dreamcrystals | XX3 Entry - [A Dream within a Dream]

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XX3 Entry - [A Dream within a Dream] - Early September

Sender: Beatrix
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive Dream Recording
Warnings: Likely potentially upsetting content. Implications of genocide. I’m going to try to explore this as gently, respectfully, and carefully as I can, but I do emphasise to proceed with caution.
Notes: A dream depicting Beatrix reflecting on some of the war crimes she committed in her home world. It is longer than I expected it to be.

Have some sounds of rain for ambiance.

It is not uncommon for Beatrix to patrol at night, usually following her dreams. It is safe to assume that post this dream, that’s precisely what she does. Feel free to encounter her in person (out on patrol, at her residence) or via journals, though with the latter, it is unlikely she will respond immediately. Assume journal responses are after an applicable amount of time, depending on circumstance.

Her dreams most oft are accompanied intimately by rain. Sometimes, it is the blistering sound of wind. Occasionally, the consistent roar of airship engines and the turning of gears. And every once in a while, it is the sound of wood splitting and cracking, followed by a flash of light and the deafening explosion that trails after in its wake.

Tonight, it is rain. A sky looms overhead, blanketed by dark clouds and the occasional tendril of lightning. The blue-grey cobblestone pathways are soaked, so much so that in places where the footpaths dip after years of wear and tear, they are filled with reflective and rippling puddles of water. The front entrance stone archway is intricately detailed and has been standing for too many years to count, established likely earlier than some native to the world may think.

Welcome to Burmecia, the Realm of Eternal Rain.

It holds nothing precious, except life. Life that Beatrix, general of Alexandria, has been tasked with taking.

This is something that has already happened. Beatrix simply replays it near nightly, and the dreams rarely seem to change. Her boots echo softly on the ground in a momentary eerie silence and behind her where she has already been, the environment simply turns to stone. A broken down cart knocked over, its wares splattered on the pathway and up against the wall of a nearby multilevel home, once in muted colour now sits in permanent disarray in chilling sculpture.

There are figures slumped. On the grounds. Draped over stairways and metal bannisters. Burmecians—a race of ratlike people, tall in stature, tailed, with pointed ears and pointed noses.

For years, Alexandria and Burmecia have waged wars upon one another. Pitted against each other, the concept of war is not so foreign, though perhaps disappointing when the continent at large believed to be ushering in an era of peace. What has happened here, however, is not war at all. It is only conquest. Only eradication of the Burmecian people. A simple little test conducted by Queen Brahne of Alexandria, utilising constructed black mage dolls with no will of their own and only the orders pounding in their doll heads. The leader of this charge, this show of overwhelming power and influence, is none other than Beatrix, compelled by order and the lust in her veins for something she cannot quite understand, a realisation that she will not come to learn for a great deal of time following.

The Beatrix of today, the one stepping through this replay of a chapter of her life that she has kept hidden and closely held to her heart, is not identical. Not different, but only a part of the woman who carried this out in so impeccably a fashion.

As she steps, there are voices, many words that are garbled and incomprehensible, blending in with the sounds of the pitter-patter of the rain as it strikes. If one listens closely, an occasional scream, a memory left over from an otherwise desolate and ruined city-state, disrespected and torn asunder by invasion. Some lines of memory highlight the tense air in voices that are not Beatrix’s as she continues this reunion with this intimate knowledge of her past.

”That’s Beatrix? The cold-blooded knight who knows no mercy. Beatrix…”

In the square of the city-state, the homes in the vicinity are worn down, most of them only partially standing. A curving bridge pathway leads to the towering, ominous, and impressive figure of Burmecia’s castle, stretching tall towards the sky as lightning flashes about it.

”...Beatrix of Alexandria, in particular. They say her swordsmanship is the best in the land.”

As she moves along, Save the Queen in the grip of her right hand, a chain that binds her to obligation and her role, there are but glimpses, moving images for just moments that betray the chaos that ensued upon her initial charge. The movement of feet and the blur of bodies before they’re cut down or subjected to the magicks of the black mages. As she takes to the bridge and its connecting path, the commotion freezes, transposing image and concept to stone and reality, like macabre decor in a courtyard.

Before the entrance, it’s her own voice that echoes in a stunning clarity. An embittered laugh, hand-in-hand with chilled tone. Unfeeling. Uncaring. So professional and emotionally detached that one would think Beatrix feels nothing at all in this exchange, except an irritation. In what, one can only theorise.

”I have never been so humiliated in my life.”

The castle stands above her and she finds in its centre, a couple of grandiose statues, some of the only things remaining that have yet to be broken down and destroyed. There is the lingering memory of Queen Brahne in search of Burmecia’s king, only to find by way of a charming and sinister man, the one who has provided her so much power to begin with, that the king has fled to the tree protected by the wind—Cleyra.

