Ninth Story Studios giving Story a Voice. Welcome to the list, get ready to take the ride. Hello, and welcome to season five, episode number two of Victoria's Lift. I'm Daniel Foytech, and I thank you for listening. Today's episode was written for us by a returning author, the very talented Lee Andrew Foreman. He has written audio fiction for us The Wicked Library, and has multiple books and collections available on Amazon, including The Very Creepy Berry
Box. He is also one of the masters behind Siren's Call Publishing. You can find out more about Lee at Lee Andrew Foreman dot com. Before we begin, a sincere thank you to those of you supporting the show on Patreon. You truly make this show possible. It's because of your support that I can continue to pay the very talented authors, artist, voice actors, and composers. Simply, it's your support that allows us to continue to make sure
those who contribute to the show do not work for free. A special shout out to our friend Jeremy. Saul's characters based on him and his special friend Apolo are immortalized in my three part tale Von Hamlin. So, Jeremy, I know it's hard to lose a dear companion. Victoria says she's taking very special care of Apollo and giving him lots of extra rubs and cuddles, and he is a very good boy. If you're not yet supporting the show,
you can do that at patreon dot com forward slash Wicked Library. For as little as two dollars a month, you can help make the show you love possible and get fun rewards. A lot of hard work and money goes into making Victoria's Lift. I really do rely on your support to help me pay the contributors. In addition to knowing that you're a part of making this show possible, you can get fund rewards like ad free episodes and more. You
can support us at patreon dot com forward slash Victoria's Lift. Today's story is performed by the incomparable Graham Rowet and the always spectacular Amber Collins as our girl Victoria. The episode features a custom scored by Nico Vites of We Talk of Dreams. This story is beautifully dark and packs a punch. Have a seat and relax as we present a tale about casting aside, self loathing, seeing your true nature, and overcoming self imposed exile in Carapis by Lee Andrew Foreman.
I've lived here longer than I can remember. These walls, whole decades of dust and smoke and everything else, layers of my life waiting to be painted over, fresh, new clean. The cracks speak of broken promises and fractured hearts, the stained wallpaper of faded dreams. I've only wonders are left among all in me which has died, and that is to stay here in this crumbling apartment. Some have tried to get me to leave, but my
world is here. I have no reason to go. If I want to see what's out there, all I have to do is look out the sixth floor window. I loathe this place as much as myself, but I don't d'er expose the innocent to my repugnant existence. I must remain here so the eyes of the world don't suffer. I'm sustained by drippings from a leaky faucet and the small meals I can scavenge. My tongue laps at each drip,
my stomach groans at what little it receives. It's enough to get by, to survive, to remain within my prison, my cage, my haven. Footsteps thunder outside the door. Fear that I'll have to vacate this place always lurks within my shadow, But the loneliness filling the air as equally suffocating. Where is the middle ground? Where is the land of both solitude and tranquility? Does such a place exist? Or is all hell above and below? Maybe I've died and this is hell. But I wouldn't be so lucky for
this to be. My punishment would also reveal itself to be a reward. What devil would extend such a gift? What pleasure would exist in the realm of damnation? As those trotting shoes come closer, I run for my sanctum dug tooth and claw into the wall. Backing my closet. I curl up in my little hole, pulling covers over my body to hide from anything and everything. But the footsteps pass, and, somewhat relaxed, I allow dreamless
sleep to take me. When I wake, the door to the closet has shut, and when I try to get up, my foot pushes through the thin layer left in the back wall. On the other side, a place I've never seen waits. I stare through the hole with curious eyes. The dim green light seems calming and enticing, Yet I've not left this place in so long. What waits out there is not what I want to meet.
My heart begs me to stay, to remain in place, but I'm otherwise trapped in my little heaven, and as much as I'd like to, I can't remain forever. I peel away enough thin wall to exit into this unknown. Black doors adorn the sides of a long hallway, each leading to rooms I've never seen, places of dread to be avoided. My legs tremble as I scurry across the carpet. My heart thumps. I smell the pungent odor of my own fear. It both drives me and holds me back, moves
me forward while tugging my thoughts to what's behind. That shadowed hand we all possess always wants to remain in the past. It pulls wraps itself around our throats and chokes us of whatever happiness might wait in our future paths. Green fluorescent bulbs flicker above, darkness blinks its eyes. The rapid pounding in my chest stops from the affraction of time, then resumes its violent action. I keep forward until I reach the end, holes extending out at both sides.
