first dream.
Warnings: spoilers for City of Ashes, gore
Effects: extreme sensations of pain
The moon is dim. Flickering a little, vanishing for a few moments, never steady. Maia sits on a bench, looking up at the moon, a boy's arm around her shoulder. He's beautiful: tall, dark hair, slim hips, long lashes. "You're gorgeous, Maia," he whispers in her ear, "like the moon."
"Something's wrong with the moon, Jordan," she tells him, but he ignores her, brushing a stray braid of hair away from her neck.
"Nothing's wrong with it," he says. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to spend eternity admiring the beauty of the moon?"
"But I don't think I--"
Something clamps down on her neck, tightly, a stranglehold. Jordan has his hand wrapped around her neck, nails digging into her flesh. Gasping, struggling for air, she looks up at him. His face has distorted. His ears are pointed, his nose and jaw elongated, his teeth as he grins sharp like needles. "WOULDN'T IT?" Jordan roars, and he lunges for her neck, digging his teeth into her skin and ripping. There's weight on her, a huge weight, furry and hot and heavy. "You're mine," he hisses, and as she shrieks and throws her had back the moon suddenly flares to life.
The pain is worse. It's like her bones are being crushed, compressed; she lurches forwards as her spine snaps, fire racing across her face as her teeth burst from her gums, rattling on the ground. She sets one clawed paw forwards, a whine echoing from the back of her throat, high-pitched and begging for it to stop.
"This is why Downworlders should be killed."
She whirls, panting. A man, tall and formidable and laughing, holds a sword against a familiar glasses-wearing boy's neck. "You can't trust a one of them, and isn't it best to just rid the world of these awful diseases? Really, the vampire's lucky that he's the first to go. Watch your enemy be killed, werewolf."
She yelps, leaping forward as he plunges the sword into Simon's neck. Flesh tears, blood spills, and suddenly she's surrounded by a field of corpses. And she's hungry.
"Enjoy your meat, sister!" shouts the only one standing, a honey-skinned boy with large, dark eyes. "All the people you've ever killed. Simply a feast! I hear that fresh heart is a delicacy!" He reaches into a corpse, pulling a still-beating heart from someone's chest, tilting his head back to drop the bloody organ in his mouth. "Thank you for your hunt, sister. It's delicious."
Effects: extreme sensations of pain
The moon is dim. Flickering a little, vanishing for a few moments, never steady. Maia sits on a bench, looking up at the moon, a boy's arm around her shoulder. He's beautiful: tall, dark hair, slim hips, long lashes. "You're gorgeous, Maia," he whispers in her ear, "like the moon."
"Something's wrong with the moon, Jordan," she tells him, but he ignores her, brushing a stray braid of hair away from her neck.
"Nothing's wrong with it," he says. "Wouldn't it be wonderful to spend eternity admiring the beauty of the moon?"
"But I don't think I--"
Something clamps down on her neck, tightly, a stranglehold. Jordan has his hand wrapped around her neck, nails digging into her flesh. Gasping, struggling for air, she looks up at him. His face has distorted. His ears are pointed, his nose and jaw elongated, his teeth as he grins sharp like needles. "WOULDN'T IT?" Jordan roars, and he lunges for her neck, digging his teeth into her skin and ripping. There's weight on her, a huge weight, furry and hot and heavy. "You're mine," he hisses, and as she shrieks and throws her had back the moon suddenly flares to life.
The pain is worse. It's like her bones are being crushed, compressed; she lurches forwards as her spine snaps, fire racing across her face as her teeth burst from her gums, rattling on the ground. She sets one clawed paw forwards, a whine echoing from the back of her throat, high-pitched and begging for it to stop.
"This is why Downworlders should be killed."
She whirls, panting. A man, tall and formidable and laughing, holds a sword against a familiar glasses-wearing boy's neck. "You can't trust a one of them, and isn't it best to just rid the world of these awful diseases? Really, the vampire's lucky that he's the first to go. Watch your enemy be killed, werewolf."
She yelps, leaping forward as he plunges the sword into Simon's neck. Flesh tears, blood spills, and suddenly she's surrounded by a field of corpses. And she's hungry.
"Enjoy your meat, sister!" shouts the only one standing, a honey-skinned boy with large, dark eyes. "All the people you've ever killed. Simply a feast! I hear that fresh heart is a delicacy!" He reaches into a corpse, pulling a still-beating heart from someone's chest, tilting his head back to drop the bloody organ in his mouth. "Thank you for your hunt, sister. It's delicious."