Link ("yeet it or eat it") (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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dreamcrystals2022-10-06 12:10 pm
skyglider) wrote in dreamcrystals2022-10-06 12:10 pm
Entry tags:
001 ⚘ dream recording
Sender: Link
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording (Ghosts of the Past)
Warnings: Memory loss, spooky stuff, light implications of character death
[aaaand have some background noise if you wanna make it worse]
In the darkness, a voice, hollow and indistinct, several tones and cadences laid one over the other like a collage. Few phrases stand out, but the ones that do come through clearly.
"t𝓱Ｅ 𝓬𝓱𝐢𝔩𝓭 shows much promise."
"It's a h̢̲̤͋͑̑̉u̷̗͓̼̖̬̺ͬg̡̦̬̰ͨ̈́ͭę͖̲̺͔͚͖͛ responsibility."
"... 𝐻𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓎, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 ..."
[Those who stumble upon this dream will find that it has a quality of indistinct blurriness, like a photo out of focus, or perhaps a very old memory. Details are fuzzy to nonexistent, but you can see three figures outside of a house in a small, quiet village: two smaller, blonde, and one larger, broader, towering over both of them. You feel at once a particular emptiness; you are supposed to know who they are, but you can't place them. It's the feeling of forgetting something important, but being unable to place what that might be.
The smallest figure, long-haired and sporting a white dress, fiddles with a small patch of garden. The other figure might look a little familiar, to those who have met Link, though if you can believe it he's even smaller than he is now. He and the taller figure are currently engaged in some sort of practice match with wooden swords; the adult occasionally offers a note of encouragement in a deep, gregarious rumble: "Much better! Careful now-- watch your flank! Good." Clack! Clack-clack! The wooden swords crack against each other over and over as the match continues. The smallest figure chimes in again: "Don't step on the flowers, brother!" The details become even more nondescript as the practice match goes on, but eventually, both figures fall back onto the ground, breathing heavily.
As the dream carries on, you come to realize that Link himself is standing nearby, watching this just as you are. Unlike the subjects of the dream, he's sharply in focus. The smallest figure flickers, and then appears in front of the place where Link --the one watching the dream-- stands. She retains the same fuzziness even up close: her face, age, even her clothing is an indistinct blur. She looks up at Link, whose eyes widen.
"When are you coming home?"
Link seems conflicted: in moments, he seems almost shocked, as if he's seen a ghost. In others, it's as if he doesn't recognize this figure at all. He searches for words and grasps nothing. Something flickers; it's hard to tell whether it's the blurry figure or your vision, fading in and out of darkness.]
You can't help but feel as if some time has passed, as if it's been a long time since you first heard those strange voices.
"𝐻𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝓉. 𝐻𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓁𝓎 ṡ̯̱̾͠p̤̬̜̮̻͍ͧ͝ę̹̟̣͇͎ͪ̇̚aͪ͏̯͖̱̮̦̼k͖̰̭͚̦͖̼̘̈̽̈́́s̵̺̰̪̞͕̔̑ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹 ..."
"Our ϝυƚυɾҽ is in h̀̓̒̔͏̠͖̜͔̳̻̤̠i̢̬̝̲ͧs̨̙̲̬̟͉̦̾͒ͬ ̡̼̠̫͇̭̜̘̤́͋́̊h̢̗̼ͪǎ̸͍̘̝̰͙̤̼̋͗ń̦͇̖̹̖̆͡d̹̫͕̘̦͕͐̔̚͜ͅṡ̴̗͎͇̮́͆̿ͅ ̖̝̘ͪ͒̃͝ͅn̗̦̮͖̭̋͞ow."
[Figures flicker back into existence, a dim light in the darkness. Five new figures now join the three from the first part of the dream, surrounding Link. Even the ones that are smaller than him seem to loom ominously overhead, bearing down, staring with eyes that don't seem to exist. Or perhaps they do, beneath the hazy film that masks the figures' details. They seem to expect something from him, but it's hard to say what.
Somewhere deep beneath layers of confusion, this dream begins to generate feelings of anxiety, of emptiness. Of a loss that means everything and nothing all at once.
"Have you really forgotten us?"]
