Mythos Of Narcissus: Reborn As An NPC In A Horror VRMMO

The air around us felt suspended, timeless. A vast expanse of empty beauty surrounded us, as if the fabric of space and time itself had paused to observe this moment.

Eve knelt before me, her spirals now slow and steady, her presence no longer oppressive but strangely serene. Yet, even in this calm, an underlying fragility lingered, as if this newfound gentleness might shatter with a single misstep.

I gazed at her, something warm swelling in my chest—an unfamiliar yet welcome sensation. I wanted to give her something worth remembering, something she could carry even in the face of all she had endured.

Before I could second-guess myself, I reached out, clasping one of her floating hands. It felt tangible now, no longer the eldritch phantom that had once sought destruction. Gently, I guided it to my cheek, pressing its spectral warmth against my skin. The tenderness of the act startled even me.

"Eve," I began, my voice soft yet unwavering. "I want you to see me—not as Daffodil, but as the person I once was.

"Look into my memories, what remains of Lothair, and see the truth of who I used to be."

Eve's ethereal eyes widened, her spirals stuttering. Her lips parted to protest, but I pressed on.

"Please," I whispered. "You deserve to know. This connection... it shouldn't just be one-sided."

Her gaze softened, her spirals resuming their gentle sway. Slowly, she nodded. "As you wish, Daffo—no, Narcissus. Let me see the man you once were."

The warmth of her floating hand grew, and I felt a flicker of something foreign brush against my mind. Eve's presence slipped into my thoughts, weaving through the fragments of memories I had buried for so long. A wave of vulnerability washed over me, yet I didn't pull away. If anyone could understand, it would be her.

Her voice broke the silence, her tone curious yet tinged with melancholy. "You were alone, weren't you? Not because of choice, but because of... circumstance."

"Yes," I admitted, my voice trembling despite myself. "Lothair was a man plagued by a cruel, unwarranted mental disease. It wasn't just a burden—it was a wall that kept everyone at arm's length. He trusted no one, not even himself."

Eve's fingers curled slightly against my cheek, her touch grounding. "And yet, he lived in a world so different from Carcosa—a world shaped by logic, science, and... humanity."

A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips. "It wasn't a perfect world, Eve. Far from it. There was corruption, ignorance, and suffering. But amidst all of that, there were pockets of beauty. Laughter, connection, hope... humanity at its best."

The space around us began to shimmer, as if responding to my words. Fragments of Lothair's world materialized—a bustling cityscape, children laughing in a park, fireworks bursting in the night sky.

"Lothair hated the world he lived in," I confessed, my voice raw. "But even he couldn't ignore its potential. The way people expressed joy, the way they supported each other in times of need... It was flawed, but it was real. It was human."

Eve tilted her head, her spirals slowing further. "And you miss it," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "You long to see it again."

I hesitated, then nodded. "I do. Not to return to the life Lothair had—I took my family and that world for granted. I would only bring them trouble now. What I want..." I looked into her eyes, my gaze steady. "What I want is to create something like it. A fairytale version of that world, where you and I can experience what was left of its beauty together."

For a moment, Eve was silent. Then, to my surprise, a flicker of amusement crossed her face, followed by a confident smile. "You truly are remarkable," she said, her voice carrying a warmth I hadn't heard before. "You've thought of everything, haven't you? Even how to convince me."

I chuckled softly. "Call it a gift."

Eve's smile grew, tinged with a playful confidence. "Very well. You asked, and I shall deliver. I've already suspended this place from the flow of time. Not a second will pass in Carcosa or Kuzunoha's mansion while we're here. So... let us craft your dream."

The air rippled, and reality itself bent to Eve's will. The empty expanse around us morphed into a vibrant, bustling city. Skyscrapers rose to touch a painted sky, their windows reflecting a warm golden glow. Streets teemed with people—illusory yet alive in their movements, each one a fragment of memory brought to life.

Eve glanced around, her spirals shimmering with faint light. "Is this your world?" she asked, a hint of wonder in her voice.

"It's close enough," I replied, gesturing for her to follow. "Come on. Let me show you what it's like."

We walked through the streets, the hum of activity surrounding us. I took her to a cozy café, where we sat by the window and sipped on rich, steaming coffee. Eve's expression was one of cautious curiosity as she took her first sip, her floating hands carefully mimicking the act of holding a cup.

"It's... bitter," she remarked, her tone contemplative.

"Try it with sugar," I suggested, sliding a small bowl toward her. Her spirals twitched with interest as she added a spoonful, then another. Her next sip earned a faint smile.

"I see the appeal," she admitted.

From there, we dove deeper into the dreamlike tapestry of this recreated Earth, indulging in experiences that felt both surreal and beautifully mundane.

We lost hours in a neon-lit arcade, the air buzzing with the electronic hum of vintage machines and the excited chatter of artificial patrons.

Eve's competitive streak emerged in full force as she dominated at every turn, her floating hands rapidly smashing buttons and maneuvering joysticks with a precision that left me in awe—and utterly defeated.

