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It’s like floating at first, the darkness fluid and all encompassing. There’s something here with her.
“What do you desire?” The voice asks, deep and knowing.
She doesn’t know and wouldn’t know, at least not until it was time . In this space, there’s no up or down or day or night and time passes like sand through fingers. There’s no way to count it, but you can feel it. It runs through her veins, seeps into her bones like molasses.
Above, she can feel camp, like listening to conversations through a wall. She can feel it, abuzz with energy, but cannot reach it. No matter how hard she tries.
“Not yet...” The voice echoes, not answering any of her actual questions.
9 out of 12 months of the year, it’s quiet contemplation and considering. She’s not sure why she considers things, but she does: Her life beyond camp, her time in camp, even her time here or possible time beyond here .
It’s all cycles, like twisted seasons of being, restlessness leads to boredom and then determination. They loop and tangle between each other. By now, she’s forgotten how long it’s been, but she knows at some point, the time will come.
The voice is always there, though it doesn’t always speak. It offers her things, theoretical things and sometimes, literal ones. None of them tangible, but they feel like it sometimes.
Not many remain at camp during off season, but they are always there. She’s among them, maybe not proudly at first, but just as present. They also don’t interact, at least not in the way humans do. Was that what she was? Human? Things are fuzzy here most of the time, but she holds on to the things she knows the best way she can.
Things change, or she changes, one of those. Eventually, the voice speaks again. How long has it been since they last spoke? It doesn’t matter. They speak, again of real and imaginary things. Most importantly, they make a deal .