"He can't f̡̤̤̩͕͋̄ͫâ̴̳̺ĭ̧͎̺̮̦̝͈̘͓ͤl̝͉̩̩ͪͩ̎ͭ͟."
"ɖɨɖ ɨ օռƈɛ have a ϝαɱιʅყ?"
"How do you m͖̞ͯ̅͠o͓̰̞͎̣͚ͣ̏͑̿͞ͅu̵̞͚̠̭̣̻͆͗͌ȑ̟̼͖͙̻̜̗̣̾͞n̜͚̙̏̔̇͛͢ someone you have ṋ̸̹͙͈͓̲̭̝̐̉͒o̡̟̯̤͎̙͆ͅͅ ͎͔̪͒ͭ͌̅́m̰͖̺̤ͬ͘ẻ̦̭̥͇̳̼̩̖̔ͩ̓͟m̯̞̩̄̕ỏͬ҉͚̙̱͍̼ͅȑ̵͈͖̭̠̫y̹̮̻̼̖̽̒̍́ͅ ̿ͯ̓͛҉̣͈ǒ̹̬͚̟͡f̢̞̲̥̊͂̀?"
"H̰͚̘̠̻̤̭̱͂̽̈́͜e̺̠̤̱̟̰ͦ͠ ̜̫̝̞ͫͪ͡m̶̗͕͙̽ṵ̷̰͍̲͈̳̍̆ŝ̵͓͙̤̜̣̙͕͌̑ͦt̊̔ͬ҉͙̠͕̲̲̪̞̺ ͖̪̟̝̑͘n̷̰̣̑̍͊͋ͅo̳̲̙̼͗͊ͣ͜ẗ͉̝̜̞̜͎̮̅ͧ̃͘ ̦͇͙̯̙̬͖̯̄́f̡̤̤̩͕͋̄ͫâ̴̳̺ĭ̧͎̺̮̦̝͈̘͓ͤl̝͉̩̩ͪͩ̎ͭ͟."
[Like an old film, the image flickers, and then fades. This is how the dream ends: slowly, gently enough to leave a residue of anxiety and regret.]
To: Everyone
Subject: Passive dream recording (Ghosts of the Past)
Warnings: Memory loss, spooky stuff, light implications of character death
[aaaand have some background noise if you wanna make it worse]
In the darkness, a voice, hollow and indistinct, several tones and cadences laid one over the other like a collage. Few phrases stand out, but the ones that do come through clearly.
"t𝓱Ｅ 𝓬𝓱𝐢𝔩𝓭 shows much promise."
"It's a h̢̲̤͋͑̑̉u̷̗͓̼̖̬̺ͬg̡̦̬̰ͨ̈́ͭę͖̲̺͔͚͖͛ responsibility."
"... 𝐻𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝑔𝓎, 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 ..."
[Those who stumble upon this dream will find that it has a quality of indistinct blurriness, like a photo out of focus, or perhaps a very old memory. Details are fuzzy to nonexistent, but you can see three figures outside of a house in a small, quiet village: two smaller, blonde, and one larger, broader, towering over both of them. You feel at once a particular emptiness; you are supposed to know who they are, but you can't place them. It's the feeling of forgetting something important, but being unable to place what that might be.
The smallest figure, long-haired and sporting a white dress, fiddles with a small patch of garden. The other figure might look a little familiar, to those who have met Link, though if you can believe it he's even smaller than he is now. He and the taller figure are currently engaged in some sort of practice match with wooden swords; the adult occasionally offers a note of encouragement in a deep, gregarious rumble: "Much better! Careful now-- watch your flank! Good." Clack! Clack-clack! The wooden swords crack against each other over and over as the match continues. The smallest figure chimes in again: "Don't step on the flowers, brother!" The details become even more nondescript as the practice match goes on, but eventually, both figures fall back onto the ground, breathing heavily.
As the dream carries on, you come to realize that Link himself is standing nearby, watching this just as you are. Unlike the subjects of the dream, he's sharply in focus. The smallest figure flickers, and then appears in front of the place where Link --the one watching the dream-- stands. She retains the same fuzziness even up close: her face, age, even her clothing is an indistinct blur. She looks up at Link, whose eyes widen.
