The Night Mare: Weakness and Boundaries (1/2)
OOC Notes: Part 1 of the Dream Post. Part 2 will be linked to. Dreams may contain adult content and scenes of violence, gore, or other nastiness! You have been warned.
Please rememeber that your character experiences these dreams as a single, continuous dream. They see the whole thing. Responses can go on part two!
"You'll never be able to bring that with you," a voice says, light and full of laughter. A figure sits perched upon a towering stone, smiling down at you in a way that might be reassuring, were it not more than a little feral. But they have a point - the iron link in your pocket has you rooted to the spot. "We can't have you bringing such trinkets with you, can we?"
The faery alights from the perch and saunters towards you, and now it's not a faery at all, but a person you recognize. How could you not? You've seen them so many times before. A friend, a sibling, a lover - whoever you miss most is suddenly taking you by the hand, eyes beseeching.
"You want to come with me, don't you?" You find yourself nodding. You drop your iron on the grass, and they drag you into the ring of stones. "Doesn't that feel better?"
The wall is impossibly high, story upon story. Everything from its beginning to its end is clear, each brick crumbling in the exact same way as the brick next to it. Heels kick against it, faded tennis shoes in a once bright yellow colour in stark contrast to bare legs.
The night stretches on for miles; impossible darkness. No moon, no stars, no clouds - merely an ink black sky, cracking with the weight of it.
The wall is the only thing visible. The girl on her perch only blends in.
Words and sounds are disconnected by miles, but are heard eventually. Listen.
‘I’m not afraid.’
It’s not even a single voice that replies. It’s many; shifting identifies, shifting masses, outlined in song and tone.
‘Then jump.’
Eventually, the wall ends and the world spreads out underneath it.
There’s only crimson dark staining black, spray and splatter.
The night sky shimmers multi-faceted, here, blue and green and gold splashed amongst the stars. The vale is beautiful, beautiful enough to make your heart hurt. Part of you feels like you're coming home - like there's no where else you could possibly wish to be. Not far away is a castle of slender spires and shining white stone - that, you know, is where you need to be. You set off towards it.
You walk through autumnal drifts of falling leaves, russet and copper. You walk under boughs blossoming with springtime buds. You run through lush green summer grass. You run across a winter path of snow and ice. Perhaps this place holds all at once. Perhaps you've simply been here for years. All of them are brought together and knotted here, woven like a tapestry. The air is sweet, sweeter with every breath.
Actually, it's difficult telling just how long you've been here for, and the castle doesn't seem any closer. When you look up at it - it seems you've hardly moved at all.
You feel like retching, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, screw your eyes shut against the sting of saltwater - but that won't do. It is not for you to look away from what's in front of you, no - that would be weak. You force your eyes open and there is darkness and there is blood, and the (late) Empress sprawled across the steps.
You kneel, or perhaps you fall to your knees, and the reek of iron and death becomes all the more powerful. Marianne's eyes, a brilliant clear blue, are hollow and glassy. Her hair, fine and silken and black, is matted with blood. Her tailored dress is tattered. A machine gun, you think, but it hardly matters. You slip your hands beneath her, ease her into your arms, and the crimson soaks your clothes and your hands and seeps into your skin, marring your hands, dark as ink.
You stand - you try to. But you can't. She's too heavy, as if anchored to the floor. You look up at your father through your hair - he looks down at you, his face a mask. He loved this woman, didn't he? So why, here, now - why, you ask, and your lips move but make no sound, and he turns on heel and strides away and leaves you with her corpse.
Staggering to your feet, you clutch her against your chest, and the fabric, damp and sticky, clings to your skin insistently.
You stumble down the steps in such a way that it feels like she's yanking you. And she drags you. She drags you down, and down, and down.The words come, then, in the darkness - out of sync with each other, like listening to a tape that's being fast-forward and rewound at random.
So why win hearts and minds or tout some shining ideaology? Why not bring peace to the world with a system and power?
Mankind's history is war, peace is an illusion - to turn illusion into reality is an arduous task.
if that is what it takes to bring peace to the world -Only a god could pull that off!
Then -
You open your eyes.
Even in the morning, the air is balmy. Through the open window you can see the sky lighten, high above the treetops. The place is not still, even now - the birdsong is raucous, and there are voices from close by, and there's a man sitting on the edge of the bed. His shirt is half undone, his blond hair more tousled than usual, but his eyes are sharp, and alert, and flick to the door as it opens.
Schneizel offers his aide de camp a smile, but the expression seems a little wry, a little sombre, all at once.
"Your Highness, he means to treat with the United Federation of Nations today."
Schneizel doesn't seem surprised. He nods, his smile growing. Kanon pours tea, watches him.
"He thinks to make a last-ditch grab for power before I reveal myself, as we expected."
"The U.F.N. -"
"- will exercise what measures they can, but it won't matter. His Majesty will have his way." He looks up at his aide, the smile dissipating into something sterner. Resigned, almost. "It must be today, Kanon."
Kanon's gloved hands pause for a moment, his face becoming carefully still. He looks down at the Prince, searches his face for a moment. "You're certain that this is the way, Prince Schneizel."
Schneizel smiles again - softer, this time. Oddly serene. He stands, and starts buttoning the shirt he's wearing. "It is the only way," he says - and suddenly, he frowns, gaze far off, as if he's looking somewhere else entirely. Kanon eyes, him, concerned, and a long moment passes before Schneizel looks at him and the smile is restored. "Come, then," he says, and the resignation in his voice is heavy and grave until he favours his aide with a smirk. "Let's not disappoint him."
"Are you seeing?" A voice asks of you, slightly sharp. The Queen smiles at you, "Are you learning?"
She holds out her hand, but you cannot reach it.
"I am offering you an invitation," she says, "are you honoured?"
You nod, if only because you have the distinct impression it would be foolish not to. Her eyes fall to the iron link you're holding, and she tuts, shaking her head. "No. No, no, no - that won't do at all. Have you no sense of courtesy?"
“Don’t you ever think you’re going too far?” Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together in the front hall of a mansion. The man is visibly upset, or perhaps worried.
“No, why should I?”
“Not even now?”
“I wouldn’t do anything if I had doubts. There’s no reason to doubt it when it’s what you want, right? I won’t let anything stand in your way; it’s been that way all along.”
