you made hell feel like home; any

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever   He is a creature built to worship, and what is such a thing to do when the item of his worship forsakes him? He has seen nothing of Pollock in months, maybe years. He has searched, in his desperate, wanting way – he is a good boy, a loyal boy – but to no avail. And thus he is left, spinning and adrift, a boy who loves monsters, but to whom the monsters do not love.   He is in the forest because he likes the shadows, the foreboding sort of darkness they promise. It’s the kind of place where monsters lurk. He’s full-grown, now, a champagne color that speaks of sunlight. He’s not particularly tall, but there’s a thickness to his bones, the heritage of Percherons and other drafts, through well bred with other things. He’s not even a boy, not really, more like a man in the prime of his life – but inside, he is a boy. Inside, he’s a lost boy standing before a monster with a feeling in his chest, a bursting heart, like the worst kind of falling in love.   He’s not looking for anything, not consciously. (He’s always looking, though – for those curled horns, that smile. That monster.) He’s simply moving through the forest, enjoying the cool shade of shadows dappling on golden skin. Just a lost boy.   rapt caius x else

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

There's been little for me to worship, in this life. And anything I have worshiped - though love be a better term for the concept - has been for far different reasons than perhaps this man's.

My familial bonds are thickly veined and coursing with vitality. My young brother, tucked safely between his parents - he has been in my dreams, a shadowy figure that I find myself inexplicably protective of. He is mine.

I come here now, for the shadows - Khaedrik does not yet accompany me, but he will. My eyes - nutmeg, glimmering - are half-closed, caught in some type of day dream. There's no explanation for why I have sought sleep so hungrily as of late - but there is something, a feeling, a growing. I am changing - and I see that in my dreams.

When I come upon him, he is the opposite of shadows (though perhaps that is why he seeks them). The look of an unconscious wanderer alights his features, and I fancy that that must be the expression I wear, too. My figure, slim next to him, twitches now and again as both our legs stop, as I lift my eyes to meet his. The shadows play tricks with his skin - on mine, I am but a darker nothing.

"Hello.."

Kagerus

sweet nothing

@[rapt]

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever His family is gone – not exactly forsaken, but he left them and did not look back, a blind and foolish follower. He hasn’t heard from them since, doesn’t know if they’re dead or alive. He doesn’t think of them, really. Occasionally he’ll dream of his mother’s scarred face and her hopeless smile, but they are not particularly good dreams, and they are quickly forgotten when he wakes. Better dreams are the ones of the monster, of Pollock’s smile, of his gravel-voiced praise. You waited, he’ll say, in those dreams, and Rapt will say yes, of course, yes, yes, yes. He waits still, in a subconscious way. For the monster, for that creature who thought nothing of ruining a young boy. If asked, he’d deny such a thing (he realizes the shame of it, the wrongness of the things he wants), but there’s a truth. He’s always waiting. He’s been waiting for years. Footsteps stir him from his daydreams; he turns to better view the quick approaching mare. He takes her in, the brown and white colors of her, the peculiar cluster of spots below one eye. He smiles, polite, unsure what she wants. He isn’t overly social, his own interactions limited, he doesn’t know how to small-talk. But he smiles. There is that. “Hello,” he echoes. Silence blooms between them and he itches to fill it. “My name’s Rapt.” rapt caius x else

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

I have already experienced what it is like to have my family be gone - and I reacted nothing like him. I am dependent, tethered, disapproving of solitude. In a way, aren't we all?
Chance meetings can be avoided.
This one was not.

His smile disarms me (why did I expect him to be less... civilized?), and my lips become a mirror. They like to see themselves reflected in me, the others. At least, the parts of me that I've shown have been less warmly received. I step closer to him.

"I'm Kagerus," I reply, the low husk of my voice mingling with his in the silence that steadily grows between us. My eyes sit weighted on his for a time, a leaded sort of connection that feels comfortable, but only because there's no where also to look.

My skin twitches. Eerie.

"I came here to dream," I allow, feeling as if I exist above my body - dissociated. My head feels too light, my legs altogether numb. I can't help it, sometimes. The drifting. Mind pulling away from body as if their connection could withstand such hardship.

"Why are you here?"

