The pond was not as Reha remembered it. But it also seemed exactly the same as it was in her memories. Like she was seeing it for the first time in her life, while at the same time having never left her seat at the stony perch overlooking the almost two foot deep depression in the cave. Like she had never moved her eyes away from the gift the gods had given her when she prayed mightily for reprieve. Reprieve from…she didn’t quite remember what. All she remembered was seeking reprieve, and her prayers being answered.

The object of her attention was completely unfamiliar, even though she had spent days sitting here watching the serpentine creature chase its own tail. She didn’t know what the creature was, she had never known what it was. But she had known it as long as she was alive. She knew each and every one of its iridescent red scales, its determined yellow eyes not once shifting from its tail.

Reha hated snakes. Not because they were poisonous or deadly, no. It was their stillness–that they lay waiting, completely dead in the grass for a few moments only to strike like lightning in a single second. Maybe Reha just didn’t trust things that sudden, things that were not constant. Maybe that’s why Reha was drawn to the predictable circling of the creature in front of her - it moved to a rhythm that had been choreographed since the birth of the universe, maybe even before that.

But no, this creature was unsettling for another reason. After all, it was not just a snake. She didn’t know any snakes that could breathe and swim in the water. Reha had first seen the creature when she stopped being a child and became something more, when she had run away into the cave seeking solace and isolation from the heretics outside. In a previous lifetime, she was one of them; loud and dogmatic, certain and constant.

But something changed suddenly, she forgot when exactly, and she ran away. She prayed for reprieve and she found it. Reprieve from…she didn’t quite remember what. All she remembered was seeking reprieve, and her prayers being answered. The creature had been a revelation to her, a divine light emanating from its red scales that illuminated the entire cave. What the snake-fish was capable of was also a revelation, a secret whispered through the undulating waves the creature created in its eternal pursuit.

As soon as Reha understood, she lost herself. The shouts on the edge of the cave quieted and then slid as if scraping her ears. The sound plateaued and then gave way to the chirping of birds. Reha couldn’t leave. The chirping turned to screaming. The screaming of people, animals, or steel, she did not know. It always sounded to her like her parents’ screaming. It even sounded like her own screaming, from a previous lifetime or maybe even the next. And Reha couldn’t leave.

She felt rain, she felt the snow, she felt the haze, and she felt the storms. But she never felt anything else. Reha wondered what days those were when she wished that she would be free of her pain, for she knew that she had never known pain at all. She had never wished for reprieve…there was nothing to seek reprieve from. There had always been nothing. Except for the serpentine creature chasing its apocalyptic tail.

Reha was free.