There are other things to note. A couple—Burmecian woman standing alongside a tailed statue that some may recognise as Zidane, the cunning and charismatic companion to many. They possess no movement. Only presence in colour doused in greys. And she hears herself again, the same chill wrapping her in tight embrace.

”I once killed a hundred knights single-handedly… To me, you two are nothing more than insects.”

Approaching them each, one after the other, Beatrix lifts a hand and she settles it to the forearm of the Burmecian she will one day come to know as Freya and it takes only touch for her to join her statued brethren. There is a moment’s pause as she examines a Zidane that once was part of her past. In Reverein, he may not have forgiven her, but he never seemed to hold her actions against her and Beatrix, to this moment, to this very breath, still cannot understand why. The only clue she has ever had is that the Beatrix of his future is different than the one who was the head of this calamity.

Settling hand to his shoulder, she puts him to rest, and lifts her chin to hear her voice once more. A woman who is only a part of her, but perhaps one she has yet to embrace. To this moment, she has only ever admonished and condemned herself, placing distance between her person and others, knowing that she would rather be hated than pitied, rather hated than forgiven.

”How ridiculously weak… Is there not anyone who is worthy of facing me?”

For the moments that follow, she simply stands in the rain, drenched, sword dropped low at her side, and she stares at the muted sombre sky, foreboding and dreadful. The words that follow are her own.

“The only thing I have granted to the Burmecian people is a grand tomb, forever frozen in time, place, and circumstance.”

They are the last and only words she manages to say before she too, turns to stone like those around her. This moment has no end. An interior part of her that refuses to weather and is only subjected to an infinite rain, marking the abrupt end to a dream that Beatrix never forces herself to finish.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[After what happened... Although Eustace never really tries to watch any dreams and avoid them if he can, he's a little...concerned about those who helped him when he had turned. Had the nightmare energy affected them? So he ends up watching Beatrix's dream with some trepidation, and after it...

...

It takes him several more moments to debate on whether he should respond or not. They haven't really spoken since then... Would this really be the proper time to reach out now?

...

Even if he did...what could he say? He knows how Beatrix is, and he can already imagine the kind of thoughts she's having right now in learning her dream has been seen by others.]

Don't let it get to you.

[He knows her well. And what he says is exactly what she needs to hear. Even if she's not necessarily inclined to believe it. The truth is that it's already getting to her. It got to her the moment she walked right into Diluc. Even more so the moment she found Dohalim at her home, in her space, at her table, waiting for her, all so he could speak with her about it.

She was in no emotional space to do any such thing. She still isn't, if she's honest, and she doubts she ever will be.

But she must play at her strength and her role. What more can she do?]

I am fine.
I suspect you have other things you ought to be doing at this time. Why not go spend it with Tifa and make up for lost time, Eustace.

[She does what she does best. She pretends.]

[He knows. And he won't call her out for it because he would respond the exact same way. ...However, he's not so sure he can quite brush it off quite yet.]

We've been spending plenty of time together so that's not a problem.

[A small pause before another message slowly appears, reflecting the thought he's placing in his words.]

I'm not going to ask about your dream. All I want to know is if you're feeling any worse than usual.

[The reason...should be easy to guess.]

[Is she... a little relieved that he isn't going to ask? He probably doesn't need to. Eustace is the sort to have already made his judgements. She would like to think that he'd understand. Perhaps he does. Maybe she just wants him to understand. But she can't say that because she doesn't deserve that.

If she had it her way at all, she'd probably just close her journal and not even address it. Just leave it as is. Maybe open it again in another month. That's cowardly. Sure, she's a coward, isn't she, but that's not the way to handle this and she knows it. Either way, it takes her some time to provide him with a response that he very much deserves.]

Worse than usual.

[No. She's always felt guilty and awful and horrible since her arrival. It's just that everyone else might be able to see it now. If she doesn't pull herself together remotely, that is.]

My healing proceeds, if that is what you are asking.

[A small inward sigh as it's an answer he expects yet somehow disappointing all the same.

...Should he just ask directly?]

I was concerned my nightmare energy may have affected you.

You think you caused this.

[It's not a question. It's not even an accusation. It's more like an observation.]

Did you learn nothing. You do not need to take credit for my past. The only difference is that a normal night for me has become public knowledge.

It is possible that events of recent exacerbated this, but it existed before. It was not you, Eustace.

You may be right, but I doubt it helped.

[Of course, he doesn't exactly want to try and take "credit" or believe he had that much influence over anyone. But the timing is suspect, and he has more reasons to be concerned.]

Regardless I want you to take what happened to me as a warning and to be careful.

And if this dream does bother you, to speak with someone about it.

[...It probably didn't help, but she has the good sense not to say it. She takes some moments to simply read over his words a few times more. He's right, of course. She needs to be careful. This is exactly the kind of thing that seems to make someone susceptible and she can't stand the thought of putting someone like him, Tifa, or the others in danger.

But talking about it... What good would that do. It's not going to go away. It'll still haunt her at night, leave her lacking rest and sleep, just as it has since shortly after her arrival. And when she thinks about how people could respond, that makes her want to speak on it even less.

