A short story I wrote ! :)

(Putting this under a cut but if you read this and especially if you tell me what you think just know that I'm in love with you <3 also update bc jas asked, this is okay to rb if u want👀)

I was once a woman called Jane Oliver. I do not know who I am anymore.

The woman who was known as Jane Oliver led a vastly unremarkable life. She was born in a town too small to ever be of any note - I do not recall the name of it. I do not feel any need to. Jane lived there for a number of years - I do not know how many. And she did nothing of true meaning at all. I would not need her memories to know this.

There was a time in her life when Jane Oliver had a lover. She had several, over the course of her life, but this one in particular stood out from the rest. Their name was Eleanor Morgan. When I was Jane, I did love them - very much, I think. I no longer remember how that felt - loving. And I find that I am glad of it, as much as I can be. Jane Oliver did not know what loving Eleanor Morgan would do to her. I think that being able to remember would hurt.

I do not know if Eleanor loved Jane back. Regardless, the love that may or may not have been shared between them was nothing of note. At least, not until the end.

One day, Eleanor asked if Jane would accompany them to the beach. Jane, of course, said yes. It was a long way, but she must have loved the beach, or perhaps she just loved Eleanor. Why else should she have agreed?

And so, they went to the beach. They walked along the sand and talked of numerous things, none of them important. I do not know how long they walked together. I do not think Jane knew, either. I do not think she cared.

Late in the evening, Eleanor Morgan took Jane to a secluded, secret place. It was, they assured Jane, a place that no one else had ever found. A place for only the two of them. I don’t think Jane believed Eleanor, but she went along anyway.

It was a cave, well-hidden, and, perhaps, not empty. Within that cave, she would find, lived something Jane could not name. Jane was afraid, but she trusted Eleanor. She loved them.

And of course, this was her final mistake. What sort of story would this be, otherwise?

Eleanor Morgan knew the thing that dwelled in the cave, to the extent that such a thing could be known. They had, I believe, encountered it before. I know that now. Jane Oliver did not. I still find myself unable to put a name to the thing.

The thing within the cave revealed itself as long, craggy teeth and sharp, bony limbs and oh-so-gentle whispering. It was the whispering that frightened Jane most.

Jane Oliver was not a brave woman. Eleanor knew this, and hugged her to their chest. They held her close and soothed her fears and promised her that everything would be alright. They kissed her forehead and pushed her backwards into the open arms of the thing that dwelled within the cave.

I do not recall whether it hurt, dying. I do not even know if that is what happened to me. All I know is that I am no longer Jane Oliver. I simply am.

Time has no meaning for me in this place, but there are occasions on which I still see Eleanor Morgan - though they do not see me. They never do. Often they bring others with them. I do not know their names, and I do not care to. Eleanor Morgan feeds these others to the thing that dwells within the cave, just as they once did to Jane Oliver.

I do not know what happens to those who are fed to the thing in the cave. I do not know what happened to me. I know only that we have been fully embraced by it - devoured.  

Perhaps I am the creature that dwells within the cave, or a part of it. Perhaps I am the cave itself. I do not know, but I think this the most likely answer, for although I no longer have a mouth, I often now find myself whispering.

I am no longer Jane Oliver, though I remember her. On occasion, when the cave feeds, I still wonder about what happened to her.