Re: Oval Eyes (Grave)
Club's words were both reassuring and mortifying, in a way, but this time Grave didn't let them get to him. To an extent, it was because he was feeling really tired. He had a bad day, one filled with suprises, including the discovery of his own conscience - something he had been considering to be dead. A nice, long rest would probably help him gather his bearings together and prepare for the next day. Shrugging off Club's last remark (When the Hell did I get promoted to being a wife? And there's nothing wrong with being clean from time to time, thank you very much, especially after spending a few years on the road.), he put the clothes away to let them dry, then moved to the bed, noting Club's fatigue on the way. She had to be very restless today.
Cynder wasn't used to sharing a bed with anyone, but he had a feeling he didn't have much of a choice. This thought didn't make him any less embarassed about being handled like a little girl by... Well, by a little girl. Well, at least Club was happy. That had to be a good thing, he told himself. He had to admit he was rather happy too, finally having someone who accepted him. Facing her, the half-blood tried to smile back at her, but he felt a bit too tired to crack a grin. He was feeling sleepy, and the bed was very comfortable and warm. Cozy, he thought as his eyelids began to close. He felt the girl's arms wrap around him, moving his head until it was resting on her body. Well, if she didn't mind it, he wouldn't mind it either. Slowly, the young man fell asleep...
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Grave felt that something wasn't right. It wasn't like the last time, when he was immobile, trapped in pitch-black darkness and going through agonizing pain. This time, he didn't feel that anything was trying to bind him. But that time, it was simply pain. The pain of emerging from darkness into light, a terrible but temporary state which he had left behind. This was, he realized, something worse. Something insubstantial, at least now, but absolutely wrong. He couldn't tell what it was, but for some reason, it awoke a nameless terror within his heart. It was something he couldn't comprehend, something his mind refused to understand. Was this a nightmare of some sort? What on earth could possibly cause such reaction in him?
Then, the voice came. Cynder listened to it, fascinated and repulsed. It felt evil. Cruel, hateful, it craved his demise. It sparked golden flames, which threatened to burn him. He could feel the heat, but he couldn't escape them. He could not avoid the voice either, calling out to him, taunting him... And at the same time, declaring him it's brother. The half-blood felt that he couldn't deny it, even though his mind screamed that whatever it was, it couldn't be related to him. It was corrupt, and it sought to corrupt and destroy. The young man felt his strenght fade as the golden flames spread searing pain through him again. This was different from before - it wasn't physical pain. Rather, it was the pain of a soul, pain of one who sought death.
Grave could only stare as a giant hand emerged from the flames. It moved towards him, threatening to crush him, and without a doubt he wouldn't be able to escape or stop it. All the suffering, insanity and regret had been blamed upon him, and the voice desired revenge. It wanted him to suffer. Trembling, he realized what this was. This was true hatred. Not mere loathing and contempt - it was pure malice, driven to extreme levels by madness. He tried to back away, run and hide, but he couldn't. The flames were everywhere, and the hand kept reaching out for him. It would seek him out, no matter where he went. And he knew that there was no place to hide from it. Whatever was after him now, it knew how to find him. It knew him.
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Cynder woke up startled, frantically looking around. The fact that he couldn't see a damn thing nearly gave him a heart attack until he realized that it was because Club was blocking his vision. Once he realized that, he let out a breath he was unconsciously holding, and raised his hands to pry off the goblin attached to him. He was aware from the fact that his heart was going into overdrive and the sheets were soaked with his sweat, but he could also feel his body slowly return to normal. That's right. He was in the tower, safe and sound, and Club was sleeping soundly by his side. Or rather, on top of his head. He wasn't aware of the fact that there was someone else by his side, and was startled by the sudden whisper. Of course. I really should have seen this one coming.
Once he got the goblin off him, Grave turned his head towards the crow girl, giving her a tired stare. He really wished she had not seen him like this, and hoped that deep down, she wasn't laughing at the picture. That issue paled in comparison to his most important question. A question, he feared, he could partially answer all by himself. Some things were obvious. Letting his head fall on the pillow, the young man took a deep breath and began to talk. "It was... Horrible." He shuddered. "There was a voice... It was filled with hatred. It said it found me... It wanted to kill me. It wanted to die. It spoke of feeding someone, of making me feed them." He shook his head. "It said it's blood had turned black, and that it wished to die."
Remembering the dream in detail was not pleasant. However, Cynder felt that he needed to get this out of his system. He also hoped that if he relayed all the details, Cynthia would be able to recognize and explain everything. Cold, logical dissection of that speech also took out some of the terror out of the memory. "It said that it's world was gone, and that someone's claws were squeezing it's throat. And in the end, that voice blamed everything on me. It threatened to destroy everything I hold dear." The young man turned his head towards Cynthia. He was honestly scared of that. He had just realized he actually had someone precious to him, and didn't want to lose that person.
Grave swallowed before moving to finish the story. "All the time it was talking, I was surrounded by golden fire. It felt as if my soul was burning. And at the end... A giant hand came out of the flames, and tried to crush me. And on top of that..." He paused, staring into Cynthia's eyes. "It called me 'brother'... It knows my name." He frantically looked for an answer in those red eyes before him. "Cynthia... I had a vision earlier, when I opened the gates to my home. This was a vision too, right? Just what the Hell was it all about?" He sat up. The half-blood felt like he wanted to scream. Fortunately, there was something anout Cynthia's stare that helped him compose himself. It was like an anchor - he could be certain that no matter what happened, those cool eyes would never change. It was strangely reassuring. But at the same time... He felt that once again, she didn't tell him anything. Not before he found out himself.