The man fumbles with a pack of cigarettes , searching his pocket for a lighter, which is quickly produced before him by his wife. “Oh, thanks… Look, Kyrie, if you’re set on doing this, I don’t mind, I can’t really complain since it’ll fix all my troubles - but I don’t think I can help. That’s usually how it is anyway, you’re good at doing the dirty work.”
“This time it can’t be the same. I need you to help.”
“You don’t need my help, you could do it all on your own!”
She steps closer to straighten his tie, smiling. “But you always come to help me when I need it, and you share my perspective, don’t you? That’s why I love you…” Her smile grows thin and she leans in to kiss him, “However, I’m not seeing much of that right now…so, remind me why I love you; I like a man who’s sure of himself, not a coward…”
A shiver runs up his spine at her smile, distracting enough to keep him from defending himself against being implied to be a coward. “You know how that freaks me out, you have to stop doing that. I’ll do what you say, but you have to promise me something. After this, you have to stop. Don’t even think that either of us is going to keep it up.”
“Of course we’re not going to keep this up, do you think it’s my new hobby? I promise the only gun I touch after midnight will be in our basement~” Kyrie laughs and presses closer to her husband, but he takes her shoulders to hold her back.
“No, you’re not listening to me, anything at all, I think it’s gone far enough, if we don’t retire, it’s going to be an honest business. It’s hard to love you when you make it clear you have no inhibitions. Do you even have a conscience for any of it?” He lets go and sighs, picking a shotgun up from a nearby sidetable.
“Rudolf, I-“
“Whatever, let’s get going.”
Rocks stand around you at jaunty angles, as if they're struggling to keep upright. Only grass grows between them, but stranger still is the sound - or the lack of it. The world around you has been turned down, as if not to disturb whatever is within the circle. You almost feel as if you could sleep, standing there, in the silence, with a comfortable warmth spreading up from the soles of your feet. It tingles along your nerves, ripples in your hair like an electrical current.
And then, abruptly, it feels like you're falling.
He saw his fellows around him. Some looked grim. Some looked afraid. Some looked as though they were about to vomit. Not him, though. He felt giddy. He was excited, elated, hungry. Their Knightmare Frames were lined up and the technicians were just finishing off the last of the preparations.
The heavy hand of the commander fell on his shoulder, and he turned to look at him. The man looked haggard but firm; there was a steely glint in his eye and a firm set to his mouth.
“Bradley,” he said, “keep to formation. No rushing off on your own like last time.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Father, I want to learn to fight!”
“You already have fencing lessons.”
“It might have worked,” his eyes narrowed, “but it wasn’t right. We lost good men because you made that move.”
Who cares, he wants to say, and feels a faint smile curl his lips as he says instead: “We’d have lost more if I hadn’t.”
“There‘s no way of knowing that,” and the alarms are going off, the other soldiers rushing to their Frames. “Keep to your orders.”
“Hits scored with anything but the point are not valid. Hits scored off the target areas stop play and we have to start over.”
“These rules are some of the stupidest I have ever heard!”
He settled into the Knightmare with easy grace and fired the machine to life. The warm thrum of it surrounded him and enveloped him, and he felt like he was slipping into a familiar set of clothes. He rolled out of the hanger and shot into the battlefield, adopting the formation he and his fellows were ordered into.
It almost wasn’t fun, with the Knightmares. The versatility and power of the machines almost made it too easy as he gunned down enemy rank after enemy rank. It was almost not fun and yet it was liberating because of it. He laughed as he flipped buttons and pulled controls, sitting as easy in the frame as he felt in his own skin. He launched attack after attack, his grin stretching with each splatter of gore, each explosion and each barely-heard scream.
The screen flashed to the left and his eyes skimmed over the information, but he was already turning to see the spectacle.
One line to the left thrust forward with a barrage of extreme firepower and the formation scattered.
“Forward! Forward! Strike! Miss! Back! Forward! Strike! Hit with the point! Only the point, and only on the target area!
“Bradley! What are you doing?!”
He swept his frame to the left and jumped it onto an enemy tank. He thrust down with the mecha’s arm and tore off the top of the armoured vehicle, caught the terrified faces of the enemy as they looked up at him. He laughed and swung his target onto them and fired. He leaped away before the explosion caught the leaking machine, and lazily flicked on his comm link.
“Oh, calm down! I’m just drawing their attention away from our left flank!”
“You’re on the right, Bradley! The right!”
“Tut, tut, sir!”
“Bradle -”
He flicked off the link and swung the Knightmare Frame around. The enemy were advancing on one of the frames. It had lost an arm and was sparking badly. He shot towards his comrade, seeing the advancing platoon, Frameless as they were, continue to march onwards. He could almost admire sheep who came to their deaths so readily. Admittedly, it removed some of the savour, but not all…
“Thank God you’re here!” The pilot inside the broken frame said, the crackling, damaged link from his end making him sound as though he was spitting the words. “They caught me, and - and - what are you - ?!”
He shot forwards and hauled the broken frame up with his own. “Oh, stop your whining! You’re clearly no good to us now, so let me make use of you!” He laughed as he heard the man’s screams. He tore at the frame until the core became visible, then he threw the damaged Knightmare, pilot and all, towards the line of troops.
“What did you do?!”
“He kept telling me to strike with the point, father.”
“But into his neck -!”
“Well, father, I have told you!”
He sighted as he saw the Frame spiral closer to the ground. The enemy was running away from the sight of impact. He laughed again, ignoring the screaming of his comm link, and fired.
The explosion decimated the area. Even he could feel the backlash, and he threw back his head and howled with laughter.
“I told you, father. I don’t want to learn how to prance around with a foil.”
“You said you wanted to learn how to fence, Luciano!”
“No. I wanted to learn how to kill men with a sword.”
A breeze, gentle and soft, stirs you where you lie. Stand up, you have to stand up, so you do so, the pleasant drowsiness of before slipping away. The rocks are gone, replaced with a meadow that stretches as far as your eyes can see.
A man in gleaming green armour rides past, his horse pale as snow. His smile is courteous, and lingers before your eyes in a jarring, but not unpleasant manner. You call out to him, and he looks back, but says nothing. You want to go to him, so - you do. You follow after the knight upon the horse, and the earth beneath you seems to sigh.
The trees tower around like, dizzying, ink black against a starlit sky. But the forest is lit up, the forest glows all around with the fae lights hanging amidst the branches.
You know this place, and looking at him, you know that he remembers it, too. He's in as bad a state as you are - if not worse. His fingers look broken, and blood is running thick from his nose.
