dreamcrystals | dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

Warnings: blood, death, past suicidal ideation, decapitation

—You have to go, angel, your mother urges you as she holds back tears, your father doing what he can to lift a fallen, crackling beam for you to go past, his glasses askew. The smoke is already horrible, the heat alone suffocating enough. Your right arm stings and throbs, blood dripping from your useless hand, but you can't afford to pay attention to it. Vision blurring—

I love you, you sob.

You barely remember stumbling through the fiery hallways. Something lands on your back at one point. You notice that the knob of the front door has burned your hand before you collapse.

You'd almost thought that was the end. Maybe it would have been easier if it had been. You still aren't sure how long you were unconscious at the hospital.

—The horrific, twisted whale fall pulses, choking you even through the breathing charms with its dark sickness. You're infected, you know, the plague taking advantage of your Fae nature, and you can already feel it crawling through your veins to get to the rest of you. You wait as the magical bomb is activated, even after the dragon calls for all of you to flee. A young woman with white hair takes you by the arm.

Now's not the time to throw your life away, she cries. Your argument doesn't last long, the explosion blinding you with blue light and breaking your fragile wings against your back as you try to protect your friend with your body, at least.

That wasn't it. The dragon caught you as you were all launched out of the ocean, and the medical witches cured you before the infection was irreversible. What would have happened if you died in another world, you wonder?

—Your best friend isn't with them, you notice. Curious, you turn your eyes about to find him, however bad a decision that might normally be when you're fighting the rest of the group—but it's not like they want to attack you, anyway. When you finally spot him, you see he's unnaturally obscured in shadow, aiming at the back of your guardian, the man who took everything from you and then became your family.

You use your new magic to teleport in the way, ignoring the strain of it. Nobody says anything to you before you're struck by the bolt shot by your best friend and your guardian's blade. Your vision goes white with pain and you collapse in the murderer's arms.

You survived then, too. He healed you, for all the good it did.

—I know you wouldn't want to hurt anyone like this.

A redheaded prince in a devilish costume torn by the same kind of gem shards your hands and legs have become stands in front of you, hesitating. You've sunk to your knees, head hung and waiting in your hopelessness, dark pools growing around you and threatening to create more monsters from your nightmares. You don't care. You don't care about anything, knowing there's no point. He will end it, finally.

He lifts his sword and lets it drop fully on the back of your neck, slicing through—cutting off your awareness of the rest of you, but you have just long enough to realize you no longer have a throat to scream—

NO, PLEASE

Ferran wakes in a panic.

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[ The messy, unruly look is a small price to pay. Hopefully Ferran would never need the flowers in the same way her family did, but even as she is looking at him now, she knows there is more about him she has to learn.

Even with how much he has opened up already.

Now that they're inside in brighter light, she can hardly ignore it, but she asks gently, as if it's something she's been considering for a while. ]

What happened? [ She points at her own jawline to roughly indicate the equivalent spot where she sees the cracks on him. ] . . . Does it hurt?

[There is so much he never says to anyone, simply because he sees no reason to bring them up. So much of it just seems irrelevant in Reverein, even when the nightmares make it clear there's no way it isn't affecting him.

He doesn't even need to see where she's indicating to know what she must be referring to.]

I'm used to it.

[He lets out a slow breath that's not quite a sigh, lips pressed together.]

Something... was done to me, back home. It's like... a curse, I guess. It makes me stronger, for a price.

Stronger?

[ Physically? Her thoughts flash immediately back to their first encounter, when she flipped him. If that's true, it kind of makes sense, but she's still as curious as ever. ]

Not even being in Songerein or... or Geardagas has lifted the curse? [ Or Aefenglom? ]

I didn't have it in Geardagas yet. It was only when I went home, afterwards...

[... that he was "cursed." With how ingrained it feels in his being now, it's hard to imagine it going away. Still, he ducks his arms under the cloak Susato's lent him, as if to partly hide the marks from view.]

But... no. I guess being a dream self is still too close to home.

[ She frowns. Immediately, her instinct is wanting her father to look at it, but if the curse is magic in nature as he implies, they would both be rather out of their depth. All she can do is remain silent for a bit, thinking on how to proceed. ]

...Just follow me.

[ Yet even as she leads him to the guest room where he'll be staying, she'll think of more questions. ]

Is it the cracks themselves? Is that the... "price"?

[He follows as instructed, honestly glad for the guidance. Even the questions are something to focus on, and he almost thinks of the answers clinically, with what little he knows.]

They're just a symptom. It goes deeper... more than just physical. And honestly, I...

[... does he even bring it up? Is there a point to explaining all of the effects it has on him? It would, after all, mean admitting the kind of person he actually is.

His expression tightens, and he keeps his gaze on the floor.]

[ The Mikotoba house isn't that big, truthfully. To be more specific, it is always exactly as big as it needs to be. It doesn't take long before she is opening the door to a room near the end of the hall, looking back at him with an expectant tilt of her head.

Definitely gives off the vibe that she hasn't missed a single word of his. She steps into the room, absentmindedly flicking on a light.

And... not pressuring. Just waiting. Patiently. ]

You...?

[No. No, that's not what he wants. No need to make this night any more horrible than it's already been.

Ferran shakes his head, defeated. His voice is strained.]

I'm... really messed up, Susato.

[ She doesn't know what she was expecting. Regardless, her shoulders sink slightly and somehow, she hears it slightly differently: I really messed up.

But the feeling is the same. ]

You're human. Not... whatever that place made you.

[It's right on both accounts, in Ferran's mind. He only stops himself from saying the other because it would invite questions about what he messed up.]

It's not just that.

[But he won't argue much more about it, even though he wants to say it didn't take being a Fae to draw out the worst parts of him. He simply steps inside the room as he offers a vague implication.]

... humans can be worse than monsters.

[ On that, they can agree. She can easily name a few that are worse than monsters. Ferran wouldn't be one of them, though. ]

I know.

[ What else is she supposed to say? He doesn't want to sleep after the nightmare, even though he probably should. She can't blame him, either. There's a pause, and a silence that teeters on the edge of uncomfortable. ]

. . . I have books. From that new bookstore.

If you'd like to read together. [ Escape. ]

[The static in Ferran's head is still too loud for him to make guesses as to what she might have encountered, but he can tell she knows what he means through personal experience. His gaze wanders to a point behind her shoulder, the vague thought of apologizing comes to mind—for her experience, for the trouble he's caused, for what he won't tell her—but it's dispelled once she speaks again.]

Yeah.

[He doesn't even think about the answer, really.]

I'd like that. [Even though he knows she must be more than tired, thanks to the hour, he can't deny the offer. It's a kindness he probably doesn't deserve.] Thanks.

[Eventually, over the books or not... they'll sleep. More than likely, he'll be so exhausted he won't dream at all.]

dream recording 🔶 life flashing before your eyes

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