The being claws away at you. Your innards, weak organs and defenseless capillaries buckle and burst, weak to pressure, weak to self. Tears well up in your eyes, a primal urge within you wants you to scream, but in the endless void, who will notice?
Every breath is sharp, every movement simultaneously shaky and tense. You look out in search of something, but all you see is a reflection, face covered and mouth opened. A wail emanates and hearing it makes your face involuntarily contort and wince.
I knew it would be like this. I thought it wouldn't last this long, feel this awful.
Tendrils snake around and inside my body. Their movements cause concentrated, localized, and agonizing spikes inside me.
What did it – She gain from doing this?
The thought resides for only a moment before being dispelled by another horrible searing pain. Tears finally start flowing down my face. A primal part of me forces a tortured scream, but it is quickly silenced by the battery of tendrils into my facial orifices, cutting off my breath.
I begin to sweat, and my eyes dart around the room in search of an escape. I find none, and flimsily try to break free from my organic cage. The grip on me grows ever tighter and the edges of my peripheral blur and darken. The blindness progresses quickly, and soon I can barely make out the reflection in from of me. Tears stream down my face, and I make a horrified and tepid peace with my rapidly approaching oblivion until a burst of color sparks in what is left of my vision.
It is accompanied by a chorus of sound that is not quite music, or even any sort of sound – merely an expression of... gratitude?
Suddenly, my vision returns and I am greeted with a gift so ephemeral that it almost seemed divine.
A frame of pure inner self, sent through eons and ages of tribulation, brought to a head and a quick conclusion. A perfect storm turned into an endless eye. A view, a gift of immanent flawlessness...
... And then I return. Despite a persistent throbbing pressure in my head, I manage to sit up and look around. This... shack, is dilapidated, probably abandoned. I'm not sure how I've found myself here, but I'm sure She'd know.
Regardless, I should get moving. People will be worried, since it's pretty late. There's a nagging feeling that I should be worried, or thinking about something, but a strong force guides it away. I pay it little mind.
Return.