"Ha...so what now? You kill me?" He sounds like he's about to laugh, too. At the words, the shock that had kept you going begins to ebb, making way for the pain you knew would come. Your friends had shielded you from the worst of the damage, but now - now you don't know how long you can stay standing for.
"I'm taking you back to the village." He starts to circle you. His mouth opens, but the words are silent, like the volume has been cut from everything but your blood ringing in your ears. But you know. You know this place, you know what he is, you know what he's saying. You argue with him, the words soft and hollow.
"This isn't a game! These people aren't here to entertain you!" You tell him, as a crippling cold starts to settle in your bones, "you could have had a second chance here!"
Mute again, Adachi mouths something at you, something about promises broken. "You're damn right I could have had a second chance, but not under these circumstances! You made a deal with me, Seta! We had a deal!"
Silence reigns. Grow up, brat! He yells at you without a voice - you know the words. You remember this night. You can't stop going over it in your head. Two (three) people are dead and that's - your --
You suck in a breath. "Come on."
"Sheesh, Seta. Is that really all you have to offer in your defense?"
The circle he walks is drawn tighter, like a rope, a knot closing in around you. The anger is gone from his voice - now he just sounds amused. When he gets close to you, he tells you something else he did. Another victim he took. And you lunge at him.
Your exhausted, and injured, and when Adachi's hands wrap around your throat he all but crows with laughter. You go for his wounded shoulder, and the laugh becomes a scream.
"Y-you...argh!" He slams his leg down on your knee, grabs his gun, and then he's beating you with it. The metal smacks into your temple, and your vision pulses. "You - piece - of - shit! Before - you - came - along... I - was the - one - who...!"
Pain lances through you and you can barely hear him, but your strangled, panicked breathing is drawn into a snarl. You can't die. Not here. Not to Adachi.
"You what?!" You spit it at him, shoving him away. "You were - stuck! You didn't have the strength to - change a damn thing, did you? If it wasn't for -" her. "You'd still be exactly the same!" Your actions are too wild, but it feels better than simply sitting back. "Right, Adachi?" His hands wrap around your neck again, weapons lying forgotten.
"Just shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut the hell up! Before then you...! F-fucking dumbass! Inaba - !" He sounds as choked as you are, fury contorting his features - "I could have been...you!"
"No! No," your voice is raw, your chest tight. It's adrenaline, rage, survivalism now, and you elbow Adachi in the face, give yourselfroom enough to drag your legs out from under him, to free your sword and draw it. "Maybe once. Maybe there was a chance." Your chest heaves with rough, frantic breathing, and you're torn between shock and rage and fear, and you feel as though you could almost be someone else entirely. "Now - I'm - nothing like you!"
He staggers backwards, eyes narrowing, like he's studying you intently. He opens his mouth and hacks up blood instead of words, and has to spit before he speaks. "Oh, Seta," he breathes, his eyes cold. Too cold. Inhuman. He starts to stumble towards you, and the loathing in his eyes -- "You have...no idea how much I can't stand you."
He tries to rush you, running forward - and right onto your sword.The movement is fluid and smooth and far too easy, as if you'd practised a hundred times before. Your breath freezes somewhere, lodged in your throat as Adachi slumps forward. But when you yank the sword free, it's not Adachi that falls to his knees in front of you.
It's yourself.
He looks up at your through silvery bangs, and smiles even as the blood trickles down his chin.
"N-nothing like m-me, eh?"
The air is cold, but not in here, surrounded by the red rocks. In fact, it's a little stifling, like sitting too close to a fire.
Your hands fly to your throat, the pain ringing around it so sudden you think you've been caught by something, that a wire is beginning to press and bite into your skin. But there's nothing there - nothing at all - and then, not even you --
The airplane takes off with a rush of bubbles and the sound of struggling through the water. It never breaks the surface, because there is no surface to break, and Nino watches from her seat as the fish swim by. From the corner of her eye she spots people down below, and for whatever reason the sight of everyone's hair being an impossible color is enough to interest her. Without a sound, the emergency door flies open, Nino stepping out and falling--no, flying? or was it swimming?--straight towards the people below.
Fish continue to swim as she descends, above and under and all around her. Her now-pink hair continues to sway in the water, but she reaches out to grab a fish and eat it whole anyways. Somehow, even underwater, it still tastes good. Maybe it's because she's swimming to what looks like a separate planet the people are on, but somehow in her mind this is a nice setting to have a meal to. Is this how falling is supposed to work though? Someone once explained to her that you go fast as you fall, but as she nears the planet and its people, she can only feel herself slowing down to a gentle drift.
Unfortunately, just as she's about to wrap her arms around whoever's nearest and finally land, it seems like a giant fish swallows them both whole. It's dark inside, and Nino rattles around inside as if she's only made of bones; she certainly feels light, and when she pokes her own cheek it feels hard like a rock. As for the person she just reached, she feels them turn into flowers in her hands. The petals are soft, but they tear easily. She tosses them around as she sits inside the fish, waiting for... well, whatever happens next.
As she opens her eyes though, rubbing them as if tired and finding stars instead of dirt on the back of her hand, a strange young man is pouring her tea from five feet away to a floating teacup. There's an idle thought as to where the fish went, but seeing as how her hair is back to normal she doesn't question it much. It's nice having a new dress to wear too, even if she's pretty sure she didn't put it on herself. Ah well, the lady in the apron is setting out cake to eat, and Nino does like cake. It tastes good, the cake, just like an octopus she once caught in the river. Or did she catch that before the plane? Whatever the case, it's a nice change to be floating instead of swimming.
Just as she thinks the tea party is over though, a green kappa comes to place a crown on her head and presents her with one neatly wrapped package. She wouldn't have minded as much, but now there are ribbons all over the place and it's hard to move. The jellyfish in her lap now is kind of cute though, so it's a nice consolation prize.
What did she win, exactly? Well, if the fact that her hair was now picking up cake to help feed everyone--
She would guess that it was for best dress.
You crossed the arable land, and found the livestock. You passed the livestock, and found the monsters. Herded neatly into a field, the beasts lash their long tongues at you.
"You should turn back," says one herder, shaking their head. They've all said the same thing, but curiosity has driven you on regardless. They're describing to you a monster, a foul, huge thing with red skin and three heads, but you've encountered plenty in Demeleier itself. Besides, the castle will give you shelter, so you continue on.
