[★ dream oo2] [public]
It's dark. It's cold and it's dark. There's a faint churning, an almost humanistic murmuring nearby. It's getting progressively louder, becoming less disjointed, less jumbled up, and more prominent. It's resonating through the black emptiness he's found himself in. He feels weak, weightless, and confused. His vision is blurry and his body is inert. His limbs suddenly feel as if they are made of lead. He blinks, trying to focus on the horizon--there's a group of men walking, he sees, where the very black blends into the black.
"...Alice?" he calls into the darkness. His voice does not sound like his own. It's hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for months. He tries to reach up to rub at his throat, but he's soon reminded of his weighty limbs.
A shiver races up his spine. He wants to run. The men are coming closer. Despite his blurry focus, he can see that they're wearing masks. They're still chanting. Burning brightly through their robes is a black mark. Each man has it. Each man has the mark on his chest. It resembles a clock. The hour hand and minute hands are forming a right angle--three o'clock. Each man has the same mark. There's nothing unique about any of it.
"...No," he whispers, knowing full well that the mark means devastation, Chains, and death. Death of so many innocent people.
As one of the men approaches, he reaches up to his mask. With nimble, ghost-like fingers, he removes it, allowing it to hit the intangible floor. It does not make a noise. It only disintegrates into a blue fire, gone from sight. Where the mask once laid is the face of his long-time friend. The boy's throat goes dry.
"No..." he repeats, a mix of relief, grief, and anxiety plaguing him. His heart hopes for the best. His mind knows the worst. "Gil?..."
"I've grown tired of you," the man says, golden eyes cast down at the motionless blond. "You and your selfishness, your weakness....and just you in general." The man crouches down. Down to the boy's level. "...Do you realize the pain you put me through? The punishment I had to endure? You were right in saying that you'd be better off dead. You're nothing but a coward...I'm glad you were taken by that Chain. Your existence is a sin."
The boy's eyes widen. "Gil .... I! You know I!.... I didn't mean to ..." He chokes on his words. His best friend's harsh words sting him. Nip at him.
Another man steps forward from the throng. He also removes the mask on his face. It's another familiar figure. It's his father. "You shouldn't have been born. And now that you have, you're going to cause destruction to the world. To everyone. You're a failure."
The words are like a track on a broken record. Disjointed and rambling and barely coherent and -- "...I know," the boy whispers, feeling defeated, weak, and lifeless. "...But...I promised Alice. I promised her I'd help her find her memories." He looked up at the two people. The person who had turned him into such a complex, self-hating boy, and the person who made his life actually worth living, if only for days at a time. They were both turning against him. "I can't die yet!"
"Then I'll kill you myself," the man who had earlier been addressed as 'Gil' decides apathetically and brings out a sword from seemingly nowhere. In the darkness, anything is possible. A wicked, twisted look forms on his face as he holds the sword before the boy's eyes. It's the same one...the same one that had been used to create that slash mark so many years.
He's plagued with nostalgia.
"...Gil, please!--"
"It's too late. You made your choice when you sided with that Rabbit."
[Oz wakes with a start, shooting up from the covers and holding his head. He reaches for the dreamberry quickly, turning it on for some light . He hadn't the faintest idea that by turning it on he made the dream public. Instead, he merely sits there, staring down at the illuminated screen with a sick feeling in his stomach. Why can't he have normal, happy dreams for once? ]
...Ah...it's late. Maybe I should just go back to sleep~ ....
"...Alice?" he calls into the darkness. His voice does not sound like his own. It's hoarse, as if he hasn't spoken for months. He tries to reach up to rub at his throat, but he's soon reminded of his weighty limbs.
A shiver races up his spine. He wants to run. The men are coming closer. Despite his blurry focus, he can see that they're wearing masks. They're still chanting. Burning brightly through their robes is a black mark. Each man has it. Each man has the mark on his chest. It resembles a clock. The hour hand and minute hands are forming a right angle--three o'clock. Each man has the same mark. There's nothing unique about any of it.
"...No," he whispers, knowing full well that the mark means devastation, Chains, and death. Death of so many innocent people.
As one of the men approaches, he reaches up to his mask. With nimble, ghost-like fingers, he removes it, allowing it to hit the intangible floor. It does not make a noise. It only disintegrates into a blue fire, gone from sight. Where the mask once laid is the face of his long-time friend. The boy's throat goes dry.
"No..." he repeats, a mix of relief, grief, and anxiety plaguing him. His heart hopes for the best. His mind knows the worst. "Gil?..."
"I've grown tired of you," the man says, golden eyes cast down at the motionless blond. "You and your selfishness, your weakness....and just you in general." The man crouches down. Down to the boy's level. "...Do you realize the pain you put me through? The punishment I had to endure? You were right in saying that you'd be better off dead. You're nothing but a coward...I'm glad you were taken by that Chain. Your existence is a sin."
The boy's eyes widen. "Gil .... I! You know I!.... I didn't mean to ..." He chokes on his words. His best friend's harsh words sting him. Nip at him.
Another man steps forward from the throng. He also removes the mask on his face. It's another familiar figure. It's his father. "You shouldn't have been born. And now that you have, you're going to cause destruction to the world. To everyone. You're a failure."
The words are like a track on a broken record. Disjointed and rambling and barely coherent and -- "...I know," the boy whispers, feeling defeated, weak, and lifeless. "...But...I promised Alice. I promised her I'd help her find her memories." He looked up at the two people. The person who had turned him into such a complex, self-hating boy, and the person who made his life actually worth living, if only for days at a time. They were both turning against him. "I can't die yet!"
"Then I'll kill you myself," the man who had earlier been addressed as 'Gil' decides apathetically and brings out a sword from seemingly nowhere. In the darkness, anything is possible. A wicked, twisted look forms on his face as he holds the sword before the boy's eyes. It's the same one...the same one that had been used to create that slash mark so many years.
He's plagued with nostalgia.
"...Gil, please!--"
"It's too late. You made your choice when you sided with that Rabbit."
[Oz wakes with a start, shooting up from the covers and holding his head. He reaches for the dreamberry quickly, turning it on for some light . He hadn't the faintest idea that by turning it on he made the dream public. Instead, he merely sits there, staring down at the illuminated screen with a sick feeling in his stomach. Why can't he have normal, happy dreams for once? ]
...Ah...it's late. Maybe I should just go back to sleep~ ....