I look each way to my left, another corridor of unknown length, its end and unlit mystery. To my right, more of the same, lime walls and black doors. A repeating thumb echoes from the darkness. Heavy breaths gust from the unseen. They carry the stench of a wanting stomach. A growl pounds my ears. I don't know what's coming. Instinct begs me to flee. I don't argue. As I sprint away, the steps behind me quickened. A chase has begun. Howls of a predatory tone sound from my
hunter. Its jaw slaps opened and shut. I dare not look back to see how close those teeth are. But hot breath puffs against my back. The scent of its hunger thickens the very air in which I run. One lined, Run as fast as you can, despite not knowing where the voice came from. I do exactly that. But my pursuer is closing in, and my strength is failing. The hot blood burning through my veins begins to
slow. Every breath is a struggle for survival all its own. My subconscious begins to accept mortality, spilling into my thought says, all too calm realizations that the end is inevitable. Death has arrived and does not wait for anyone, especially not for a meager creature such as myself. The door gave for the door, a portion of wall just large enough for me to fit through.
Opens. I make for it and skid through on scrambling legs. As it closes behind me, too small for the beast to follow, I get a glimpse at it pointed teeth line, Its more long, scraggly fur covers its entirety. On four legs, it walks tears, pointed tail, whipping back and forth in anger of its prey escaping. As I back up, a wall immediately stops me. Misty light creeps in through lay where the plaster
has cracked. This door has led me inside the wall. I'm deeper in than I've ever been before, inside a hidden place, a special place that provides a neurotic comfort to a terror stricken mind. It must be safe here in this world, within a world. I make my way through cobwebs and dust, aimlessly searching the hidden labyrinth. I lose myself in its many paths, just as I'd lost myself in my own mind. Who I was doesn't matter, only what I've become, A filthy creature only deserving of a festering
habitat and the scraps of nature on which to sustain a lowly existence. A life better left secret unknown, kept away from those who possess the will for joy, who seek out the pleasures and satisfactions of life. The monotony of this inner maze, both physical and mental, is as a mirror, one in which I see the worst reflection of myself. I gaze in apathy. There is no shock, no remorse. I witness only what I deserve. I've been driven deep into my sanctum, deeper still into my mind. My
beady eyes can see from within and without. But it doesn't matter, because ever further I crawl, ever lower do I bring my value and expectations. The whole I've dug is fathoms deep in misery. Just when my indifferent epiphany reaches its peak, this haven proves unsafe. Its secret has been discovered. A vicious growl rattles this slender escape route. The beast has found its way in four legs, thumping toward me. Of course, I run, what
else would one do? No matter how desolate and despaired and accepting of an emotionally numb fate, the bodies fight for survival always kicks in. There's no escaping the need to escape. Nature won't allow it. Air rushes against my back as a claw nearly tears flesh. My life is balancing on a thin line death laughing on the other side. It's pointing a finger directly at me. I've been chosen to this world in which I don't belong. But a
thought comes I'd never expect. It, screams with feverish insistence. I don't want to die. With that thought, something in me changes, not conjured by adrenaline and fear, but by a fresh light in my soul, a new flame to bring life to my dead insides. In a burst of fury, this revelation nignites my blood boils. I run faster, harder, with determination. I want to live. That's it limit, Now you've got it. That kind voice lends hope to my position in this deadly chase. Sometimes
the prey gets away, the hunter doesn't always catch its meal. I dart forward with all the strength I have around a bend and to a weak spot on the wall. I claw at the lathe. A cloud of dust obscures my vision. But I pull at this barrier by feeling alone. I must get away. I must escape the beast that hungers for my life. It steps slow as it nears, each footfall, a hearted stump of impending doom. My end is beating its drum, a song of death played for I
and I alone. It is my melody, my unloving goodbye. Old plaster finally crumbles and gives way as I break through and spill back into the hall of doors. But in this hall there is an end. Darkness has not claimed it. Calm emerald light shines from the bulbs above, bathed in an illumination of solace. A girl stands in front of ornate elevator doors. Hello,
linnit, it's nice to finally meet you. It's the voice, the one which led me from the depths of an inner hell and out into the world of the living, the place where all hope is not extinct, where it grows and flourishes, fills the air with fresh vibrancy. The mystery how this girl knows me? I hadn't questioned it. In the midst of fear, I only scrambled toward any and all hope, into any light that may shine. And her voice was that brilliant spectrum. So I followed without question
or doubt. But now wonder piques my scrabbled mind. It is lost, as quickly is found. My pursuer breaks through the hole I made for myself and into the hole behind me. It shakes off the plaster dust coating its body. The creature licks its lips as it paces back and forth, anxious and waiting to devour my flesh. Despite my frenzied escape, Doom has not surrendered its pursuit. It has tracked me here, cruel and unrelenting. I
am its meager plaything. But before death can lay its hand upon me, before its cold grasp can take the breath from my lungs and the heat from my body, the girl speaks. She she leave for Lenin alone. She waves her hand at the pacing beast. It squints its eyes and the owls incomplaint, before turning and disappearing down the hall. With a simple, defiant stance, an effortless confrontation, this girl has kept the reaper at bay.