You wander a kitchen stocked with food, anything and everything you've really missed in Demeleier. A feast is sprawled out on a table, waiting to be served.
"Oh," says a sweet voice, from the doorway. "I had been waiting for someone to speak to."
carcinoGenticist [CG] started trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]
CG: OKAY, SO I GOT THE VIEWPOINT WORKING AGAIN.
TC: that's my motherfucker :o)
CG: YEAH I'M PRETTY HANDSY WITH THESE FUCKING THINGS.
CG: I'M A FUCKING GENIUS WIZARD AT THIS SHIT.
CG: I'M TALKING 'WIZARD SO POWERFUL I'M FUCKING ENSLAVED BY SOME SHITSLAP FUCKASS COMMUNITY TO STOP THE FUCKING SUN FROM COLLAPSING INTO THEIR USELESS BULLSHIT VILLAGE.'
CG: I AM THE BEST.
CG: ME.
TC: hahaha honk
TC: sure are, best friend
CG: DON'T BE A FACETICIOUS SHIT, FUCKSLAP.
TC: ;o) honk honk
CG: SO WHAT DO YOU THINK I SHOULD DO AGAIN?
TC: shit bro
TC: i told you
TC: just click on her name
TC: pull the timer for four hours and thirteen minutes
TC: and you'll see it man
CG: I DON'T KNOW.
CG: ISN'T THIS LIKE.
CG: A COMPLETE DISRESPECT FOR BOUNDARIES.
CG: SPYING.
TC: NO WAY, BRO
TC: it's not spying
TC: IT'S JUST SEEING WHAT YOU WANNA SEE.
TC: or maybe what you don't
TC: :o)
CG: ...
CG: OKAY
CG: THAT WASN'T FUCKING CREEPY AT ALL.
CG: WHAT THE SHIT.
TC: honk
TC: HONK
TC: have fun bro :oD
CG: NO, WAIT
terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling carcinoGenticist [CG]
CG: FUCK.
Karkat click out of the Trollian box and sighed. He was back in his old room in his own hive, and he felt harrassed. Gamzee had insisted this would help him see the issue he wasn't looking at, though, and a strong leader needed to do that.
All the same, his cursor hovered over the name for a few moments, and then he clicked on it. A few clicks later and he opened up the viewpoint, and there she was. Picking her way through arse o'clock in the morning with that green hatted fuckslap like a chump. She always whined about being up too early. He never had any sympathy.
He watched her for a few moments as she babbled to her watch partner, then dragged the timer forwards four hours. Gamzee's last words made him a bit nervous, but when it opened to show Minako just hanging out with Terezi, he wasn't sure what he meant. Sure, the idea of Minako and Terezi forming some kind of fucking ridiculous JUST1C3 L34GU3 or whatever gave him a headache, but he didn't dread seeing it. In fact, they were just sitting around babbling. Terezi wasn't even cackling like she usually did.
Frowning, he dragged the timer forwards a little more until it landed squarely on the 13 minute mark and let it play.
And his jaw nearly hit the floor.
There they were, sitting side by side, Terezi's hands resting on Minako's hips and Minako's hands resting on Terezi's shoulders, her pink lips pressed quite squarely and firmly on Terezi's black ones. It wasn't a chaste kiss, either. It was a full out snog, all tongue and desperate teenage make outs. Karkat felt the blush rise to his cheeks and he had to look away, but it wasn't long until he sneaked a few glances back at the screen.
... His... his... well it was under the 'coon. He could probably go get it - oh god he felt so fucking ashamed for thinking of that, felt so fucking wrong, but holy fuck that was hot. He could recognise that even while jealousy twisted in his guts like another present from Rawhead and Bloodybones. And these were his friends - one of them was kind of his unofficial matesprit, and he -
He pressed paused and leaped off the chair, scrabbling under the 'coon until he pulled out the implement.
It was shiny and perfectly clean, and obscene even in that. He felt guilty to even have his posters looking down from his walls at him cradling the fucking thing. But Troll Will Smith had seen the implement on more than one occassion, and he'd never judged. He'd understood what it was like, being a kid and growing up.
He took a deep breath, gripped the handle, and was just about to press play on the screen again when there was a familiar, clacking rumble and his lusus burst through the door. The beady little eyes widened in a shock that would have been hilarious in one of his romcoms, but in real life was just humiliating.
OH HOLY FUCK NO THIS IS NOT HAPPENING MOBIUS FUCKING DICKSLAP FUCKNUGGETS DO YOU NEVER FUCKING KNOCK?!
You're burning.
From where your iron is, a pocket, around your neck, in your hand, pain is blossoming. A white-hot pain, as if the metal is sharply becoming much, much too hot to be near. The further on you walk, towards the silvery stone flanking the path, the hotter it becomes, until it feels like it's about to burn your skin.
But you can't leave it here, not if this path is leading somewhere else. And if you're able to take it, why not do so? You run the last few yards and then the rocks seem to rush around you, and now the dead-end is behind you, not in front, as if perhaps you were just turned around. But the path before you is not the path you came up.
The world is dark. You don’t realize it at first, but it’s because you’ve covered your eyes. The noises of battle thunder around you. Awareness sets in, and you pull your hands away from your face.
You see a girl before you who has done the same. She’s a child of ten, innocent and shaken. She’s staring at her hands with wide, shocked eyes. As you settle your hands on your knees, you see her copy the motion. Her blank stare is now directed at the ground, not quite at her father’s mangled body a few feet away.
You look to the right. There is a sword hanging on the wall. You turn back to the girl, and she has the sword in her hands. She holds it parallel to the ground, staring at it with the same blank expression. This is when you choose to speak.
“You will never be strong enough.”
The girl looks over at you, startled, and you continue. “You couldn’t save your father. You can’t save your kingdom. You won’t even save yourself.”
With a gasp, she drops the sword. Metal meets stone with a harsh clatter. She hardly notices the fall or the sound. Her blue eyes meet yours. You feel a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth.
“Find a real hero to wield that sword, Princess. Hiding behind the walls of your castle, now that’s all you’re good for.”
She turns away, curling over, forehead pressed to the stone, her eyes squeezed shut. You hear her choked sobs but you feel no sympathy. You bend over, imitating her position, and you close your eyes.
For a moment, there is a vision on the back of your eyelids. Dark clouds, green beams of light crossed with blue.
And a single gauntlet lying next to a sword.
