In the crashing percussion of the storm, Chryssa never expected to hear a melody.

It was entrancing. Eerie. It haunted the halls like whalesong, upturned from where the ocean itself had opened up in the skies above Ever Grande City.

In the darkness of night—when her thoughts turned fatalistic—it seemed to her like the Voice of the Original One, magnified by nature’s power.

Alone, alive, she was allowed to be afraid.

It had almost been two weeks since Chryssa had been checked into the hospital. She’d been given some freedom now that the doctors had determined there was no danger to her spine— immobilizing her during the treatment period had made sure she healed without issue. But it had been weeks since she’d been out and about on her own. She was weak, fragile, and worst of all, she hadn’t seen Muir since the night at the church.

So she was well and truly alone when the creature appeared.

She sat up stiffly in her bed, neck twinging painfully at the sudden movement. “Who goes there?” she demanded, shaken. The apparition did not speak. It just... watched.

Though the rain and wind were outside, goosebumps spread across Chryssa’s skin as if doused in cold water and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Go away. Go away.

But nothing scared Chryssa.
...and got away with it, anyway.

Throwing the stiff bedsheets from her body, Chryssa reached for the two Cherish balls on her bedside table. Though she wasn’t supposed to be allowed Pokemon until she was officially discharged, the nurse had allowed this one exception, considering Gallade and Gardevoir were known for their healing abilities both mental and physical (and because the nurse secretly thought it was quite romantic).

She did not send them out. Not yet. But she held them tightly in one hand, eyes narrowed at the door where the specter had disappeared.

“Come back—” she tightened her grip, “—if you dare.”

Chryssa would not be caught helpless.

Too many people had already helped her for that.

Her challenge was met with naught but the distant tremor of thunder and the splashing of droplets against her window.

For a brief moment, it seemed as if her unannounced visitor had taken their leave; perhaps never having been there to begin with.

And then a giggle came from the wall opposite to the window.

A long haired, finned shadow swept over the wall as if it were swimming past, just outside of her window.

A clatter echoed from her bedside while pure, gleaming water filtered inside the hospital room from under the door, shining an unnatural, neon green as it surrounded her bed.

Lightning cracked just outside her window. The deafening thunder rocked the glass panels as light flooded her room and drowned out all shadows.

All sans the one that was suddenly cast over her, a horned, lanky silhouette flashing over the surface of the wall.

A large, shadowy hand slowly rose in the air-!

TAG: chryssa glasgow

Water began to seep into the room, green as corroded starlight. It pooled around her bed, confining her to a tiny island of bleach-smell and bedsheets.

It occurred to Chryssa this might be a dream.

Her grip tightened to a breaking point on the two capsules and one slipped from her fingers, rolling off the side of the bed and into the strange liquid with a hollow plonk. Chryssa reached for it with a hiss and stopped just short, fingers skimming inches above the glowing water. The Cherish Ball sat, static, ripples lapping at its surface.

And then there was one.

She was going about this all wrong, she realized, slowly pulling her arm back from the fallen capsule. Her eyes narrowed. Clarity began to filter into her thoughts. No, she couldn’t send out any Pokemon— it had been a little girl’s impulse to reach for the pair, the reaction of a child afraid of the dark. She had to do this on her own.

“All right, then…”

She sank further under the sheets, balling them up in both hands. Her eyes darted furtively back and forth, tracking specters and shadows.

Now. A hand detached itself from the darkness, then starched white fabric swirled like ghosts as Chryssa launched a pile of her own bedsheets at the apparition.

“Perish Song doesn’t work on people,” she said, holding her stuffed Lapras over her head in preparation to throw next. Its glassy eyes gleamed in the eerie green light, demonic and googly. skyler dross couldn’t have brought her a better companion— and unlike a real Lapras, this one was immune to physical (and supernatural) threats.

It still felt like pitifully little ammunition and Chryssa’s heart raced wildly in her chest as she tensed, readying another attack on the set of bedsheets still settling through the air. She managed to loose a hollow laugh. “If you’re here to kill me, you’ll have to try harder than that.”

Whatever it was that tormented her...

It clearly did not expect swift retaliation from the seemingly terrified girl.

A shrill squeal echoed across the room as the 'apparition' had the covers thrown upon it, the sounds of the aquatic, booming Perish Song still in the background as it struggled against Chryssa's trap.

Eventually, the fabrics touched the sickly green waters while the 'ghost' fluttered about the girl's room in its struggles to rid itself of the blankets that were growing wet and heavy... heavier than itself.

Before long the struggling cries ceased as the apparition seemingly stilled, it sinking to the floor and seemingly losing what little form a ghost had.

As the fabric became thoroughly drenched and sank to the floor, something else was left behind, surging through the water with a wet plop as it escaped from under the blankets.

An envelope.

It floated idly, seemingly immune to the water as it made its way towards the bed.

A booming thunder rocked the entire hospital as if lightning had stricken the building's very roof, the world flashing white. The shadow of the gangly, horned apparition painted Chryssa's wall once again as it appeared seemingly in her blind spot.

A inkwell and a quill now stood upon her bedside table.

"One down. Three to go. Have you ever heard a song with no ending?"

