basirskipreader

I shake the fog repellant in my hand. It makes a clink-clink sound, and its notes of emptiness echoes across the room. It's been 3 months since I last bought some, and today's the last day I stop using them, due to money issues. Finding ways to barter what I get for more fog repellant during the post-apocalypse is getting harder and harder, and I really need more repellant before I started turning back into them. I put on my suit and mask, and—


—the Cyberspace opened up under my feet as rows upon rows of citadels long gone, currently existing, and will existing spawn under my feet. I am gently placed down on a dark alley, my prosthetic arm and leg squeaking in anger. I need more oil, and the way the shops are set up here makes this hard to not be spotted. I put up my camouflage cloak, and ring the bell on the counter.

"Hey do you have any more of that in stock?"

"Sorry, last batch ran out.

"Please, I need it right now. My joints are starting to rust."

"You don't even have the right amount of money."

I stare them down, down with the fury of a computer virus ripping through district after district, only to just put my hood down, and walk away slowly.

I reach the train station, scanning my face on the iris camera. The guard turns towards me, analyzing my face.

"Thank you s—"


—and I step off the train, grimoire in my hand. It's been 3 months since I started learning this forbidden knowledge, and it requires continuous application, but today, today is supposed to be the start of my journey, however the magic inside the grimoire needs to be constantly refilled, and I'm running out, and I'm panicking, and I don't know what the future holds for me, and it was supposed to be the start of my magic training, and my parents still don't know about this, and the sky feels so overbearing and crushing, and the stark sunlight streams down my skin, and—
and—
and—


—and I go back to my house, my parents still unaware of what I do after dark.

It's been 3 months since I took/read/applied it, and I keep rebuilding this house made of glass and stone, yet the fog is already setting in.

I can feel my insides rot
I can feel my joints rust
I can feel my soul rend

I hate the fog, and I want it gone, yet I feel like I have no choice but to look and see it consume my body, change it to something I'm not.

They say the price of forbidden knowledge is perfect clarity at the cost of seeming mad to everyone around you.

If this is the price of forbidden knowledge, let me be Eve and indulge in it like a sinner.

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