What I mused impossible has occurred before me. I thought such strength was reserved for the vicious and empowered, the speakers of great stature and doors of amazing things, never for the meek or average among us. But all you need is a voice. Words possess great power. I'm sorry she chased you where
she did. She only sees people as they see themselves. The girl looks down at my pathetic form, the inferior skin I wear, the shield of scars, burns and bruises, my mental image that shrouds me as the worst version of myself. That what the hunter saw. I hadn't looked in so long. I'd forgotten from where I came, misremembered who and what I am. This blanket of healed stitching smothers the light inside, covers all that is good within me. For too long I have worn it, fused with my
being, It grew wormed its way inside. It reached for the core of my soul and suckled until it flickered out, like a dead star in the night sky. But through the words of this strange girl, it has begun to retreat. Its greed, for my essence has faltered, and the feast of suffering no longer satisfies its fading appetite, a craving for something else, a longing for what I've feared so long, bonds from my center. It blooms through my veins and reaches as far as my extremities will allow. My
soul begins to shine once again. Its warmth releases my inner self from the slowing cold of dead space. Stand up, Lennard, you don't have to crawl any longer. I didn't know it was possible until I heard those words. They had to be spoken, else the metamorphosis could never take place. It was like a spell to break myself imposed punishment. I'd banished myself from humanity, shoved away the pursuit of happiness, the right to joy, a
human right while I didn't think I deserved. I shed my carapace of self loathing and push myself up, Straighten my cramped and crooked legs. Bones crack from their strained positions. As I straightened myself, I stand tall, breathe deep. My face looks forward, no longer pointed to the ground, at my own filth, at the failth of the world. See. I don't know why you thought of yourself as a rat. You have no tail, silly. I look down at my hands and curled my fingers to my palms,
my human fingers, my human palms. She's right, I don't have a tail, nor does fur cover my body. I'd left my humanity behind at some point, being lost in this place so long I couldn't stand to be me, to be the lonely and unloved, the forgotten and ignored. I lost every one long ago, and so I misplaced myself here. But now I have a voice. I have the power to start again, to make a life to live. Come limmed. You won't be lost any longer if you leave this place. I look at her with watery eyes. My
hands tremble as nerves fire in bursts of reanimating energy. I speak for the first time, use the will of force. I've been gifted. I'm afraid. She motions with her hand and behind her the elevator doors open. I take a deep breath and step inside. Thank you for listening to episode two of season five. Today's author was Lee Andrew Foreman with his story Carapass. Today's story featured Graham Rowitt as Leonard and Ambercollins as Victoria. Our season five
producers are Daniel Foytech and Meg Williams. Our resident composer and music director is Nico Vites of We Talk Of Dreams. Our art director is Janet Andromeda. Artwork for today's episode was created by Greg Schaefer, our webmaster and graphic designer. Our editors are Meg Williams and Daniel Foytech. To find out more about today's contributors and all the members of our team, please visit Victoria'slift dot com
and check out their biopages. If you'd like to help us keep bringing you Victoria's adventures, please consider supporting us on Patreon at patreon dot com, forward Slash Victoria's Lift. Victoria's Lift is created by Ninth Story of Studios LLLC. All rights reserved.