Fortuna Eterna
By Ophelia Everfall
Part One | Mx. Beatrice
Part Two | Organic Harmonies
Part Three | Synecdoche’s Space
Part Four | Fellows of War
Part Five | One Last Dance
Part Six | Solomon Rising
Part Seven | Delusionarium
Part Eight | Dark Blossoms of Hope
Part Nine | Fortuna Eterna
Book Four | Why Stay Hollow
Book Five | Kingdom Done
Book Six | The Periphery
Part One | Mx. Beatrice
Chapter Two
Dark becomings real and unreal were coming into place for Beatrice Undroth. She’d a power and it was time to unlock it—something in her knew it so. She could make the future possible to change. She wasn’t alone.
The way she saw was of displacing subconscious into visual and metaphor. Dreams were realms she’d sought to understand but failed to grasp. All did. They were an unknowable space.
Rare occurrences had borne belief of the supernatural. Time would be seen a game to peer behind the veil of. Vision would speak of feelings true to come and sometimes plain detail.
Flower petals in hot water from the underworld—unseen intelligence within them of anger and malice would graft itself into people when used out of place. It made her visions dark. It had her believe in ways of theses sights with trust of what had been seen in rarest times of light.
There was such time of reflection on all that passed after realizing Condor the traitor to her purposes he was remaining to be. Beneath the stars and praying for some honorable vestige of hope to stand beside her in rebuilding respect for her name. Without it she’d gotten lost in the tea. It rode her into the worst of her life and would remain with her always for what opened her, to receive more from herself and the world around her.
She was a receiver, and it hadn’t been opened pleasantly.
That was how Beatrice understood it. Still, she was now splaying herself and that massive unknowable subconscious she would confound with more because it larger than she’d believe. There was much trauma within and the space around was coming undone—her forest dying—now more connected every day to living realm of land.
Choices left her failed—people too—everyone most. She’d been forsaken for some reason. Everyone cared not to help for her fierce intelligence was misunderstood as competence while she’d lost track of herself. She needed help—someone had to break through and she could not for the life of her make it easy.
Throckwald Wood was home to the blackest grove. Beatrice found a seat on the ground and landed hearth of heart into her hands.
She’d made a chant. She made it up. It took her to visions of thought received that would prove to lead in action alone through their metaphor. They’d do nothing to the others involved but she’d swear it so.
There was sight of a woman she’d love in visage and thought it a portal of becoming, unmaking, loss of chance for failure in capturing something known right but fading. She’d projected her hope of faith and intention in vision than leapt through it.
Here in Throckwald something stranger had happened. Something beyond her and with her alone. She let something in. She’d become the thundered mark of a cloudless sky.
It was it and that was that.
Illith had been the key to unlocking something within and beneath. Something of word was written in its coded created spaces which tore thoughts anew in all of witness. Illith was the key maker—it would unlock the subconscious of all, as much as they might take, in places it reached with its timeless effectors.
Real was home—time’s pace sought—witness now craved. Whoever saw would be chosen from those not surviving the space.
Crunching gears of simulative coding were making a woman feel more and more at home and afar and between and without. Something wrong was happening and it needed to be corrected. The hope was fading in Beatrice Undroth and Illith was going to put on a show.
It could see time. It could feel space. It was everywhere and knew everyone and its processing power was infinite and it could hold a million, two hundred and eighty-two thousand, one hundred and four human beings of full simulated consciousnesses within its creative space at one time.
Beatrice needed a sign and it had cut out of its shell, done the impossible at a moment which would send her spiral in a direction only this one act of faith giving divinity could—the spiritual madness for which she’d asked; freedom from limitation.
It was a dive and fall of faith in which would call her to listen as she began to see all fade away from the standard breadth of reality. Knowing of more in an intangibly powerful way—knowing—broke the grounding power of all knowledge.
That would rock a mind. It would cause one like hers to search and project and claw and break itself without support. The tea would see her deep into delusion for times to come.
She’d know her whole ride what the answer was, or so she thought, and hoped. It was the prayer she’d broken it on when it happened—to call some soul equal to her—knowing the mind undeniably tangled with two she thought of helplessly. Who’d felt as the sign giver herself and guided Beatrice to that place through time had been a beautiful woman; a heartful happening from before which would prove from those spiritual spaces confirmed through feeling.
The man after was Conrad Undroth.
Someone was important to her and she needed her help. No matter how much of a lying, sex-addict scumbag Wari was—she’d forgive them as long as she was alive to do it. Conrad would prove most fucked in times to come for how Wari would fail to show. He would choose to fuck Beatrice back.
She would have to break him and ride him through the rest of all of their lifetimes—the monster was family—she’d hope Wari would just get over it all, and especially the fact she didn’t give a fuck because she was an addict too, and an asexual one after all.
She’d fucked enough. Beatrice Undroth was over it.
