The Nameless World

Heyo! This was kinda last-minute and includes some dark stuff, thus the warning. The ending is marked with a warning so you can skip it if you want to. Some people are pretty sensitive with blood, and I've gotten light-headed myself, so if you are worried about that but still want to read this, just skip the parts with the warnings over them. Thanks for reading!

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

Everything is like ice. 

Unfeeling. 

Dead.

Beautiful.

Everything glitters, breathing ghosts, rippling fields, shimmering plains of snow and glass. No sound is made but a steady echo, a vibrating hum that pulses out one long, neverending note. Sometimes it fades, or grew higher, depending upon where I am. 

It is a little creepy. I knew that.

 But I also know that I am safe here.

Away from fists and words and reasons. 

So I stay.

The nameless world is cold and lifeless.

But it’s better than a home where I am not loved. 

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

I know I can only seek refuge for one more time after this. I fear the “enter four times, leave thrice” thing I was warned of. I don’t want to enter a fourth time. But still, I can hide out in the nameless world for as long as I’d like. Ages. Years, if necessary. 

It’s pretty in here, all glittering cold and soundless humming. 

I like the nameless world.

I remain ageless in here, unchanging, with ghostly whispers and a comforting kind of cold.

No one can hurt me here. 

 I’m safe.

Far away from fists and words and reasons. 

I am safe.

So maybe I’ll stay for a little while longer. 

After all, I can spend years in here, and nothing changes.

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

I know this will be my last trip back. I can’t hide in here forever. But it’s so tempting. I would hate to miss the tuneless hum, the sparkling dunes of ice, the faceless, white sky. I’m safe here. Away from the sharp horribleness of the real world. Away from fists and words and reasons. My home is not my home anymore. Even the cold of the nameless world can’t be compared to the coldness of my heart when I am there. It burns, being in the real world.

Maybe I can live here.

Forever.

No. I cannot. It’s calming here, nice, but eventually I’ll have to give living a try. Eventually I must go to the real world.

Eventually I must make a life for myself, in a good home, with a good family, even if it takes years of blood and sweat and tears, so many tears.

I cry a lot. 

But not here.

I think. Maybe the ominous end of the message issn’t as dark as I thought it was, maybe it means that I’ll stay forever on my fourth trip in. Maybe the nameless world will become my home. 

I draw a knife from my pocket. I started carrying it for self-defense, back when I realized I was not safe inside my home or out.

I carve the poem into the unchanging ice.

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

It stays.

I smile.

Then, suddenly, it is consumed by frost, vanishing under layers of feathery ice. I brush it away, and the surface below is bare.

There is no sign of my carving

I breathe deeply. I try again, carving deeper. I don’t know why— I feel like I must leave my mark in a colorless, icy world. The nameless world doesn’t want me to leave my mark. But I need to.

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

Again, the frost consumes it.

Again, I shiver.

Again, I lift my knife and carve. My fingertip is cut by a sharp piece of ice, and when the lacy frost returns, the blood remains.

I get a horrible idea.

(QUICK CONTENT WARNING, THIS NEXT PART GETS KINDA DARK. PROCEED WITH CAUTION, OR JSUT SKIP IT, IT’S OKAY IF YOU DON’T WANT TO READ IT OR IT MIGHT TRIGGER YOU. THANKS)

I raise my knife. 

I plunge it into my palm, blood spurting out in a little geyser. A few drops drip to the ground, splattering and staying. I extract the knife. It should hurt, but nothing hurts in the nameless world. 

I use the blood on the blade to begin tracing out a message. But that’s too slow. I wipe the sticky blood off my hands to spell out the letter, squeezing my palm so it bleeds more. Only blood doesn’t go away, I tell myself. If I want my message to remain, I must do this. I have to. 

I take a deep breath and stick the knife back in. 

Over and over, until the message is complete.

Now, I can leave in peace.

But I don’t. 

I stay. 

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

I had left.

Every time I saw that blood message, I felt the need to write another. And another. Soon, I realized I would run out of blood. So I had to leave.

But oh, the real world was even worse.

I cannot even think about it.

The nameless world feels safe. But again, I have that urge to use my blood as ink. Again, I have the urge to write something. Anything. 

So I sit down.

(THE ENDING'S GOT SOME GORE/SELF-HARM, TOO, SO PROCEED WITH CAUTION, AT THE END OF THE LAST PARAGRAPH THERE'S A BIT OF GORE, TOO, SORRY IF I WENT OVERBOARD JUST BEAR WITH ME)

I draw my knife— why did I think to bring it? Why?— and bring it down on my hand. Oh, the pain! Why did I come back here? I behave slowly and deeply, as if in a trace— How do I stop? How can I stop?— and begin tracing small amounts of blood along the ice. Stop, stop, you have to stop. Slowly, methodically, I spell words. New words. Many words— how do I stop? Stop!— under the spell of the nameless world. Stop. Stop STOP!

I do not stop.

It is hours later.

My whole story is spread out here, blood on ice.

I made the letters so small, but I am still dying.

I’m dying. 

Isn’t this what I’ve always wanted?

Freedom?

***

You step back in shock. You thought this nameless world would keep you safe. But now that you’ve discovered this field of bloody writing, you know.

Its spell is too strong.

A girl died here.

Writing this whole, horrible story in her own blood.

Come into the nameless world

Oh pretty girl, shrouded in ice

Come into the nameless world

Enter four times, but leave thrice.

Thanks for reading! Sorry for the gore :)