>> part 2
Please rememeber that your character experiences these dreams as a single, continuous dream. They see the whole thing. Responses can go on part two!
"You'll never be able to bring that with you," a voice says, light and full of laughter. A figure sits perched upon a towering stone, smiling down at you in a way that might be reassuring, were it not more than a little feral. But they have a point - the iron link in your pocket has you rooted to the spot. "We can't have you bringing such trinkets with you, can we?"
The faery alights from the perch and saunters towards you, and now it's not a faery at all, but a person you recognize. How could you not? You've seen them so many times before. A friend, a sibling, a lover - whoever you miss most is suddenly taking you by the hand, eyes beseeching.
"You want to come with me, don't you?" You find yourself nodding. You drop your iron on the grass, and they drag you into the ring of stones. "Doesn't that feel better?"
The wall is impossibly high, story upon story. Everything from its beginning to its end is clear, each brick crumbling in the exact same way as the brick next to it. Heels kick against it, faded tennis shoes in a once bright yellow colour in stark contrast to bare legs.
The night stretches on for miles; impossible darkness. No moon, no stars, no clouds - merely an ink black sky, cracking with the weight of it.
The wall is the only thing visible. The girl on her perch only blends in.
Words and sounds are disconnected by miles, but are heard eventually. Listen.
‘I’m not afraid.’
It’s not even a single voice that replies. It’s many; shifting identifies, shifting masses, outlined in song and tone.
‘Then jump.’
Eventually, the wall ends and the world spreads out underneath it.
There’s only crimson dark staining black, spray and splatter.
The night sky shimmers multi-faceted, here, blue and green and gold splashed amongst the stars. The vale is beautiful, beautiful enough to make your heart hurt. Part of you feels like you're coming home - like there's no where else you could possibly wish to be. Not far away is a castle of slender spires and shining white stone - that, you know, is where you need to be. You set off towards it.
You walk through autumnal drifts of falling leaves, russet and copper. You walk under boughs blossoming with springtime buds. You run through lush green summer grass. You run across a winter path of snow and ice. Perhaps this place holds all at once. Perhaps you've simply been here for years. All of them are brought together and knotted here, woven like a tapestry. The air is sweet, sweeter with every breath.
Actually, it's difficult telling just how long you've been here for, and the castle doesn't seem any closer. When you look up at it - it seems you've hardly moved at all.
You feel like retching, but you swallow down the lump in your throat, screw your eyes shut against the sting of saltwater - but that won't do. It is not for you to look away from what's in front of you, no - that would be weak. You force your eyes open and there is darkness and there is blood, and the (late) Empress sprawled across the steps.
You kneel, or perhaps you fall to your knees, and the reek of iron and death becomes all the more powerful. Marianne's eyes, a brilliant clear blue, are hollow and glassy. Her hair, fine and silken and black, is matted with blood. Her tailored dress is tattered. A machine gun, you think, but it hardly matters. You slip your hands beneath her, ease her into your arms, and the crimson soaks your clothes and your hands and seeps into your skin, marring your hands, dark as ink.
You stand - you try to. But you can't. She's too heavy, as if anchored to the floor. You look up at your father through your hair - he looks down at you, his face a mask. He loved this woman, didn't he? So why, here, now - why, you ask, and your lips move but make no sound, and he turns on heel and strides away and leaves you with her corpse.
Staggering to your feet, you clutch her against your chest, and the fabric, damp and sticky, clings to your skin insistently.
You stumble down the steps in such a way that it feels like she's yanking you. And she drags you. She drags you down, and down, and down.The words come, then, in the darkness - out of sync with each other, like listening to a tape that's being fast-forward and rewound at random.
So why win hearts and minds or tout some shining ideaology? Why not bring peace to the world with a system and power?
Mankind's history is war, peace is an illusion - to turn illusion into reality is an arduous task.
if that is what it takes to bring peace to the world -Only a god could pull that off!
Then -
You open your eyes.
Even in the morning, the air is balmy. Through the open window you can see the sky lighten, high above the treetops. The place is not still, even now - the birdsong is raucous, and there are voices from close by, and there's a man sitting on the edge of the bed. His shirt is half undone, his blond hair more tousled than usual, but his eyes are sharp, and alert, and flick to the door as it opens.
Schneizel offers his aide de camp a smile, but the expression seems a little wry, a little sombre, all at once.
"Your Highness, he means to treat with the United Federation of Nations today."
Schneizel doesn't seem surprised. He nods, his smile growing. Kanon pours tea, watches him.
"He thinks to make a last-ditch grab for power before I reveal myself, as we expected."
"The U.F.N. -"
"- will exercise what measures they can, but it won't matter. His Majesty will have his way." He looks up at his aide, the smile dissipating into something sterner. Resigned, almost. "It must be today, Kanon."
Kanon's gloved hands pause for a moment, his face becoming carefully still. He looks down at the Prince, searches his face for a moment. "You're certain that this is the way, Prince Schneizel."
Schneizel smiles again - softer, this time. Oddly serene. He stands, and starts buttoning the shirt he's wearing. "It is the only way," he says - and suddenly, he frowns, gaze far off, as if he's looking somewhere else entirely. Kanon eyes, him, concerned, and a long moment passes before Schneizel looks at him and the smile is restored. "Come, then," he says, and the resignation in his voice is heavy and grave until he favours his aide with a smirk. "Let's not disappoint him."
"Are you seeing?" A voice asks of you, slightly sharp. The Queen smiles at you, "Are you learning?"
She holds out her hand, but you cannot reach it.
"I am offering you an invitation," she says, "are you honoured?"
You nod, if only because you have the distinct impression it would be foolish not to. Her eyes fall to the iron link you're holding, and she tuts, shaking her head. "No. No, no, no - that won't do at all. Have you no sense of courtesy?"
“Don’t you ever think you’re going too far?” Two people, a man and a woman, are standing together in the front hall of a mansion. The man is visibly upset, or perhaps worried.
“No, why should I?”
“Not even now?”
“I wouldn’t do anything if I had doubts. There’s no reason to doubt it when it’s what you want, right? I won’t let anything stand in your way; it’s been that way all along.”
The man fumbles with a pack of cigarettes , searching his pocket for a lighter, which is quickly produced before him by his wife. “Oh, thanks… Look, Kyrie, if you’re set on doing this, I don’t mind, I can’t really complain since it’ll fix all my troubles - but I don’t think I can help. That’s usually how it is anyway, you’re good at doing the dirty work.”
