She spasms again, and I struggle to keep my hands clasped around hers. Maintaining my prayer, I look up onto the bed where she lays, and watch as beads of sweat flow through the pained wrinkles of her golden forehead. Again I find myself in awe: that flawless yellow skin, that impossibly long, crimson hair. And such an ornate, intricate tunic! Truly, an angel! But, why does she suffer? Has she fallen from God’s grace? Or perhaps this is a test, to measure my dedication to Him before I can ascend? This bizarre room has no supplies I could use to treat her fever, so I must rely on the strength of my belief. I reaffirm my grip on her hand, and pray harder. Oh Lord, please-

At the same time, through bleary, tear-filled eyes, the boy can barely make out the shifting shapes in the shadows. Something is taking slow, deliberate steps towards the table, towards him, but the idiot doesn’t have the common sense to try to do anything.

At the same time I’m sitting curled in a bed, my back against the corner. Although this room is identical to the previous, everything looks distinctly less alien. The green on the floor isn’t grass, it’s carpet. And affixed to the walls aren’t balls of heavenly energy, but light bulbs. The structure of the room with the two beds and the desks give the distinct impression of a shared dormitory room. With no door, only white walls.

These observations are completely secondary, however, to this new sensation smouldering in my chest. Complete fear. A dull pain on the back of my hand as I scratch at it unrelentingly. Where am I? How did I get here? And-

The body in the other bed tosses! -

!*@#

She violently twitches in the bed again, and I duck as her arm thrashes towards me. I bring a hand to her forehead: even warmer than before! I must pray harder! Lord, please help her, or provide me with the means to heal her!

The pain in that instant was indescribable, and… real? More real than the rest of everything else I can perceive. It has cut away at the seams of the world… that which I see before me is no more than a cascade of images… fleeting observations. A reality unto themselves, but not mine.

Oh thank God, he's still asleep. My plans to have tried to talk would never have worked anyway. I mean… it’s blue! Is it even human? Does it even speak my language? It… no, it’s a he, I’m sure. Though, if it is an alien, how can I be sure?

A monstrous foot smoothly connects with the floor mere inches from the boy’s leg, claw tips catching the tiles with a soft Click. The boy’s screams lodge in his throat as his gaze travels up that impossibly bulky, green-scaled limb. Now he succumbs to terror, his blood freezing over and locking all his limbs in place. Strangely, the flash of terror gives brief comfort to the child.

Something has changed. Her breathing is no longer haggard, but suffocatingly short and shallow. The intense lustre in her face has diluted to a pale yellow akin to straw. I check her forehead again – cold! How can this be? A second ago I was sure that this was a fever, but… could it be a nightmare? Father had mentioned this during a visit once – demons are capable of manifesting in your mind if the words of the Lord had not reached you the preceding evening. And I remember his advice – I must channel the words of the Lord loudly, to chase the demons from their nest!

What's that sound? For an instant I felt so incredibly close to activating the Dilation, but I don't want this to be interrupted! What is being said? I bring my ear closer to the wall – it sounds like a girl shouting... I can't make out the words. It doesn’t sound angry or scared, I think. It reminds me of how people would raise their voice in an argument to be heard. Could she be my captor? It sounds too young to be an adult, I think, so perhaps she's in the same boat as me? Perhaps I could knock on the wall to signal I’m here… but what if that woke up the one in the other bed?

The other bed creaks again-

!*@#

She spasms again, and she moans dully – am I waking her? It must be working.

What IS that?! Such a pain rocking my perception of everything. But, in the aftermath there’s an odd comfort. I’m myself – this is me, right? This thought, this curiosity, it is richer and more tangible than everything else. Yet I feel myself slipping again…

“Lord! Before you we kneel, and thank you for your light that protects us as we walk through Your garden. Please take this lost cub in your hands and shield her from the forces that would befoul your name.”

I look down. I’m now standing over her, my arms splayed out to receive God’s will, as I had seen Father do many times. Am I being loud enough? I think Father sounded more impactful with his words. Am I doing this right? No! I must not allow doubt dull the sharpness of my belief! I draw myself to fell height, and close my eyes as I start again even louder.

I snap my gaze back to the bed – thank God again, he’s still asleep. I need to come up with a plan. At some point he’s going to wake up. I think it’s safe to assume that he’s like me – confused and lost in a new environment. For all I know, he has been here for longer than me. I only just woke up… Wait, how long have I been awake? There’s no clock in the room – I should have checked my phone when I woke up.