She can't forget what Dohalim said. "... there were moments in that dream where I did not recognize the woman I have come to know." As if she's simply been living a lie.

Maybe she has.]

I will do what I can to alleviate your concerns. I am certain that I can handle things.

[She should apologise. But she's not ready to and she knows she's not. She needs just. Just a little more time.]

[He stares at her words, hearing his own voice in them.]

I thought the same.

[And look what happened. But he won't say anything more about it since he's already made his point and he's in no position to push even if it would be better to do so in her case. Not right now, anyway...]

How are your injuries?

[...

His words are telling. She understands what he's really saying in them. It's a warning without Eustace pushing her too much. She can't help but appreciate that he's not pushing as hard as he could. She might deserve that, too. As much as she doesn't deserve how understanding he's being.

Compassionate, she'd call it. He's being compassionate. Empathetic.]

Not anything in comparison to yours, I will wager.

[She really needs to stop doing that. Because it's not an answer. It's a deflection. As she reconsiders, she realises that she does that a lot. Almost every time she's asked about something.]

Oriphi and Aerith were helpful. I was worse before. I am doing better. It is nothing that I will not make a full recovery from.

That's a relief.

....I know I've said it before, but I apologize for what happened.

[Don't do this.

It's only text, but she can hear it. She knows how it would sound coming from the timbre of his voice. He'd already said it before and she wouldn't hear of it then. She doesn't want to hear of it now.

She's the one who failed him. Couldn't stop him. Couldn't get through to him. Had to hurt him intensely and it still didn't even do anything. She's also the one who just had an incredibly vulnerable and open involuntary confession to the murder of families and children and other awful things and he's the one apologising.

And to top it all off—]

You do not need to say that to me. You never needed to. I would have done anything for either of you.

[Which is telling. Ordinarily, she would never admit to that. She doesn't feel great admitting to that now, but it is what it is.]

Going forward, all any of us can ever ask of you is that you remember we are here. You may not want that. You may not need that. But that is the way it is. You need not face these things on your own.

[Pot. Meet Kettle.]

[He knew she would say something like that, and while he knows she speaks the truth...it's difficult to fully accept still.

Just like how he knows she should listen to her own words.]

Funny hearing that from you.

This is not about me. This is about you.

[She's not sure what gets under her skin more—the fact that he's trying to turn it or the fact that she knows he's right.

...Surely only they would have a mirror conversation like this with one another. It may be the downside to how similar they are in their approaches and how they think about things.]

Right now, I'd say it's about both.

[Because of her dream. Because of how similar they really are. It's like staring in the mirror at times, it's so uncanny.

And he's going to continue being the thorn in her side, the other side of the mirror to reflect the things she needs to see.]

"Going forward, all any of us can ever ask of you is that you remember we are here. You may not want that. You may not need that. But that is the way it is. You need not face these things on your own."

You're right. This is something I will need remembering, and it's been proven to me by the actions of what everyone, yourself included, did.

So I hope you remember your words for yourself. Else I know a number of people who will be more than willing to be much louder and obnoxious about reminding you.

[It's so much easier to say things like that to him. It's not that they're the right things to say. They are, but they aren't just that. She means them. Rarely does Beatrix say anything she doesn't mean, but when she's being transparent about her feelings on a matter...

...It must mean a great deal to her.

Harder to hear her own words used against her. Of course she sees herself, her situation differently. He probably does, as well. Standards and expectations of one's self tend to vary greatly from the ones placed on others.]

You are all rather loud and obnoxious, yes.

[She's not going to make him any promises. That's not the kind of person she is. Knowing she's more inclined to break something like that, even if she doesn't want to. If she expects herself to be a disappointment, then she can't disappoint anyone by trying to be more than that.]

I think we can have a reprieve before we start in on my personal feelings.

[He knows he got to her, and he won't say anymore.]

Fair enough.

Be sure to reach out to Dohalim when you finally do.

I think Dohalim has been kept more aware than he ever needed to be. He does not need to be involved in every aspect of my life and the only thing that caused him was undue concern.

[What she really wants to say is people need to butt out of her personal affairs, but she understands that they did the right thing, no matter how she feels about it.]

He'll only be more concerned if you keep pushing him away.

But I understand.

[...]

I think he ought to turn his attentions elsewhere. I warned him.

[She warned him.]

You only made it worse.

[Rookie mistake.]

Hardly. I refuse to believe that for a moment. Only an idiot would continue down such a stupid path.

Then I suppose Dohalim is an idiot.

Eustace, if you are trying to be helpful, this is not working. This is a serious issue that I do not know how to handle.

[WHY DOES SHE EVEN BOTHER TALKING ABOUT HER FEELINGS. EVER.]

[Okay okay—]

You don't know how because you're unwilling to accept it. Until you do, you won't be able to move forward.

sender: eustace

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