"When are you coming home?"
Link seems conflicted: in moments, he seems almost shocked, as if he's seen a ghost. In others, it's as if he doesn't recognize this figure at all. He searches for words and grasps nothing. Something flickers; it's hard to tell whether it's the blurry figure or your vision, fading in and out of darkness.]
You can't help but feel as if some time has passed, as if it's been a long time since you first heard those strange voices.
"𝐻𝑒 𝓃𝑜 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝓉. 𝐻𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹𝓁𝓎 ṡ̯̱̾͠p̤̬̜̮̻͍ͧ͝ę̹̟̣͇͎ͪ̇̚aͪ͏̯͖̱̮̦̼k͖̰̭͚̦͖̼̘̈̽̈́́s̵̺̰̪̞͕̔̑ 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁 𝐼 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝑒𝒹 ..."
"Our ϝυƚυɾҽ is in h̀̓̒̔͏̠͖̜͔̳̻̤̠i̢̬̝̲ͧs̨̙̲̬̟͉̦̾͒ͬ ̡̼̠̫͇̭̜̘̤́͋́̊h̢̗̼ͪǎ̸͍̘̝̰͙̤̼̋͗ń̦͇̖̹̖̆͡d̹̫͕̘̦͕͐̔̚͜ͅṡ̴̗͎͇̮́͆̿ͅ ̖̝̘ͪ͒̃͝ͅn̗̦̮͖̭̋͞ow."
[Figures flicker back into existence, a dim light in the darkness. Five new figures now join the three from the first part of the dream, surrounding Link. Even the ones that are smaller than him seem to loom ominously overhead, bearing down, staring with eyes that don't seem to exist. Or perhaps they do, beneath the hazy film that masks the figures' details. They seem to expect something from him, but it's hard to say what.
Somewhere deep beneath layers of confusion, this dream begins to generate feelings of anxiety, of emptiness. Of a loss that means everything and nothing all at once.
"Have you really forgotten us?"]
"He can't f̡̤̤̩͕͋̄ͫâ̴̳̺ĭ̧͎̺̮̦̝͈̘͓ͤl̝͉̩̩ͪͩ̎ͭ͟."
"ɖɨɖ ɨ օռƈɛ have a ϝαɱιʅყ?"
"How do you m͖̞ͯ̅͠o͓̰̞͎̣͚ͣ̏͑̿͞ͅu̵̞͚̠̭̣̻͆͗͌ȑ̟̼͖͙̻̜̗̣̾͞n̜͚̙̏̔̇͛͢ someone you have ṋ̸̹͙͈͓̲̭̝̐̉͒o̡̟̯̤͎̙͆ͅͅ ͎͔̪͒ͭ͌̅́m̰͖̺̤ͬ͘ẻ̦̭̥͇̳̼̩̖̔ͩ̓͟m̯̞̩̄̕ỏͬ҉͚̙̱͍̼ͅȑ̵͈͖̭̠̫y̹̮̻̼̖̽̒̍́ͅ ̿ͯ̓͛҉̣͈ǒ̹̬͚̟͡f̢̞̲̥̊͂̀?"
"H̰͚̘̠̻̤̭̱͂̽̈́͜e̺̠̤̱̟̰ͦ͠ ̜̫̝̞ͫͪ͡m̶̗͕͙̽ṵ̷̰͍̲͈̳̍̆ŝ̵͓͙̤̜̣̙͕͌̑ͦt̊̔ͬ҉͙̠͕̲̲̪̞̺ ͖̪̟̝̑͘n̷̰̣̑̍͊͋ͅo̳̲̙̼͗͊ͣ͜ẗ͉̝̜̞̜͎̮̅ͧ̃͘ ̦͇͙̯̙̬͖̯̄́f̡̤̤̩͕͋̄ͫâ̴̳̺ĭ̧͎̺̮̦̝͈̘͓ͤl̝͉̩̩ͪͩ̎ͭ͟."
[Like an old film, the image flickers, and then fades. This is how the dream ends: slowly, gently enough to leave a residue of anxiety and regret.]
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