My Second Life is a Heroic Power Fantasy

So, she could control any part of the illusion that derived from her mind. That was useful information, but by itself didn't do much to change the game.

The real question was if she could cause new things to appear in the illusion that she invented and pretended to remember? And if she COULD do that, what could she conceive of that would disrupt the illusion enough for her to know it was really and truly broken?

There was only one way to find out, and that was going to be trial and error.

And the greatest question of all was, could she affect the real world from inside the illusion? That one seemed much less likely, but it was something she would need to be sure of one way or the other if she expected to spend a lot more time in one. She wanted to believe that her sisters and Jack were coming, but even if they came for her now, how would she be able to know they were authentic?

Well, in a sense she already had her answer.

The shaman had only seen her, and maybe Jack. He had no idea what Rose or Madeleine would look like, which meant any form they appeared in would have to derive either from her most recent memories of them if he hadn't seen them, and if he had seen them since then and the image she was presented was one not from her memories, then that would almost certainly mean they were coming for her. And if the image in front of her changed when she deliberately tried to make it do so, then she knew it was false.

All of this seemed very tenuous, like she was grasping at fog while looking for a handhold, but knowing what her reality was, and finding ways to assert some small kind of control over it... that made her feel stronger. More confident. More able to face the horror of what she was in the midst of.

She finally drew her attention away from the gentle warbling of the bird overhead, and turned back towards the direction of the burning camp. Now that she had this new information, there was no reason to continue this particular iteration any longer than it needed to go. She would get to the camp, encounter the heroes, have a reunion that appeared entirely authentic, have it interrupted, appear to be devastated, return to what she presumed to be reality but might not be, and start things all over again.

It sounded absolutely exhausting. But it was what needed to happen to set her forming plan into action. Emotional resilience, and time. That was all. And when she was finally certain she was free, and she had a chance to get her revenge, it would be slow, and exquisitely horrible. The bastard and his dogs had taken her dignity, her happiness, her well-being, even her maidenhood. There was nothing she could do to them that could restore those things to her, no matter what. But she could make them suffer. She could drag the entire lot of them through the planes of Hell by their tails, and leave them as playthings for the l.u.s.t devils of the second circle. That would serve them right, Who knows, maybe she'd even be allowed to watch. That would come close to making her feel better about it all.

She smiled to herself at the thought, and set of walking down towards the smoking remains of the camp at the far end of the forest. Now, at least, she had something more to look forward to.