. Another stronger rumble shook the Honeycomb at the same time. Pages began to fly from within the book, scattering across the hexagons. Beaux gasped and rushed to grab the item from the air. He had to stop the pages from coming out! The angel couldn’t reach the book from where it was floating in the air. No matter how much he jumped and stretched, he didn’t come close to touching the flying literature.

Beaux was becoming frustrated and frantic. He had to figure this out before he was killed by his own mind. Screwing up his face, the angel concentrated. Surely expelling his magic power could do something, anything!

Wings that he didn’t even realize were missing sprouted from the angel’s back. Apparently they had not come with him into the meadow or the Honeycomb. Without hesitation, Beaux launched himself into the air, wings pumping at full speed. He grabbed up the leather book and snapped it closed, cutting off the stream of pages. Though the count had depleted some, there were many sheets left within the bindings. The angel tucked his find under an arm and set out to grab the scattered pieces. Each one glowed the moment it touched his hands. They flattened out into neat pages and formed into an even stack.

Beaux had collected all the pages he could find. The glowing paper was clutched tight in his hand as he approached the oak chest. One last page sat atop the arched lid. He picked it up and added it to the stack. Opening the chest once more, the angel placed the papers within it. The lid fell shut on its own with a loud SNAP. Beaux jumped back, startled.

The rumbling happened again. This time, it refused to cease, only growing stronger as the minutes went by. Beaux bent his knees, steadying himself. The bees buzzed in apprehension. The last piece Orena had tasked him with was sealing the memory container. Going by his instinct, Beaux placed his hands on top of the metal and wood chest lid. Once more, he forced magic power from his hands. Light began to flow out, bubbling into little orbs that would float around the chest peacefully. They began to build up into a shape slowly.

When the magic light had ceased, Beaux looked up. Each orb had come together to form a long, lithe shape that wrapped around the chest. A pointed tail poked out from one end of the shape. From the other side, a large triangular shaped head rose, staring at Beaux with black holes where its eyes would be. The light had formed into a glowing snake. Its body was long enough to wrap around the chest several times. Muscles flexed beneath the luminescent scales and held the lid in place. Beaux took a cautious step back. He was intrigued by this magic serpent that he had somehow created. There was still a chance it could hurt him, though.

The rumbling turned into a full-on earthquake. Dust and chunks of stone began to fall from the statues that formed around the center hexagon. Beaux reached out and wrapped his arms around the chest and the snake. Orena said he had to hold the container closed with everything he had. The serpent settled its head right over where the lock would be placed on the real chest. A flash of light beamed from its body. Left behind was a snake made of pure gold with obsidian eyes. This was the guardian of the chest, the creature that would hold the lid tight.

The earthquake ceased. Beaux realized that the rumbling had restarted, but this time it was within the chest he was clutching. The angel watched in horror as the chest began to shake. The memories trapped inside were trying to burst out. They pounded against the lid furiously, begging to be let free. Beaux only wrapped his arms around the wood tighter, feeling every angry bump. The barrage continued to increase in power. It felt as if someone were punching the inside fist after fist. Beaux’s chest began to hurt, but he didn’t let go. He couldn’t.

The bees buzzed angrily, flitting among the flowers. Their hexagonal home in Beaux’s mind was being disrupted. Flowers swayed warningly. The statues seemed to watch apprehensively from their stony platforms. Beaux closed his eyes as he focused everything on keeping the chest closed. Though everything he was experiencing was in his mind, this metaphorical situation had very real effects - or consequences. He was suppressing the aggressive memory-seizures mentally, but in a magical and unconventional way.

Wherever the chest moved, Beaux still held on. The golden snake rattled against the oak and metal that shuddered beneath it. The buzzing of bees grew louder and louder as the chest jolted and banged around. The increasing sound consumed Beaux, wove into his brain until he blacked out.

After an uncertain amount of time, Beaux awoke. Every inch of his body ached. Something had changed, though. The impending sense of another memory attack was gone. The angel felt tired, but alive. He lifted his head and looked around the room, realizing it was night. A tray of food had been left for him, but it was stale. Moonlight pooled through the uncovered window.

Beaux sat up weakly. He was still gaunt, bony, unkempt. Pulling back the blankets that covered his lower half, the Knight looked down. The scars of his crippled leg shined silver in the moonlight, a familiar sight. There was no sign of the black ridges and scales that had been consuming it during the nighttime. Beaux watched for a moment, relief flowing through him. Orena had been right about the mind garden’s powers.

The angel flopped backwards onto his bed. He didn’t have the energy to keep sitting up. The mental victory he had won did not heal him physically in the slightest. He was still a deteriorated shell of his healthy self. However, now he knew that his path stretched out before him. The upkeep of the Honeycomb would help his mind stay secure while his body worked through recovering.

Orena had given him the tools to fight and move forward. It was truly a blessing. Beaux closed his eyes and reveled in the feeling of hope. He was also buzzing with a thousand questions after everything that had happened. Who was Orena? Why had she helped him? He wanted to know every inch of the Honeycomb and all of its secrets. Lifting his head slightly, he realized that the woman wasn’t in the room. He would have to ask the doctor when he came in next.

Beaux turned on his side and felt his eyelids beginning to droop. He was exhausted. Sleep was a welcome guest, one that had flitted in and out of his life in the past few weeks. In seconds, he had drifted off to the dreaming world, a peaceful expression left on his beautiful face.