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The stairs creaked beneath Reven's feet, but the sound felt like it was coming from inside his head rather than the wood.
Each step up felt heavier than the last, not from exhaustion but from the weight of decision. He'd chosen the only path that didn't end in death or porcelain transformation, but that didn't mean he'd chosen safety.
The bookstore's atmosphere shifted as he climbed. The oppressive dread from below gave way to something else. Unnatural quiet. The kind of silence that came before terrible revelations.
He reached the top of the stairs.
A modest hallway stretched before him, lit by antique lamps that cast warm, steady light. No flickering. No shadows moving independently. Just clean, simple illumination.
At the end of the hallway stood a door, slightly ajar, warm light spilling through the gap.
"Come in," Levi's voice called from inside. Still calm. Still measured.
Reven pushed the door open slowly and stepped through.
The therapy room was nothing like he'd expected.
It was warm. Orderly. Intentionally non-threatening in every detail. Two comfortable chairs sat facing each other across a low table. Shelves lined one wall, packed with journals, poetry collections, psychology texts. A few decorative plants sat in corners, their leaves healthy and green, though something about them suggested they were only mildly cursed rather than aggressively hostile.
Levi sat in one of the chairs, relaxed but alert, his posture suggesting years of experience doing exactly this.
"Please, sit," Levi said, gesturing to the other chair. "Would you like tea? Coffee? Water?"
Reven stood frozen in the doorway, his survival instincts screaming that this was too normal, too calm, too structured to be real.
"Tea," he heard himself say.
Levi nodded and raised one hand slightly.
A door Reven hadn't noticed opened, and a humanoid figure entered carrying a tray.
Reven's hand went to his belt where a weapon should have been but wasn't.
The figure was a golem. Seven feet tall with a ceramic face that held no expression, just smooth porcelain features and painted eyes. Its movements were precise, mechanical, utterly inhuman.
It set the tray down on the table with careful deliberation, poured tea into two cups, then bowed slightly and retreated through the door.
"That's Golem One," Levi said. "Completely harmless unless you try to damage the Library. Then it becomes significantly less harmless. But since you're a guest, you have nothing to worry about."
Reven slowly sat down in the chair, his body tense, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Levi picked up his teacup and took a sip, his movements casual and unhurried.
Then his eyes unfocused slightly, just for a moment, and Reven felt something wash over him. Not physical. Something else. Like being observed by something that could see past skin and bone into the shape of his soul.
Levi's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. A subtle tension, quickly controlled.
What did he just see?
What Levi saw was this:
[ARCHIVIST'S INSIGHT]
Patron: Father Reven Reposo
Genre: Horror (Grimdark)
Current Arc: Prolonged Torment
[EMOTIVE INSIGHT]
Dominant Emotion: Suppressed Fear (Chronic)
Secondary Emotions: Resignation, Hypervigilance, Fragile Hope
Forecast: Growing dread, potential breakthrough or collapse
Warning: Subject experiences reality as hostile. Hallucinations likely. Eldritch encounters confirmed. Psychological stability compromised.
Oh no.
Horror genre. Grimdark subtype. That's not "scary things happen sometimes." That's "constant supernatural torment with no relief." That's cosmic horror meets body horror meets psychological horror in one incredibly damaged package.
Levi kept his expression neutral through sheer force of will.
He's not just traumatized. He's living in a genre where trauma is the default state. Where reality itself is hostile.
And I just invited him into therapy like this is a normal situation.
Levi adjusted his approach immediately.
"Father Reven," he said gently. "Before we begin, I want to establish something clearly. This room is a sanctuary. Nothing here will harm you. No judgment. No tricks. No tests. Just conversation. Do you understand?"
Reven's eyes darted around the room, scanning the walls, the shelves, the corners. Looking for threats. Looking for exits.
"I understand," he said, but his grip on the teacup remained white-knuckled.
He doesn't believe me. Of course he doesn't. In his genre, reassurance is usually followed by betrayal.
Levi leaned forward slightly, his tone remaining calm but carrying more weight.
"I know you don't believe me yet. That's fine. Trust takes time. But I'm going to ask you to try something small. Just one thing. Can you do that?"
Reven nodded slowly.
"I'd like you to remove your mask."
The request hung in the air like a blade.
Reven went absolutely still. His breathing stopped. His hand moved unconsciously toward the plague mask covering his face.
"Why?" His voice was barely a whisper.
"Because healing requires being seen," Levi said simply. "Not hidden. Not performing. Just existing as you are. I'm not asking you to explain anything. I'm not asking you to justify anything. Just to let yourself be visible."
"I..." Reven's hand trembled. "I haven't removed it in two years."
Two years. He's been hiding for two years. Whatever's under there, he considers it worse than facing inquisitors, worse than dying in the street.
"I understand," Levi said. "And I'm not demanding you remove it. This is your choice. But I want you to know that whatever is under that mask, whatever you think will disgust me or horrify me or make me reject you, won't. Not here. Not in this room."
Reven was silent for a long moment.
"You don't know what you're asking," he said finally.