“This time it can’t be the same. I need you to help.”
“You don’t need my help, you could do it all on your own!”
She steps closer to straighten his tie, smiling. “But you always come to help me when I need it, and you share my perspective, don’t you? That’s why I love you…” Her smile grows thin and she leans in to kiss him, “However, I’m not seeing much of that right now…so, remind me why I love you; I like a man who’s sure of himself, not a coward…”
A shiver runs up his spine at her smile, distracting enough to keep him from defending himself against being implied to be a coward. “You know how that freaks me out, you have to stop doing that. I’ll do what you say, but you have to promise me something. After this, you have to stop. Don’t even think that either of us is going to keep it up.”
“Of course we’re not going to keep this up, do you think it’s my new hobby? I promise the only gun I touch after midnight will be in our basement~” Kyrie laughs and presses closer to her husband, but he takes her shoulders to hold her back.
“No, you’re not listening to me, anything at all, I think it’s gone far enough, if we don’t retire, it’s going to be an honest business. It’s hard to love you when you make it clear you have no inhibitions. Do you even have a conscience for any of it?” He lets go and sighs, picking a shotgun up from a nearby sidetable.
“Rudolf, I-“
“Whatever, let’s get going.”
Rocks stand around you at jaunty angles, as if they're struggling to keep upright. Only grass grows between them, but stranger still is the sound - or the lack of it. The world around you has been turned down, as if not to disturb whatever is within the circle. You almost feel as if you could sleep, standing there, in the silence, with a comfortable warmth spreading up from the soles of your feet. It tingles along your nerves, ripples in your hair like an electrical current.
And then, abruptly, it feels like you're falling.
He saw his fellows around him. Some looked grim. Some looked afraid. Some looked as though they were about to vomit. Not him, though. He felt giddy. He was excited, elated, hungry. Their Knightmare Frames were lined up and the technicians were just finishing off the last of the preparations.
The heavy hand of the commander fell on his shoulder, and he turned to look at him. The man looked haggard but firm; there was a steely glint in his eye and a firm set to his mouth.
“Bradley,” he said, “keep to formation. No rushing off on your own like last time.”
“It worked, didn’t it?”
“Father, I want to learn to fight!”
“You already have fencing lessons.”
“It might have worked,” his eyes narrowed, “but it wasn’t right. We lost good men because you made that move.”
Who cares, he wants to say, and feels a faint smile curl his lips as he says instead: “We’d have lost more if I hadn’t.”
“There‘s no way of knowing that,” and the alarms are going off, the other soldiers rushing to their Frames. “Keep to your orders.”
“Hits scored with anything but the point are not valid. Hits scored off the target areas stop play and we have to start over.”
“These rules are some of the stupidest I have ever heard!”
He settled into the Knightmare with easy grace and fired the machine to life. The warm thrum of it surrounded him and enveloped him, and he felt like he was slipping into a familiar set of clothes. He rolled out of the hanger and shot into the battlefield, adopting the formation he and his fellows were ordered into.
It almost wasn’t fun, with the Knightmares. The versatility and power of the machines almost made it too easy as he gunned down enemy rank after enemy rank. It was almost not fun and yet it was liberating because of it. He laughed as he flipped buttons and pulled controls, sitting as easy in the frame as he felt in his own skin. He launched attack after attack, his grin stretching with each splatter of gore, each explosion and each barely-heard scream.
The screen flashed to the left and his eyes skimmed over the information, but he was already turning to see the spectacle.
One line to the left thrust forward with a barrage of extreme firepower and the formation scattered.
“Forward! Forward! Strike! Miss! Back! Forward! Strike! Hit with the point! Only the point, and only on the target area!
“Bradley! What are you doing?!”
He swept his frame to the left and jumped it onto an enemy tank. He thrust down with the mecha’s arm and tore off the top of the armoured vehicle, caught the terrified faces of the enemy as they looked up at him. He laughed and swung his target onto them and fired. He leaped away before the explosion caught the leaking machine, and lazily flicked on his comm link.
“Oh, calm down! I’m just drawing their attention away from our left flank!”
“You’re on the right, Bradley! The right!”
“Tut, tut, sir!”
“Bradle -”
He flicked off the link and swung the Knightmare Frame around. The enemy were advancing on one of the frames. It had lost an arm and was sparking badly. He shot towards his comrade, seeing the advancing platoon, Frameless as they were, continue to march onwards. He could almost admire sheep who came to their deaths so readily. Admittedly, it removed some of the savour, but not all…
“Thank God you’re here!” The pilot inside the broken frame said, the crackling, damaged link from his end making him sound as though he was spitting the words. “They caught me, and - and - what are you - ?!”
He shot forwards and hauled the broken frame up with his own. “Oh, stop your whining! You’re clearly no good to us now, so let me make use of you!” He laughed as he heard the man’s screams. He tore at the frame until the core became visible, then he threw the damaged Knightmare, pilot and all, towards the line of troops.
“What did you do?!”
“He kept telling me to strike with the point, father.”
“But into his neck -!”
“Well, father, I have told you!”
He sighted as he saw the Frame spiral closer to the ground. The enemy was running away from the sight of impact. He laughed again, ignoring the screaming of his comm link, and fired.
The explosion decimated the area. Even he could feel the backlash, and he threw back his head and howled with laughter.
“I told you, father. I don’t want to learn how to prance around with a foil.”
“You said you wanted to learn how to fence, Luciano!”
“No. I wanted to learn how to kill men with a sword.”
A breeze, gentle and soft, stirs you where you lie. Stand up, you have to stand up, so you do so, the pleasant drowsiness of before slipping away. The rocks are gone, replaced with a meadow that stretches as far as your eyes can see.
A man in gleaming green armour rides past, his horse pale as snow. His smile is courteous, and lingers before your eyes in a jarring, but not unpleasant manner. You call out to him, and he looks back, but says nothing. You want to go to him, so - you do. You follow after the knight upon the horse, and the earth beneath you seems to sigh.
The trees tower around like, dizzying, ink black against a starlit sky. But the forest is lit up, the forest glows all around with the fae lights hanging amidst the branches.
You know this place, and looking at him, you know that he remembers it, too. He's in as bad a state as you are - if not worse. His fingers look broken, and blood is running thick from his nose.
