Deep within the architecture of her skull, two flames refused to be extinguished. They burned not with heat, but with presence...
One a fading, stubborn grey. The other, a consuming, abyssal violet.
Tentoria: "A sorceress of your caliber... defeated so easily by her own pupil. Did you ever admit such a fate could befall you? Or did your arrogance blind you to the knife until it carved out your heart?"
Her tone was poison, delivered by fangs disguised as silk.
Purdamma: "You wretched, fallen being. Was my death so instrumental in your plan? Or was my existence a threat of such magnitude that letting me live was altogether too dangerous...?"
Purdamma saw through the mockery, deflecting with the sharp intellect that had defined her life.
In the darkest, deepest corner of Mola's subconscious, a specter of her Master's tower had been erected. It was a singular, grey monument stranded in a black sea, ever so slowly sinking into its oily depths. In this liminal space, what remained of both souls clashed.
Tentoria: "You still exist, do you not? It is not as if I have erased you from the tapestry of reality."
Purdamma: "You erased me from life ITSELF!"
A soft, vibrating laughter echoed through the void, soundless yet deafening.
Within the replica of the master's study at the tower's summit, a dim fireplace provided the only colour in the otherwise monochrome landscape. Around this dying fire, Tentoria and Purdamma exchanged verbal blows.
Tentoria: "Now, now, Purdamma... It was your wish to master the dark arts. *My* arts. What better way to grasp the beauty of absence, of nothingness, than to be removed from the crude distraction of the living world?"
Purdamma: "Do not mock me, shadow of a broken god. Gratitude is about the farthest thing I could feel for you. No... I will make sure to foil your plans even in my current state. You may have accounted for much, but it is near impossible to calculate for everything... Especially in your weakened form."
Tentoria smiled, her form a silhouette of negative space against the gloom. She walked towards one of the tall, arched windows, looking down at the bottomless pit of tar that engulfed the foundations of the sinking stone structure.
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Tentoria: "Mola's encounter with two of my saviours; the trail of breadcrumbs leading them to the Melee; their coincidental clash with the girl and the fox... You would be surprised how much I can influence those who share even the slightest hint of my power within them, despite how incomplete I still am."
She turned, beginning to pace around the spirit of the sorceress, her movements fluid, like oil on water.
Tentoria: "The moment my memories were returned to me, I recalled how much I had lost. How much had been taken from me... And how very long it had been taken for. Despite the absence of their goddess, Corpus Nox never lost their faith. My disciples orchestrated my release... I will not fail them now."
She stopped a few feet away, arms crossed, her presence expanding to fill the mental space.
Tentoria: "And one of my disciples did an exceptionally good job at keeping my vessel safe. Didn't you...?"
Purdamma's spectral form flared, clasping her hands in indignation.
Purdamma: "I am no follower of yours..."
Tentoria: "Yet you have dedicated countless hours to understanding magics that I myself perfected, that I myself created when this world first saw the light of day. Our connection was forged the moment you walked into our temple, the day you promised to take care of the vessel... And it was only strengthened with each new teaching you were granted."
Purdamma: "And I will take everything that I have been taught to stop you, even if it's the last thing I do."
Tentoria nodded, an expression of patronizing approval.
Tentoria: "I suppose I should expect no less. After all... I admit you were one such variable I ultimately failed to account for. You weren't meant to *be* any longer, Purdamma. Your soul should have been expulsed to the void the moment your final breath left your lungs."
The dark goddess leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that resonated through the crushing silence of Mola's sleeping mind.
Tentoria: "Despite all your faults and trickery in life, it seems your pupil truly wished to protect you... If only she knew how you truly felt about her."
Purdamma: "There is much you don't know about Mola... And there is much you do not know about me. Our relationship was not as transactional as you wish it were."
Tentoria: "Then perhaps you ought to convince your pupil of that. The picture your memories paint tells a different story..."
Purdamma: "The brush strokes I cannot control; only that canvas is revealed bit by bit. I have but to continue to exist, and the truth shall be revealed."
Tentoria: "That continued existence is at risk -- your days are numbered. You'd best pray to some other god the dangers your pupil faces are light enough that she will not need to resort to my essence..."
A veil of darkness wrapped itself around Tentoria, dissolving her form into the surrounding shadows.
Tentoria: "... Because the more she clings to me, the more her frail humanity fades... And with it, the paper-thin bonds with those she cherishes."
As she faded, only her final words hung heavy in the psychic air, a decree of the tower's and, therefore, Purdamma's, inevitable ruin.
Tentoria: "A storm is brewing, Purdamma... The likes of which only those few short of gods can hope to contain."
The flickering flames died down, retreating into the recesses of the subconscious.
At last, Mola's breathing evened out. She slept, but peace did not come... Only silence, for another day.