Of course! I quickly start rooting through my pocket to reach my phone, whilst trying to be as quiet as possible. I press the home button and… no reception. Or internet. Damn.

But, the time – this can’t be right? It says it’s past midnight. No. But my last memory, me stepping up the path towards my house - it’s been 10 hours since then! How was I kidnapped? Tranquilised and brought here? What will Mum and Dad say? They’ll probably be really angry that I haven’t got home by now. But, what if they have been taken as well? Oh no oh no ohnoohnononoononono-

!*@#

She shakes once more, and this time I hear a distinct grunt escape her lips. I must be close!

Something’s happening. Everything’s getting fuzzier, less distinct. I can’t focus… or is it that I’m focussing too much? This is unbearable. Is this all there is? Will it ever end?

The monster suddenly rears back and shrieks, louder and more ferociously than anything the boy had ever heard in his life.

“LORD, BEFORE YOU WE KNEEL -”

!*@#

Suddenly, all of the world snap into one. But, not one. I can see… no, not see. There is a darkness, but it is my darkness. My eyes are closed. And what I hear, I hear it, but I also hear it differently, as though I’m the one speaking in that loud cadence. I open my eyes to see the world – my world - blossom into existence before me. The first sight, the first and most real, most tangible proof of me. A plain white ceiling, with the only source of light eclipsed by the looming figure at my bedside. Her dark green face frozen momentarily, her eyes wide, her mouth hung open mid-syllable. And at the same time I see the girl on the bed, her eyes opened just wide enough for me to see her vibrant, light-blue eyes. She's still clearly on the cusp of unconsciousness - she groggily struggles to move her head, a difficult endeavour due to her incredibly long hair wrapping around her body in a chaotic red halo. Joy and pride bloom within me – I did it! My devotion has reached her! I see the green girl’s face break into a joyous smile, and I also see the yellow girl in the bed smile too.

I… I’m not the one feeling this, but I am? I feel happy, excited, proud. But, it’s not me me. There’s a subtle hollowness to the emotion, but I still feel warmth from it.

!*@#

I recoil, throwing my hands to my head. There it is again! Less intense than before, but this time it came completely unexpectedly. Wait, had I expected it before? I say I… but who is that?

Despite my hand obscuring my vision, I can still perceive the yellow girl on the bed, who has thrown her hands to her head as she jolts in agony. My joy evaporates, and I fall to my knees and clasp her hand again. Confusingly, as I pull it from her face, my world illuminates as I feel another hand pulling at mine. I look up – the green girl has my hand clasped between hers.

Wait… this position, the two views I can see… am I the golden girl? The one in pain? The one sweating and only just woken up?

“Please, speak to me! You are an angel, correct? I am honoured to be in your presence! How do you feel?”

This voice sounds different, less confident through my own ears. Angel? Well… that sounds right. My skin, my hair, my holy gown. All the depictions of angels I saw growing up would indicate-

Wait, no I didn’t. I didn’t do that. That experience, I can still sense the tinge of hollowness. Those countless memories of gazing up to the stained glass and pouring over holy scripture, those aren’t mine. But here I am, recalling them. Like here I am, seeing all these things, feeling all these things, at the same time.

The girl’s eyes softly knit in consternation, as a perfectly blue sky, the sun stands high overhead, the waves gently roll and crash mere metres before him over the pristine white sand. What a beautiful world – I skip a breath in awe. So much space, so much more than this… but what’s this dread building within me? Get back home as soon as possible! Slowly, with a weakness I have only seen only in the oldest of parishioners, she reaches one arm into the air above her, stretching out her fingers as through trying to grasp at some far-off, intangible object visible only to her. Slowly, the hand collapses into a shaking fist.

“Get… me… home…” the yellow- I mean, I – rasp softly. Despite that sentence clearing all the air from my lungs, the magnetic attraction to home pulls at me. I need to be there. Before it happens, before it can hurt them. This isn’t the time to be weak and pathetic. I need to get moving!

“Please, stop!” the priest’s daughter commands as she gently yet firmly stops me from trying to roll out of bed. “You are in no condition to be moving right now! I will get you home, if it’s the last thing I do. But before that, I need you to rest!”

Oh, of course. I am a patient, an angel in distress. I need to place my faith in the Lord’s eternal love, and He shall guide me towards recovery. This realisation dissipates my panic over… what was it again?

“Okay, good, good, here, let me fix your pillow,” Light says tenderly as she reaches behind my head. “Now tell me about yourself.”