"Ha...so what now? You kill me?" He sounds like he's about to laugh, too. At the words, the shock that had kept you going begins to ebb, making way for the pain you knew would come. Your friends had shielded you from the worst of the damage, but now - now you don't know how long you can stay standing for.
"I'm taking you back to the village." He starts to circle you. His mouth opens, but the words are silent, like the volume has been cut from everything but your blood ringing in your ears. But you know. You know this place, you know what he is, you know what he's saying. You argue with him, the words soft and hollow.
"This isn't a game! These people aren't here to entertain you!" You tell him, as a crippling cold starts to settle in your bones, "you could have had a second chance here!"
Mute again, Adachi mouths something at you, something about promises broken. "You're damn right I could have had a second chance, but not under these circumstances! You made a deal with me, Seta! We had a deal!"
Silence reigns. Grow up, brat! He yells at you without a voice - you know the words. You remember this night. You can't stop going over it in your head. Two (three) people are dead and that's - your --
You suck in a breath. "Come on."
"Sheesh, Seta. Is that really all you have to offer in your defense?"
The circle he walks is drawn tighter, like a rope, a knot closing in around you. The anger is gone from his voice - now he just sounds amused. When he gets close to you, he tells you something else he did. Another victim he took. And you lunge at him.
Your exhausted, and injured, and when Adachi's hands wrap around your throat he all but crows with laughter. You go for his wounded shoulder, and the laugh becomes a scream.
"Y-you...argh!" He slams his leg down on your knee, grabs his gun, and then he's beating you with it. The metal smacks into your temple, and your vision pulses. "You - piece - of - shit! Before - you - came - along... I - was the - one - who...!"
Pain lances through you and you can barely hear him, but your strangled, panicked breathing is drawn into a snarl. You can't die. Not here. Not to Adachi.
"You what?!" You spit it at him, shoving him away. "You were - stuck! You didn't have the strength to - change a damn thing, did you? If it wasn't for -" her. "You'd still be exactly the same!" Your actions are too wild, but it feels better than simply sitting back. "Right, Adachi?" His hands wrap around your neck again, weapons lying forgotten.
"Just shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut the hell up! Before then you...! F-fucking dumbass! Inaba - !" He sounds as choked as you are, fury contorting his features - "I could have been...you!"
"No! No," your voice is raw, your chest tight. It's adrenaline, rage, survivalism now, and you elbow Adachi in the face, give yourselfroom enough to drag your legs out from under him, to free your sword and draw it. "Maybe once. Maybe there was a chance." Your chest heaves with rough, frantic breathing, and you're torn between shock and rage and fear, and you feel as though you could almost be someone else entirely. "Now - I'm - nothing like you!"
He staggers backwards, eyes narrowing, like he's studying you intently. He opens his mouth and hacks up blood instead of words, and has to spit before he speaks. "Oh, Seta," he breathes, his eyes cold. Too cold. Inhuman. He starts to stumble towards you, and the loathing in his eyes -- "You have...no idea how much I can't stand you."
He tries to rush you, running forward - and right onto your sword.The movement is fluid and smooth and far too easy, as if you'd practised a hundred times before. Your breath freezes somewhere, lodged in your throat as Adachi slumps forward. But when you yank the sword free, it's not Adachi that falls to his knees in front of you.
It's yourself.
He looks up at your through silvery bangs, and smiles even as the blood trickles down his chin.
"N-nothing like m-me, eh?"
The air is cold, but not in here, surrounded by the red rocks. In fact, it's a little stifling, like sitting too close to a fire.
Your hands fly to your throat, the pain ringing around it so sudden you think you've been caught by something, that a wire is beginning to press and bite into your skin. But there's nothing there - nothing at all - and then, not even you --
The airplane takes off with a rush of bubbles and the sound of struggling through the water. It never breaks the surface, because there is no surface to break, and Nino watches from her seat as the fish swim by. From the corner of her eye she spots people down below, and for whatever reason the sight of everyone's hair being an impossible color is enough to interest her. Without a sound, the emergency door flies open, Nino stepping out and falling--no, flying? or was it swimming?--straight towards the people below.
Fish continue to swim as she descends, above and under and all around her. Her now-pink hair continues to sway in the water, but she reaches out to grab a fish and eat it whole anyways. Somehow, even underwater, it still tastes good. Maybe it's because she's swimming to what looks like a separate planet the people are on, but somehow in her mind this is a nice setting to have a meal to. Is this how falling is supposed to work though? Someone once explained to her that you go fast as you fall, but as she nears the planet and its people, she can only feel herself slowing down to a gentle drift.
Unfortunately, just as she's about to wrap her arms around whoever's nearest and finally land, it seems like a giant fish swallows them both whole. It's dark inside, and Nino rattles around inside as if she's only made of bones; she certainly feels light, and when she pokes her own cheek it feels hard like a rock. As for the person she just reached, she feels them turn into flowers in her hands. The petals are soft, but they tear easily. She tosses them around as she sits inside the fish, waiting for... well, whatever happens next.
As she opens her eyes though, rubbing them as if tired and finding stars instead of dirt on the back of her hand, a strange young man is pouring her tea from five feet away to a floating teacup. There's an idle thought as to where the fish went, but seeing as how her hair is back to normal she doesn't question it much. It's nice having a new dress to wear too, even if she's pretty sure she didn't put it on herself. Ah well, the lady in the apron is setting out cake to eat, and Nino does like cake. It tastes good, the cake, just like an octopus she once caught in the river. Or did she catch that before the plane? Whatever the case, it's a nice change to be floating instead of swimming.
Just as she thinks the tea party is over though, a green kappa comes to place a crown on her head and presents her with one neatly wrapped package. She wouldn't have minded as much, but now there are ribbons all over the place and it's hard to move. The jellyfish in her lap now is kind of cute though, so it's a nice consolation prize.
What did she win, exactly? Well, if the fact that her hair was now picking up cake to help feed everyone--
She would guess that it was for best dress.
You crossed the arable land, and found the livestock. You passed the livestock, and found the monsters. Herded neatly into a field, the beasts lash their long tongues at you.
"You should turn back," says one herder, shaking their head. They've all said the same thing, but curiosity has driven you on regardless. They're describing to you a monster, a foul, huge thing with red skin and three heads, but you've encountered plenty in Demeleier itself. Besides, the castle will give you shelter, so you continue on.
You wander a kitchen stocked with food, anything and everything you've really missed in Demeleier. A feast is sprawled out on a table, waiting to be served.