Each time I managed to score a rare win, she'd give me a mock pout, only to redouble her efforts and crush me in the next round. Her laughter, sharp and melodic, echoed through the arcade, filling the air with a joy I hadn't realized I missed.

"You're surprisingly petty," I jested.

"Only to you," she chuckled.

Every living thing in this world was oblivious to our existence, which allowed us to do more things than what normal law applied.

We tried illegally skateboarding, skiing on the Everest mountain right after making it covered in snow, golfing near a volcano, watching soccer like an avid fan robbing a bank with a military tank—

I even introduced Eve to a lot of online PVP games where her competitive nature shined the most.

"Argh! Why am I always drafted with idiots in my team!" Eve protested while smacking her indestructible mouse repeatedly on her indestructible table. "Are you sure that this is how the real thing works too?"

"Ah, they are worse, don't worry."

Eve even said that she wanted to try farming and ranching, in which it became a little bit too easy and boring because she always used her reality-bending power to solve the problem.

That was also the time where I suggested that we traveled all over the world.

On a grand cruise ship that we conjured, we sailed across an endless, sparkling ocean. The salty breeze tousled her spirals, which seemed to glow faintly under the sunlit sky.

Eve leaned against the ship's railing, her expression serene as she watched the waves dance below. For a moment, she was utterly still, her usual chaotic energy replaced by a quiet contentment. I couldn't resist teasing her about her 'surprisingly nautical' elegance, which earned me a playful flick from one of her floating hands.

The glittering halls of a lavish casino in Las Vegas became our next playground. Eve's floating hands threw dice with mischievous precision, her spirals swaying in delight as she won game after game.

Because she was essentially a god in this world, obviously.

She reveled in the theatrics, tossing imaginary chips into the air with a flourish that drew cheers from the illusory crowd. When I managed to outwit her in a game of poker—pure luck on my part—she narrowed her eyes at me, a sly grin spreading across her face as she leaned in close. "I'll win the next one, Daffodil. Count on it."

And, of course, she did.

Each moment was simple yet profound, a reminder that joy could be found even in the smallest things.

We laughed and whined alongside each other, filling each other emptiness in our respective years of solitude.

But the pinnacle of our journey came when we decided to push the boundaries of this imagined reality further. With Eve's boundless power and my fragmented memories, we created our own space program. Together, we designed and built a sleek rocket, its silvery surface reflecting the infinite sky above. As we stood on the launch pad, watching the countdown tick away, I felt a strange mix of anticipation and nostalgia.

When the rocket roared to life and ascended into the heavens, Eve's spirals swirled with exhilaration. "This," she declared, her voice full of awe, "Is the kind of ambition I never imagined mortals capable of."

Moments later, we made another rocket, but this time, it was to take ourselves to the closest celestial body.

It was certainly more of a brand new experience for me instead of Eve, since gravity was such a fickle thing when you lived in an imaginary void inbetween worlds and thousands of realities.

Before we knew it, we arrived at our destination.

We stood on the surface of a fairytale Earth's moon, gazing back at the fragile, luminous sphere suspended in the infinite void. The view was breathtaking—a serene reminder of how small yet significant life could be.

"It's beautiful," Eve murmured, her voice soft, almost reverent.

"It is," I agreed, my eyes fixed on the distant world. "But it's not perfect."

The quiet of the lunar landscape invited introspection, and I spoke of Earth as I remembered it. I described the shadows that loomed over my home: the rampant corruption, the endless conflicts, the struggles that plagued humanity.

Yet, amidst the bleakness, I highlighted the moments of light. I told her of the heroes—known and unsung—who fought tirelessly for change. I shared stories of strangers showing kindness in the most unexpected ways, of communities coming together to rebuild after devastation.

"Humans," I said, turning to meet her gaze. "They're fragile in so many ways, but they're also resilient. No matter how badly they mess things up, they find ways to adapt, to survive. And when they unite with a shared purpose, they're capable of incredible things—things even they don't realize they can achieve."

Eve's spirals swayed gently, their chaotic rhythm subdued. Her expression was pensive, her eyes reflecting the distant Earth. "Fragile yet powerful," she echoed thoughtfully. "An enigma, just like you."

Her words caught me off guard, and I felt a faint heat rise to my cheeks. "I'm not an enigma," I protested lightly, though I couldn't help but smile.

"You are," she insisted, her spirals brightening faintly. "You carry the memories of a world that was never meant to intersect with this one, yet you stand here, teaching me about humanity—its flaws, its triumphs, its resilience.

"You are a contradiction, Narcissus. But... a beautiful one."

The sincerity in her tone rendered me speechless, and for a moment, all I could do was look at her. Here, on a moon that wasn't real, beneath a sky that was a memory, I realized how much this journey meant—not just to me, but to her.

As the vibrant illusion of Earth's moon shimmered around us, casting faint, silvery light across Eve's pale features, her smile began to falter. It was subtle at first—a slight downturn at the corners of her lips, a shadow passing through her spirals. I didn't miss it.

"Eve," I asked gently, my voice breaking the serene stillness. "What's wrong?"

