leaves all sinking, fever dreaming; ANY

[Kagerus]

Kagerus

{ and in my dreams I've kissed your lips a thousand times }

He wonders if he'll ever experience this again. He will, I know; in snippets of his own dreams, hazy memories of the place where dreams truly come from, bright flashes of the Abyss that will leave him breathless. Perhaps he will even master lucid dreaming, as I did before the magic awoke inside me; but, as I gaze upon the interlacing scars littering his golden body, I hope that it won't be the last true time that he experiences this.

But now is not the time to remember politics. We remember something deeper now; we remember home.

I can see the way his eyes roll back in his head, feel his hands taking the weight of the dream off my shoulders, white-knuckled in their effort. I can feel his breathlessness, and I know the exact moment that he plunges into the dream:

But as we fall, my skin erupts in shivers. It's thrilling, being powerless: but the thrill changes to dread as his dream unfolds before me.

I exist without form, watching from just behind him as he lives through the life-like experience. His eyes fill with tears, but I only smile; I visit this place often, exploring all my old haunts until it feels just like yesterday instead of like decades ago. But as I zone in on that which happens just before Magnus' now-colt eyes, the ease with which I exist here falters; something is wrong; my breath (lungless and empty) catches.

There's a mare who is distinctly mother, though I cannot place her; but suddenly he runs for her, leg bones breaking and lungs tearing and skin flaying off in the wind - or at least, he runs with the desperation of one to whom these things are happening. In my hazy sub-subconcious existence, I struggle to regain control; it's happened once where something greater took over my dream, a demon forcing his soul into this reality. Panic slows my process, irrational thoughts causing my bodyless motions to be lethargic and ineffective.

By the time I am reforming and reshaping the dream, too much has gone by. I've been an irresponsible dream-sitter, but at least he's not hurt - much. I grimace as he slams his knees into the rock-strewn landscape of the Gates, chasing after yet another woman, one whose aura screams lover. He'll awaken with that blood running down his legs, new scars to bear on a body riddled with them.

I allow a blackness to come over us. My own heart is pounding but I fear for the re-start of his at all. A part of me feels utterly disconnected from this experience, emotionally uninvolved and, at best, the connection device between two more important pieces. Where those pieces function and move, I am motionless; static. In fact, that's what fills our black dream: a warm static, soothing us both until I feel myself stirring.

"Magnus." My voice reaches for his consciousness gently, reminding it of its tether to reality, to a reality where near a century has passed since he truly experienced these memories. Pain does fade with time, and though we can't help but to remember it so vividly every so often, we have healed. I appear next to him, equine to equine. My lips find his shoulder, run up his neck, rest along his cheek so that we are resting gently side by side. The gentle static of our dream continues, sounding almost like rain; we're warm, but not hot. I press into him carefully.

"I'm sorry."

@[magnus] hey look it's my snazzy new html, someone wonderful made it for me... <3