"Oh," says a sweet voice, from the doorway. "I had been waiting for someone to speak to."
carcinoGenticist [CG] started trolling terminallyCapricious [TC]
CG: OKAY, SO I GOT THE VIEWPOINT WORKING AGAIN.
TC: that's my motherfucker :o)
CG: YEAH I'M PRETTY HANDSY WITH THESE FUCKING THINGS.
CG: I'M A FUCKING GENIUS WIZARD AT THIS SHIT.
CG: I'M TALKING 'WIZARD SO POWERFUL I'M FUCKING ENSLAVED BY SOME SHITSLAP FUCKASS COMMUNITY TO STOP THE FUCKING SUN FROM COLLAPSING INTO THEIR USELESS BULLSHIT VILLAGE.'
CG: I AM THE BEST.
CG: ME.
TC: hahaha honk
TC: sure are, best friend
CG: DON'T BE A FACETICIOUS SHIT, FUCKSLAP.
TC: ;o) honk honk
CG: SO WHAT DO YOU THINK I SHOULD DO AGAIN?
TC: shit bro
TC: i told you
TC: just click on her name
TC: pull the timer for four hours and thirteen minutes
TC: and you'll see it man
CG: I DON'T KNOW.
CG: ISN'T THIS LIKE.
CG: A COMPLETE DISRESPECT FOR BOUNDARIES.
CG: SPYING.
TC: NO WAY, BRO
TC: it's not spying
TC: IT'S JUST SEEING WHAT YOU WANNA SEE.
TC: or maybe what you don't
TC: :o)
CG: ...
CG: OKAY
CG: THAT WASN'T FUCKING CREEPY AT ALL.
CG: WHAT THE SHIT.
TC: honk
TC: HONK
TC: have fun bro :oD
CG: NO, WAIT
terminallyCapricious [TC] ceased trolling carcinoGenticist [CG]
CG: FUCK.
Karkat click out of the Trollian box and sighed. He was back in his old room in his own hive, and he felt harrassed. Gamzee had insisted this would help him see the issue he wasn't looking at, though, and a strong leader needed to do that.
All the same, his cursor hovered over the name for a few moments, and then he clicked on it. A few clicks later and he opened up the viewpoint, and there she was. Picking her way through arse o'clock in the morning with that green hatted fuckslap like a chump. She always whined about being up too early. He never had any sympathy.
He watched her for a few moments as she babbled to her watch partner, then dragged the timer forwards four hours. Gamzee's last words made him a bit nervous, but when it opened to show Minako just hanging out with Terezi, he wasn't sure what he meant. Sure, the idea of Minako and Terezi forming some kind of fucking ridiculous JUST1C3 L34GU3 or whatever gave him a headache, but he didn't dread seeing it. In fact, they were just sitting around babbling. Terezi wasn't even cackling like she usually did.
Frowning, he dragged the timer forwards a little more until it landed squarely on the 13 minute mark and let it play.
And his jaw nearly hit the floor.
There they were, sitting side by side, Terezi's hands resting on Minako's hips and Minako's hands resting on Terezi's shoulders, her pink lips pressed quite squarely and firmly on Terezi's black ones. It wasn't a chaste kiss, either. It was a full out snog, all tongue and desperate teenage make outs. Karkat felt the blush rise to his cheeks and he had to look away, but it wasn't long until he sneaked a few glances back at the screen.
... His... his... well it was under the 'coon. He could probably go get it - oh god he felt so fucking ashamed for thinking of that, felt so fucking wrong, but holy fuck that was hot. He could recognise that even while jealousy twisted in his guts like another present from Rawhead and Bloodybones. And these were his friends - one of them was kind of his unofficial matesprit, and he -
He pressed paused and leaped off the chair, scrabbling under the 'coon until he pulled out the implement.
It was shiny and perfectly clean, and obscene even in that. He felt guilty to even have his posters looking down from his walls at him cradling the fucking thing. But Troll Will Smith had seen the implement on more than one occassion, and he'd never judged. He'd understood what it was like, being a kid and growing up.
He took a deep breath, gripped the handle, and was just about to press play on the screen again when there was a familiar, clacking rumble and his lusus burst through the door. The beady little eyes widened in a shock that would have been hilarious in one of his romcoms, but in real life was just humiliating.
OH HOLY FUCK NO THIS IS NOT HAPPENING MOBIUS FUCKING DICKSLAP FUCKNUGGETS DO YOU NEVER FUCKING KNOCK?!
You're burning.
From where your iron is, a pocket, around your neck, in your hand, pain is blossoming. A white-hot pain, as if the metal is sharply becoming much, much too hot to be near. The further on you walk, towards the silvery stone flanking the path, the hotter it becomes, until it feels like it's about to burn your skin.
But you can't leave it here, not if this path is leading somewhere else. And if you're able to take it, why not do so? You run the last few yards and then the rocks seem to rush around you, and now the dead-end is behind you, not in front, as if perhaps you were just turned around. But the path before you is not the path you came up.
The world is dark. You don’t realize it at first, but it’s because you’ve covered your eyes. The noises of battle thunder around you. Awareness sets in, and you pull your hands away from your face.
You see a girl before you who has done the same. She’s a child of ten, innocent and shaken. She’s staring at her hands with wide, shocked eyes. As you settle your hands on your knees, you see her copy the motion. Her blank stare is now directed at the ground, not quite at her father’s mangled body a few feet away.
You look to the right. There is a sword hanging on the wall. You turn back to the girl, and she has the sword in her hands. She holds it parallel to the ground, staring at it with the same blank expression. This is when you choose to speak.
“You will never be strong enough.”
The girl looks over at you, startled, and you continue. “You couldn’t save your father. You can’t save your kingdom. You won’t even save yourself.”
With a gasp, she drops the sword. Metal meets stone with a harsh clatter. She hardly notices the fall or the sound. Her blue eyes meet yours. You feel a smirk tug at the corner of your mouth.
“Find a real hero to wield that sword, Princess. Hiding behind the walls of your castle, now that’s all you’re good for.”
She turns away, curling over, forehead pressed to the stone, her eyes squeezed shut. You hear her choked sobs but you feel no sympathy. You bend over, imitating her position, and you close your eyes.
For a moment, there is a vision on the back of your eyelids. Dark clouds, green beams of light crossed with blue.
And a single gauntlet lying next to a sword.
>> part 2