---

TAG: chryssa glasgow

MERRY GO ROUND OF LIFE

The message was simple. Articulate. Stylish, even.

Chryssa held the parchment, wet ink still glistening storm-black on the page. It felt fragile in her hands, like a tissue she might crumple up and throw away-- or one she might use to wrap up something precious. Something personal. Something painful.

"Nicely done," she said to the empty room, eyes narrowed.

Nothing moved-- not the pile of feebly stirring bedsheets on the floor, not the shadows on the wall. She was calm now. Coiled, like a serpent in its den. The coals of Chryssa's fear had cooled, becoming stone and hard once more. 

She did not demand an explanation from invisible ears.  

Her own was imminent. 

 ^{I . 
P E R I S H   S O N G}
-- on a timer. --

Inked and inescapable. A seal of finality. The answer at last to the first, and most important riddle she'd presented to John Sullivan during the winter festival-- her greatest warning, and her greatest challenge. 

No life outlasts the Song. The ending which ends all. 

"So ends part one," she murmured-- and thus without pause, part two began. 

Red light fountained from her hands and Gallade appeared by her bed, sending ripples through the phosphorescence. Another crash of thunder and white-hot light burned the room like a flash grenade. It was too close. Unnatural.

Outside, the Perish Song cried on.

"Go get them," she said, eyes steely. "If it means the end."

Steadfast, the knight obeyed.

The window was thrown open, blasting the curtains aside with hurricane force. Ozone crackled in the air outside. The Gallade paused with one leg up on the sill, breathing in the ions. The energy. 

The source.

Alfred leapt into the storm, seeking out the figments which usurped the peaceful night. Rain glistened from his bladed elbows as he seized the window-ledge, swinging up into the streaming sky. 

His timer had begun. 

In the bedroom, the shadows blended into her wall once again as a familiar, horned silhouette appeared. It stared at her silently once again.

Its large hands rose, palms opened wide and stubby, fat-tipped digits presented for her to see. Like shadow puppets, it signed towards the girl a promise.

'We shall meet again.'

And then, with a crack of thunder and lightning, it disappeared.

Out in the storm, the siren's liquid voice rose over the crashing rain, carried through each and every droplet. It was impossible to discern the source of the singing, how close or far it was from sound alone.

Through her singing, she manipulated the water in the rain as if it were her own limbs, and held his consciousness at her beck and call.

A shadow was cast over the Gallade as she swam above him, more agile and flowing in the rainy gales than the swiftest Pidgeot, swooping into a sharp dive that threatened to send her crashing into the hospital's asphalt.

But only the rain came to a crashing halt.

She fluttered just over the ground as the water of the storm pooled under her into a giant water bubble, her figure draped over it elegantly like a Mermaid at the coast's rocks, her golden locks flowing in the air as if submerged in the sea as she beckoned the Gallade towards her, promising no resistance.

Such efforts were unnecessary. The siren had no need to hide from a warrior set adrift in her storm.

---

TAG: chryssa glasgow

Go get them. If it means the end.

He’d felt the resolution in her thoughts, not just her words.

The coldness made him shiver. It was unflappable. Unyielding.

And impossible to refuse.

Facing his former master— if one could call him that— was jarring to Alfred, who valued loyalty above all things. But regardless of his first master’s intention, it seemed the girl had a different purpose for him. Not as a butler, not as a bodyguard: as an agent. As an assassin. As a ticking time bomb, expendable, doomed to fall.

And she didn’t care. He felt that deeply, instinctively— the girl’s psyche, at a touch, left nothing to mystery. Her wish was pure, and powerful. Her intention was indomitable. Alfred would put an end to this unholy night which had tested her so far, or he could drown in the storm. There was no room for forgiveness. There was no room for understanding. Despite the Cherish Balls he and his partner wore, they themselves were worth nothing to her. Material things. Useful things.

Things that could be replaced.

<It’s over,> he said to Primarina, touching her thoughts in the way only a psychic-type could. <Come with me. I don’t want to hurt you.>

Back in the hospital room, Chryssa’s heartbeat sang with fever, and with fury.

I do want to hurt you. Were they his own thoughts, or someone else’s? I want you to feel sorry. I want you to hurt. I want you to cry when I’m gone. He took a step towards the siren on her water-bubble, head swimming with a growing chorus. I want you to die. I want you to die. I want all of you to die.

WHY DO I HAVE TO DIE?

<Please come,> he tried again, but his energy was fading. The Song resonated, reverberated. It clamored in his head, fighting for dominance with the scathing snare of Chryssa’s heartbeat. <She doesn’t— I won’t—>

I’LL KILL YOU

A glimmering thread glistened between the Gallade’s hands and Alfred threw it like a lasso, catching it around the siren’s neck. It sank beneath the skin and bloomed the crimson red of Destiny Bond, collaring her slender throat. He held the other end like a leash as he advanced, winding closer, tighter, a fisherman’s reel of fate.

<If I’m going down,> he gasped for breath, falling to one knee, and it felt like Chryssa was there in his head speaking with him. <You’re going down with me.>

Perish.

Perish.

PERISH.

The last thing Alfred felt as he succumbed and sank to the concrete—besides the touch of rain on his face—was satisfaction.