✘ Vanitas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darkcharge) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamcrystals2022-01-05 05:30 pm
darkcharge) wrote in dreamcrystals2022-01-05 05:30 pm
Entry tags:
dream: i need the rest of me
Sender: Vanitas
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording | CW: choking, vomiting, drowning
It all starts at a Heart Station. Or, rather, what should be one. What should be a great structure rising from the very darkness itself, covered in stained glass is... Blank. There's nothing. No colors. No shapes or depictions of things that the heart would hold dear. Instead it's all broken. A web of shattered glass that is beyond repair - though it most certainly looks like someone has tried. Great fissures mar the surface while large pieces seem to be broken away or even missing. A coupled even seem to be floating above the station proper.
Most would be bright and shimmering to some degree, but this one doesn't. Whatever light had once been has faded. Stare long enough and there are flickers, as if there would be a short in the wiring, if this place had anything like electricity flowing through it.
At the center, of course, stands Vanitas. Whether or not this is a true depiction of his heart doesn't matter. This is how he views it. How he sees it. Longing. Anguish. Pain. So much pain. Hate. Hate hate hate.
Whole... I want to be whole. I need it. I need my -
Light. There it is. A soft ball of warmth coming from above. He looks up, of course. Because it's right there and within reach. When Vanitas moves, it's jumping from broken piece to broken piece and ready with his hand out to obtain what he desires most. What will make him complete. Whole.
Almost -
Monster
A pause. Frozen. Something like ice begins to move through his veins. No. Not here. Not now. The shadows around the Station seem to shift. Take the form of red, glowing eyes watching his every move. He knows this feeling. Knows this emotion. Terror. It's bubbling in his chest. Gipping it like a vice. Vision spins as Vanitas missteps and falls. Crashes against the glass. Tight too tight. Air. No air. Can't breathe. Terror. Horror. Fear. Anxiety. Everything hitting hard. Fast. Too much at once. Spinning. Spinning. Dizzy. Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Can't hold it in. Can't contain it. They're going to come out. They're going to break free. Then it will start all over again. And break free they do with Vanitas on his knees. Coughing and hacking. Covering his mouth because he needs to keep it all in. Emotions can't be allowed to break free of him again. Yet out it comes, Vanitas heaving and a black substance like tar splatters against the glass. Rolls down his face. And again. And again. Over and over, fire taking the place of ice. The glowing red stares all the more intense as they take shape and form. Unversed. Hundreds of them. All his own emotions grabbing and reaching.
Pulling. Tugging. Dragging further and further away from that Light. Not until they swallow Vanitas up completely. His lung burn. Fear. Terror. Pain. It's an endless cycle that he can't break free of. For the more intensely he feels those emotions, the more that he chokes and more spawn. What good did it to? To keep trying? This is the result. This is always the result. To live and to suffer. To strive and to always have it out of reach? To have hope. All of these thoughts cycle, out of control. Emotions spiraling until it's thing but a sea of black and those faces staring at him. Limbs growing tired and weak. Everything is fading. No Light. No Darkness. Just-
"V a n i t a s!"
Nothing.
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording | CW: choking, vomiting, drowning
It all starts at a Heart Station. Or, rather, what should be one. What should be a great structure rising from the very darkness itself, covered in stained glass is... Blank. There's nothing. No colors. No shapes or depictions of things that the heart would hold dear. Instead it's all broken. A web of shattered glass that is beyond repair - though it most certainly looks like someone has tried. Great fissures mar the surface while large pieces seem to be broken away or even missing. A coupled even seem to be floating above the station proper.
Most would be bright and shimmering to some degree, but this one doesn't. Whatever light had once been has faded. Stare long enough and there are flickers, as if there would be a short in the wiring, if this place had anything like electricity flowing through it.
At the center, of course, stands Vanitas. Whether or not this is a true depiction of his heart doesn't matter. This is how he views it. How he sees it. Longing. Anguish. Pain. So much pain. Hate. Hate hate hate.
Light. There it is. A soft ball of warmth coming from above. He looks up, of course. Because it's right there and within reach. When Vanitas moves, it's jumping from broken piece to broken piece and ready with his hand out to obtain what he desires most. What will make him complete. Whole.
Almost -
A pause. Frozen. Something like ice begins to move through his veins. No. Not here. Not now. The shadows around the Station seem to shift. Take the form of red, glowing eyes watching his every move. He knows this feeling. Knows this emotion. Terror. It's bubbling in his chest. Gipping it like a vice. Vision spins as Vanitas missteps and falls. Crashes against the glass. Tight too tight. Air. No air. Can't breathe. Terror. Horror. Fear. Anxiety. Everything hitting hard. Fast. Too much at once. Spinning. Spinning. Dizzy. Pain.
Pain.
Pain.
Can't hold it in. Can't contain it. They're going to come out. They're going to break free. Then it will start all over again. And break free they do with Vanitas on his knees. Coughing and hacking. Covering his mouth because he needs to keep it all in. Emotions can't be allowed to break free of him again. Yet out it comes, Vanitas heaving and a black substance like tar splatters against the glass. Rolls down his face. And again. And again. Over and over, fire taking the place of ice. The glowing red stares all the more intense as they take shape and form. Unversed. Hundreds of them. All his own emotions grabbing and reaching.
Pulling. Tugging. Dragging further and further away from that Light. Not until they swallow Vanitas up completely. His lung burn. Fear. Terror. Pain. It's an endless cycle that he can't break free of. For the more intensely he feels those emotions, the more that he chokes and more spawn. What good did it to? To keep trying? This is the result. This is always the result. To live and to suffer. To strive and to always have it out of reach? To have hope. All of these thoughts cycle, out of control. Emotions spiraling until it's thing but a sea of black and those faces staring at him. Limbs growing tired and weak. Everything is fading. No Light. No Darkness. Just-
Nothing.
no subject
[ oh right. He might not have heard that term before though... ]
basically I'm a being that was born from a particularly potent magical part of land.
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Just so you are aware.
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