Wait… I haven’t planned for this! Why wouldn’t I have planned it? I’m here in the presence of a complete stranger looking after me – how should I respond? I need to be honest, but what if she thinks I’m being overly dramatic, or if I somehow worry her unnecessarily? This isn’t good, I need time to think… but why isn’t the Dilation triggering? Normally by now-

Wait, it happened again. Or, did it happen a few times? My rising panic falls like a curtain cut from its supports, leaving the expanse of me unobstructed again. What’s happening?

“What’s happening?” I ask, and again I feel a wave of dizziness as though I had forgotten to breath.

“I believe… I am not sure, there is no reason to be alarmed. I woke up in the bed behind me not a few minutes ago, when I saw your poor condition. I am sure we will be tended to soon, and we can ask for medicinal supplies.”

That’s what I heard, the sensation which stuck out most to me. But at the same time, a more subtle wave of comprehension washed over her words.

I believe that I have passed into the afterlife – wait, no, I cannot possibly say that! This test, whatever it is, is not about me, it must be about my ability to help this angel. In that case: I am not sure, there is no reason to be alarmed. I woke up in the bed behind me not a few minutes ago, when I saw your poor condition. I am sure we will be tended to soon, and we can ask for medicinal supplies.

This time, I try to focus on the distinction between the two perceptions. The weaker hangs like a thin veil before my reality, and it crumbles as I try to focus on my perspective. Okay, this is making sense. I think I’m waking up. The sensation was unusual at first, but I think I’m getting used to it. But my body… as I test my limbs, I find I can barely move. I’m devoid of strength, but I don’t feel overt muscular fatigue.

A gentle feeling of trepidation washes over me, but now I instinctively take a mental step back, as I look at the veil of the feeling I realise it to be from Light. She’s worried about my condition, but also about her ability to adequately treat me, lest her soul suffers the consequences.

“What is your name?” she asks, yet I realise that I ‘heard’ it before she had said it. The veil of her perception of reality had broadcasted the question an instant previous, at the moment it formulated in her head.

“Light,” I reply breathlessly.

Wait, that isn’t right. I’m peering through the veil of Light’s perception again. I tune it out of my perception, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t have a name.

“Yes?” she asks, mistaking my answer for the beginning of a question. I sense the twinge of doubt – she thinks she may be bothering me with the questions. But at this is replaced by deep-seated reverence, as she realises that she had never introduced her own name.

“I… I don’t know… my name,” I struggle to say. It’s like having a weight placed upon me, or trying to speak after being winded.

Hang on, here it is again. Where am I drawing this information upon? Why can I conceive the ideas of times I have tripped and knocked the wind out of me, times I have spent so much time fighting in a street that I can barely move the next day, when I have no memories upon which to recollect? Once again I try to mentally step back, and the answer lays bare before me: all of these memories, concepts, notions, I can see them wrapped around me as a dense set of layered veils. Therefore, they are not mine. They are so well-integrated, that I can’t even necessarily distinguish whose is whose.

She can’t remember her name. And the way she keeps cradling her head sporadically - poor creature, perhaps the source of her illness was a blow to the head? Just like earlier when I... no, this is not about me! I remember when Spark hit his head a few years back – when he woke up, he didn’t remember the entirety of the previous day. Her memories will be back in time, but I need to find something to call her in the meantime, and it must be such that she knows the deep respect I have for her.

Light bends down, and with one hand she takes a careful hold of own of mine, while the other hand gently cups my cheek. The contact is solid, grounding, and reassuring – I feel myself relaxing a bit.

“Do not fear, I am sure you will remember after a little rest. Until then, I’ll just call you Angel, okay? And please understand, I will be your loyal servant for as long as you need.”

The veils of other egos layer up, increasing in density. I am losing myself. Am I passing out? It seems – my real sight is blurring at the same rate as I more clearly see myself through Light’s eyes. As she seems to relax and close her eyes, I can’t help but feel a little calmer. I got a bit flustered there – this is unbecoming of my station. But I’m sure she heard my last words to her. Lord, thank you for blessing me with this trial. I know that I will be able to redeem myself for the lapse of conviction I showed when you tested me before.

The boy under the table pathetically chokes back on his sobs. What a stupid child: how can he really believe that he’s concealing himself?

Hang on, there’s a draw on this bed-side table. Slowly, silently I tug on the handle: thank goodness, it doesn’t creak or anything! What’s this in here? Another phone? No, it’s closer in size to a small tablet. I pick it up, making care not to hit the sides of the drawer, and press the power on its edge. The screen glows with a faint light blue, as though loading.

Hurry up, I can't hang around forever!