She sighed, a sound heavy with weariness that felt ancient and unyielding. Her spirals slowed to a near halt, their chaotic dance replaced by an unsettling stillness. She met my gaze with those hauntingly pure eyes, her expression a mixture of resignation and bittersweet calm.

"You're perceptive, Narcissus," she said softly, a faint, ironic smile tugging at her lips. "Too perceptive for your own good."

"What are you trying to say?" I asked, a sinking feeling beginning to weigh on me.

Eve hesitated, her spirals trembling faintly as if mirroring her inner turmoil. Finally, she spoke, her voice steady yet laced with a sorrow that made my chest tighten. "Before all of this, before we met, before these memories we've shared... I had already planned my end."

Her words struck me like a blow. I froze, unable to process them at first. "Your... end?" I echoed, my voice faltering.

Hearing those words, I felt like my carefully crafted tower matches was struck down by an immensely heavy object

She nodded, her smile growing more bittersweet with each passing second. "Yes. My power... it's not what it used to be. It's been dwindling for ages, like an unchained entropy gnawing away at every piece of my sanity and existence for numerous eternity to come.

"Not wanting to hesitate, I cast a spell that would completely destroy my vessel and nourish its soul, allowing me to, hopefully, be reincarnated somewhere kinder, somewhere warm…

"I made it irreversible, Narcissus. Even if I tried to recover and break the spell, the process would recontinue from where it was left.

"I did it to myself because I'm tired of the endless cycle of loneliness and suffering. I refuse to endure that any longer… And so I made it this way to ensure that I won't change my mind later…"

For a moment, I felt like hope was once again, crushed under the immense cruelness of the so-called fate.

It was this moment, where once again, I felt like I wanted to stop breathing, leaving every cell of my body rots as wisteria flowers took a feast on myself.

"... But why? Why does it have to end like this? There must be another way. I—" My voice cracked, tears spilling unbidden from my eyes. "You're the first person I've ever truly connected with. You're my first real companion, Eve… It's not fair…"

I was so happy knowing that I was finally able to fully open myself. I was overwhelmed with joy knowing that someone was able to truthfully accept me for who I am.

Why was it being taken away from me…?

Her floating hands drifted closer, brushing against my cheeks with a tenderness that only deepened the ache in my heart. "I know," she said, her voice almost a whisper. "It's unfair, isn't it? If only I had been stronger... if only I could have endured a little longer, maybe..." She trailed off, her spirals flickering with faint light. "Maybe we could have had a different beginning. A happier one."

I choked back a sob, my grip tightening on her hand. "If only the timing were better," I murmured. "If only..."

Eve's spirals dimmed further, her eyes reflecting a deep, unspoken regret. "I've thought that too, so many times. But wishing won't change what is. My path was set long before we met." Her voice wavered, but she steadied herself, her gaze turning to me with an intensity that stole my breath. "What matters now is you, Narcissus."

"... Me?"

"Yes." Her spirals began to sway again, slow and deliberate. "You're one of a kind, just like me. And because of that, I know how cruel the road ahead will be for you. It's not just the enemies you'll face or the challenges you'll endure. It's the loneliness, the weight of being misunderstood, the burden of carrying a truth no one else can see."

Her words hit me like a revelation, and I realized she wasn't just speaking from knowledge—she was speaking from experience.

"There's more, isn't there?" I asked cautiously. "You know something... something you're not telling me."

Eve hesitated, her spirals flickering erratically. "I know more than I should," she admitted. "But telling you wouldn't help. It might even make things worse. Some truths... are better left unspoken."

I wanted to protest, to demand she tell me everything, but the look in her eyes stopped me. There was a weight there—a sorrow so profound it was impossible to argue with. Instead, I swallowed my frustration and focused on the one thing I could hold onto.

Eve's beautiful and gentle smile returned, faint yet filled with a quiet resolve. "That's why I'm planning to offer you a gift," she said. "In exchange for the unforgettable memories we've shared and the valuable moments you've given me, I want to grant you a wish."

"... A wish?"

"Yes." Her spirals slowed again, their glow softening. "As the Holy Witch of Carcosa, I still have enough power to bestow one final boon. Something to help you on your journey. Something to ease the burdens you will undoubtedly face."

I shook my head, my hands trembling as I clutched at hers. "No. It doesn't have to be. There has to be another way. We can figure it out together—"

She silenced me with a gentle touch, her floating hands brushing against mine. "This is my choice," she said softly. "It's the only way I can ensure I leave behind something meaningful. And... It's my way of thanking you."

"For what…?" I asked, my voice breaking, crumbling onto what was left of my fool's gold heart.

"For giving me something I've never had," she said, her spirals swaying gently. "Connection. Understanding. A moment of warmth in an existence defined by solitude. You've given me more than I ever thought possible, Narcissus. And for that, I'll always be grateful."

Her words broke something inside me. I pressed my forehead against her hand, my tears leaving freely. "It's not enough," I said, my voice raw and red. "It'll never be enough."

Eve's spirals glowed faintly, her smile softening. "Maybe not," she murmured. "But that's all I have to give."