"Perhaps not," Levi admitted. "But I'm asking anyway. Because I suspect that mask stopped being protection a long time ago and became a prison instead."
The words hit something deep. Reven's breathing became uneven.
He's going to bolt. Or he's going to comply. This is the pivot point.
"If I do this," Reven said slowly, "and you react the way everyone else has reacted, I'm leaving. Vision or no vision. I'd rather die outside than endure that again."
"Understood," Levi said. "And I respect that boundary."
Levi prepared himself internally. Burns, probably. Severe scarring. Maybe disfigurement from torture. The inquisitors had clearly done a number on him, and plague magic likely left its own marks.
Whatever it is, stay calm. Stay professional. Don't flinch. Don't stare. Just acknowledge and move forward.
Reven reached up with both hands.
He hesitated.
Then slowly, carefully, he removed the plague mask.
Levi's breath caught despite his preparation.
The right side of Reven's face was human. Gaunt, hollowed by suffering, marked by old burn scars around the jaw. But human.
The left side was cracked.
Not metaphorically. Literally cracked, like porcelain that had been struck but not shattered. The skin had split along fault lines, revealing something underneath.
Mushrooms.
They grew from the cracks in layered clusters. Purple-veined caps, gray stems, some with bioluminescent green undersides that pulsed faintly with their own light. Delicate tendrils swayed slightly despite the still air, as if moved by breath that wasn't there.
The growth appeared alive, ancient, invasive. It had taken root in his flesh and made a home there, spreading slowly but inevitably across what remained of his humanity.
One larger mushroom, growing from a crack near his temple, pulsed visibly with each of Reven's heartbeats.
Spores drifted briefly in the lamplight before settling.
The Library itself seemed to react. The lights flickered once. The air grew heavy. The room held its breath.
Levi sat very still, his mind racing.
That's not scarring. That's not burns. That's active fungal corruption. His body is being slowly colonized by plague. He's not sick. He's becoming something else. Something between human and mycological network.
This is body horror. This is a man watching himself transform into a living garden of disease and being fully conscious through every moment of it.
Externally, Levi's expression remained calm, professional, compassionate.
Reven saw none of that. He saw what he always saw: the moment before rejection.
"I'm sorry," Reven said quickly, reaching for the mask. "I shouldn't have—"
"Stop."
Levi's voice was gentle but firm.
Reven froze.
"Don't," Levi said. "Don't hide. Not here. Not from me."
"You're disgusted."
"I'm not."
"You're horrified."
"I'm concerned," Levi corrected. "There's a difference. What I see is someone who's been suffering in silence for two years. Someone who's been hiding because the world taught him that his existence was shameful. That's not horror. That's tragedy."
Reven stared at him, disbelief warring with desperate hope.
"Look at me," he said, gesturing to his face, to the mushrooms that grew from his flesh. "Look at what I've become. I'm not human anymore. I'm a walking plague vector. A failed priest hosting the corruption he was supposed to prevent."
"You're still human," Levi said quietly. "You're just growing differently."
The words hung in the air.
Reven's eyes filled with tears that didn't fall.
"I've prayed for death," he whispered. "Every day. But Morvexis won't even grant me that. He took his voice. His presence. His blessing. But he left this." He touched one of the mushrooms gently. "This is his final gift. Abandonment and corruption."
"Or," Levi said carefully, "it's neither gift nor curse. It's just what happened. And now we deal with it."
"You say that like it's simple."
"It's not simple," Levi acknowledged. "But it's possible. That's different from hopeless."
One of the mushrooms on Reven's face twitched slightly, responding to some internal stimulus.
The golem chose that moment to return, calmly refilling both teacups as if nothing unusual was happening. As if sitting across from a man with bioluminescent fungi growing from his skull was perfectly normal Tuesday behavior.
Reven laughed. It was a broken sound, half sob, but it was genuine.
"Your golem doesn't care."
"Golems don't judge," Levi said. "They just serve tea and occasionally commit violence against intruders. Very focused creatures."
Reven set the mask down on the table between them. Not dropped. Placed. Deliberately.
"Alright," he said. "Alright. If you're not running, if you're not calling for inquisitors, if you're just... here. Then I'll talk. I'll answer your questions. I'll try."
"That's all I'm asking," Levi said.
The moment settled into fragile calm.
The therapy session had truly begun.
Levi took a sip of his tea, his mind already working through approaches. Trauma-informed care. Grounding techniques. Cognitive behavioral strategies adapted for someone whose cognitive baseline included eldritch corruption.
This is going to be complicated. But that's fine. Complicated is just another word for interesting.
"Let's start with something manageable," Levi said. "Tell me about the day Morvexis stopped speaking to you."
Reven opened his mouth to answer.
Then one of the mushrooms on his face opened too, revealing a tiny mouth lined with human teeth.
And it whispered in a voice that was not Reven's:
"He didn't stop speaking. You stopped listening."
Levi's teacup paused halfway to his lips.
Reven's eyes went wide with horror.
And the mushroom smiled.