Dream § 008 § One last dance, before the insanity takes me~
It's the black room again, he thinks dismally. He hadn't liked it much the first time, and he doesn't now. It's symmetrical, but in a creepy sort of way. Out the window, there are two moons in the sky- and even he knows that's not right. Yes, the landscape is symmetrical, but that's just... wrong, somehow. He's always thought of symmetry as the most natural state of being, but there are some things that you get used to, and having a singular moon is one of them.
One of the mirrors is covered and the other is dark, empty; a normal piece of mirrored glass. When he looks into it, he sees nothing but himself, a perfectly symmetrical reflection. He wants, yearns, to draw the curtains back and away from the other, but dimly, he can still feel the pulse of insanity from that direction so he doesn't, instead covering the other mirror, feeling a pang of regret. He'd wanted to see the good version of whatever he'd seen last time again; it troubles him that all he sees in it now is his own worry, his own wanting, his own... fear. Because at night, he is afraid. Only when he's alone, only when no one else can see, only when he's alone with himself.
And then, suddenly, he's not alone. He feels the brush of fur against his ankles and looks down. "Blair?" he asks quietly, but knows he's wrong immediately. The fur color is all wrong, light sandy brown instead of purple, and the eyes are deep and green. Its presence feels familiar, though, and he struggles to place it as the cat stares up at him, sitting on its haunches. It meows quietly and he bends over to inspect it's collar. Nothing there but a skull shaped license tag, devoid of name or location. He should have known.
Suddenly it bolts, going over to paw pitifully at a door he hadn't ever noticed before. Had that been there, last time? He doesn't know. In any case, he pushes it open to appease the cat, following it out into...
...A hallway. But not a normal hallway, the passage through to his father's pedestal in the Death Room at home. He knows it well. Above, fake clouds float in a manufactured sky, and it still all feels wrong, somehow. He shivers and watches the cat; she- he can't help but think of it as a she, for some reason, possibly in the context of Blair -moves a few paces down the hall and stops, turning to look over her shoulder at him. Uncanny. Cautiously, he follows, noting that she'll run a few dozen paces and wait for him to catch up again.
After a time, they come to another door, hanging in what could generously be called the side of the hall but which was really only so much empty air between posts. He pushes this door open, too, without prompting, and steps inside, seeing...
...White. A vast expanse of white. There are windows, and doors, and corners, but everything looks like its been whitewashed over; there aren't even any shadows. And in the middle of the room is Maka, smiling at him, wearing a pure white dress. She holds out her hand to him and he walks forward as if he's in a trance, but she won't let him touch her, pulling her hand away before he can take it. She shakes her head, gesturing that he should keep his distance, but assumes a dancing position; after a moment, he understand that he should, too.
And they dance, for what feels like forever and no time at all, fingertips close but never touching, as if they're separated by a thin pane of glass; even without physical contact, he's happy, at peace, just having her here. There's soft, slow piano music going in the background, but he barely hears it, so caught up in watching her that he forgets to breathe. There's only her, and him, and this moment, and it is beautiful.
(And in the corners, shadows gather, dark and malevolent.)
After a time, he gets the courage up and pushes through the invisible barrier, touching his fingertips to his- and immediately wishes he hadn't. She smiles ruefully at him as hairline fractures run over her skin, sharp lines marring her perfection. He jerks his hand away, but it's too little and too late; the pieces of the girl he loves fall away into nothing, like the mirror from before.
He lets out a strangled cry and backs up, seeing the shadows moving down the walls, moving towards him. They exude insanity, and he runs for the door, wrenching it open and then slamming it behind him. The cat is nowhere to be seen.
...That was almost a good dream, too.
((ooc: S-so much tl;dr in my posts lately, my god. But this is all working up to something, I promise.))
One of the mirrors is covered and the other is dark, empty; a normal piece of mirrored glass. When he looks into it, he sees nothing but himself, a perfectly symmetrical reflection. He wants, yearns, to draw the curtains back and away from the other, but dimly, he can still feel the pulse of insanity from that direction so he doesn't, instead covering the other mirror, feeling a pang of regret. He'd wanted to see the good version of whatever he'd seen last time again; it troubles him that all he sees in it now is his own worry, his own wanting, his own... fear. Because at night, he is afraid. Only when he's alone, only when no one else can see, only when he's alone with himself.
And then, suddenly, he's not alone. He feels the brush of fur against his ankles and looks down. "Blair?" he asks quietly, but knows he's wrong immediately. The fur color is all wrong, light sandy brown instead of purple, and the eyes are deep and green. Its presence feels familiar, though, and he struggles to place it as the cat stares up at him, sitting on its haunches. It meows quietly and he bends over to inspect it's collar. Nothing there but a skull shaped license tag, devoid of name or location. He should have known.
Suddenly it bolts, going over to paw pitifully at a door he hadn't ever noticed before. Had that been there, last time? He doesn't know. In any case, he pushes it open to appease the cat, following it out into...
...A hallway. But not a normal hallway, the passage through to his father's pedestal in the Death Room at home. He knows it well. Above, fake clouds float in a manufactured sky, and it still all feels wrong, somehow. He shivers and watches the cat; she- he can't help but think of it as a she, for some reason, possibly in the context of Blair -moves a few paces down the hall and stops, turning to look over her shoulder at him. Uncanny. Cautiously, he follows, noting that she'll run a few dozen paces and wait for him to catch up again.
After a time, they come to another door, hanging in what could generously be called the side of the hall but which was really only so much empty air between posts. He pushes this door open, too, without prompting, and steps inside, seeing...
...White. A vast expanse of white. There are windows, and doors, and corners, but everything looks like its been whitewashed over; there aren't even any shadows. And in the middle of the room is Maka, smiling at him, wearing a pure white dress. She holds out her hand to him and he walks forward as if he's in a trance, but she won't let him touch her, pulling her hand away before he can take it. She shakes her head, gesturing that he should keep his distance, but assumes a dancing position; after a moment, he understand that he should, too.
And they dance, for what feels like forever and no time at all, fingertips close but never touching, as if they're separated by a thin pane of glass; even without physical contact, he's happy, at peace, just having her here. There's soft, slow piano music going in the background, but he barely hears it, so caught up in watching her that he forgets to breathe. There's only her, and him, and this moment, and it is beautiful.
(And in the corners, shadows gather, dark and malevolent.)
After a time, he gets the courage up and pushes through the invisible barrier, touching his fingertips to his- and immediately wishes he hadn't. She smiles ruefully at him as hairline fractures run over her skin, sharp lines marring her perfection. He jerks his hand away, but it's too little and too late; the pieces of the girl he loves fall away into nothing, like the mirror from before.
He lets out a strangled cry and backs up, seeing the shadows moving down the walls, moving towards him. They exude insanity, and he runs for the door, wrenching it open and then slamming it behind him. The cat is nowhere to be seen.
...That was almost a good dream, too.
((ooc: S-so much tl;dr in my posts lately, my god. But this is all working up to something, I promise.))