A mushroom of fire and shattered roses blasted behind Willow, but she paid it no heed, focusing instead on running as far away as she could.
Every second, she solidified air beneath her own and Art's feet, solid slabs of air replacing what had once been gas. The process was immensely tiring, not because making gas into air was hard, but because of the constant changes in reality she had to endure...alongside the Insenium drain, of course.
Her mind dipped in and out of the imaginative world, dropping by for a second as she made the steps, transferred her consciousness back to the real world, jumped in the air, made a new platform, and repeat.
She could have done what Art had done before while pulling out the true form of the bottled pilgrim—simultaneously living in both realms, but it was far too inefficient, especially for the small task of changing states of matter.
Fortunately, the vast chasm of lemon gas had ended, the other side of the spire right below their feet. Willow didn't hesitate to stop, the slabs disappearing all at once. She flew through the air, like an arrow fired downwards.
Just before landing, Willow twisted and landed into a roll. Beside her fell Art, swaying like a drunk. She gave him a pitying glance. Even she was not heartless enough not to feel something after seeing the state her new…companion was in.
Bloodied eyes, tattered clothes…can they even be called clothes? His stump is bleeding, and his left arm is bleeding, probably broken. No Insenium either.
Willow noted Art's state calmly, then a smug smile broke on her face.
"You seem to be in a wonderful state, Art, it is…truly admirable. Ah, how I aspire to achieve your levels of greatness."
Willow's voice was teasing; she was very clearly enjoying berating Art. The man was too arrogant; was it not her place to keep him level-headed?
He should be grateful for my existence; who else would take care of a bastard like him? I am too kind, and I'm starting to talk like him; I should be more careful.
Art—who had been silent after they had escaped the pilgrim named Fog—responded to her taunts.
"My dearest Willow, admire and aspire you must. Although, be warned, back home all the ladies chased after me. If you act early, you might have a chance."
Art smiled after speaking, a smile that reached his lips, as if he knew that his comeback had pissed Willow off.
Infuriating bastard, I swear I'll stab him one day.
"How I want to throw you off a tree so high. You're lucky there aren't any here." Willow looked at Art with a disgusted look, eyes scrunching up from the mere sight of him. The motions came to her all too easily.
"Looking at you makes my eyes hurt, so I'm going to do you a favor and patch you up."
"How? And more importantly…how?"
…Is this guy mental, or did he get hit on the head one too many times?
"You just asked the same question twice. Ahh, never mind. I'm going to enter my phosphene space, so don't try anything funny or I'll be forced to stab you…hopefully in the eye."
Willow smiled sweetly at Art. It looked like an angel smiling at a mortal warrior, about to bestow their divine blessings upon them.
Art looked at her with a frown, born more of confusion than annoyance, but he nodded nonetheless. He looked like a hamster…one with sharp cheekbones and a very non-innocent, definitely not hamster-like face.
"You and your strange obsession with stabbing me. Willow dearest, you should look into changing your hobbies, cause this definitely ain't healthy."
Art casually shooed her away, as if she…she were a stray cat. A vein threatened to pop on Willow's forehead, but she took a deep breath to compose herself.
You can't let him in your mind, Willow. Focus.
She closed her eyes and sank into the depths of her mind…after leaving a parting message, of course.
"At least I have both arms to stab you with. Useless cripple."
The last thing she saw was Art's expression, one full of hurt and wounded pride. He seemed to have been momentarily stunned, with no immediate comeback. Not that she would have been present to hear it.
Darkness spread all across her; such was the world behind closed eyes. A desolate void of utter blackness, where nothing existed or could exist.
Willow had three choices she could take at the moment. Either enter the imaginative world by…imagining it into existence, or go back into the real world. She wasn't here for either of them, so only the third option remained.
With just a thought, the darkness gave way to a plethora of colors, brilliant oranges and dark purples, oceanic blue and windy greens.
After the colors, followed the lands and the sky. A brilliant sunset of orange and red, a dawning sun hidden beneath the radiance of its rays.
Far off in the distance, a massive castle formed, a castle of sunlight, glowing like molten gold, with a touch of crimson.
Willow took a step forward, and beneath her feet bloomed a violet surface. At first, it was liquid, rippling with each step. Then it shifted into solid, as hard and rigid as diamonds themselves. Yet that was not the end. The magenta diamonds shifted into a gaseous cloud, similar in state to the fog monster, yet purple instead of yellow.
Still, the transformation did not end. The floor kept changing states, solid to liquid, liquid to gas, a relentless cycle of creations and destruction, until eventually, after an unknown period of time, it shifted into a slightly metallic liquid, similar to the Scarlet Basins below the Color Spires.
Willow examined her phosphene space, her gaze indifferent as it traveled over the plethora of colors around her. With calm steps, she walked towards the Palace of Dawn—situated in the very center of the space.
The massive doors of condensed light automatically opened upon her arrival, as if by magic. A gust of wind blew her hair, silky black, fluttering in graceful waves.
With a faint smile, Willow entered her palace.
The Queen of Light had arrived at her humble abode.