Kagerus

sweet nothing

@[rapt]

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever She smiles too, gives her name - Kagerus, a word that sits strange in his mind, though his own name has its own strangeness. (Perhaps a bit of prophecy, too, as he was, well, rapt as the tendrils of the monster’s fear snaked into his blood, as wires crossed wrong and something in him craved the fear and pain.) It’s a polite exchange, and he shifts his weight, wondering what else to say, but then she speaks again. I came here to dream, she says, and that is more interesting, more curious. “Is this where you always come to dream?” he asks. Maybe the spot has some specific powers, the way the mountain did, or had (not that it mattered to him, he lacked any powers, anything special). He’s felt no different, but perhaps he isn’t worthy. Her eyes look distant. As if she sees places beyond him. Other worlds than these. “What do you dream about?” he asks. Perhaps he is prying. But her distant look, the twitch of her skin, there is something about her. “I live here,” he answers, then amends, “in the forest, I mean. This specific place, well, I’m just passing through.” The real reason: I am looking for monsters is unsaid. He knows enough decorum not to spill his secrets at a stranger’s feet. rapt caius x else

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

Is this where you always come to dream?

"No matter where I go, the dreams follow." As of late, this has been the truth. Before now, before the change, my dreams were insignificant. Forgettable. A hazy sort of memory that left me quite the same as when they found me. Now, the dreams are more insistent. I am the host, possessed by dreams that are not my own.

He doesn't need something special. My eyes cannot leave him, over-dilated pupils transfixed on what little of him their is, in comparison to the everything that surrounds us. Yes, there is an arcane quality to our situation, a deadness in my eyes that I see reflected in his, too. I step closer. There's worlds between us.

"I... Could show you," I breathe, barely even knowing what I speak. My eyes travel to his sunlight-spine, dampened now in shadows. The sturdiness of his bones, the way his smile leaves me knowing that there's more - and yet far, far less. My own smile dwindles, but the expression left in its place is not unwelcome.
I want to take him with me.
To see if I can.

"It's not always been here," comes my answer. "Your home, I mean. The lands - changed." He is old enough to remember, though when I step closer and press my lips to his throat, he tastes young.

I remove myself, but our proximity is his to dictate. Our reality - our level of consciousness - our mindless travellings --

His.

Kagerus

sweet nothing

@[rapt]

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever “Isn’t that how dreams work?” he asks. He almost laughs. It’s not overly witty, but all he knows of dreams are the run-of-the-mill kind, dreams of mothers and monsters and nothing-dreams, dreams he doesn’t recall but leave him waking with sadness, or with wonder. He doesn’t know the real power of them. He doesn’t know such a thing exists. He is, as we’ve said, a foolish boy. Her distant gaze is on him now, and he feels strange beneath it. As if he is the other world. The dream. And then – I could show you. What could she show him? Dreams? (He thinks of the monster. How often he’s dreamed of him.) He should say no. She is a stranger with a strange proposal, one he doesn’t understand. He could walk away. But there is nothing for him to walk towards. He is a lonely, foolish boy with a taste for danger. “You said you could show me,” he says, “what do you mean? Your dreams?” What he doesn’t say is: I have already decided to follow. He answers her question. “I was born in the deserts,” he says, “but wasn’t there long. I never cared much for it.” He doesn’t even recall it, not fully – he remembers heat, and shifting sands under his spindly legs. Everything shimmery and unstable. Like dreams, you could say. Her lips feel hot on his throat. He hasn’t been touched in a long time. It feels strange. “What do I have to do?” he whispers. The distance between them isn’t much. She is still watching him. He is still watching her. Waiting. The ground, though - it shifts beneath his feet. Like sand. rapt caius x else

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

"That's what I thought, too." The void runs its fingers down our spines, and we shiver in unison. I hear his words as if they come from above me, a godly whisper. My own from all directions.

A refusal dances on his tongue: I am close enough to see it, to feel it. The part of me that knows we are already dreaming grasps at the loose threads of his mind and connects them as I see fit - he speaks, then, as the threads bond. He has already decided to follow.
My smile returns.
(I am not myself, here. The dreams change me - I - I shouldn't be shaping his mind this way. I shouldn't --)

"Yes," I murmur, star-glazed eyes now firmly fixed on his, which widen in his hunt for danger. In my mouth, my teeth lengthen. Fangs. "Our dreams."

He doesn't notice yet, however - his eyes are elsewhere, memories of a birthplace summoned to the conscious mind for appreciation. I allow his mind to wander without any interference, curious as to what shall become of us lest I leave our dreams to his liking. The silence between us is tangible - truly, really, the air becomes viscous, with sparks snapping here and there.

What do I have to do? He asks.

Trust me, I answer, without moving my lips. My voice resonates in his mind. Our peripheral vision becomes fuzzy - a dreamer cannot focus on all the details.
And... Dream.

Beneath us, sand rolls, the change subtle, though I notice before he does. When his eyes do bounce up from the granular earth, our surroundings are completely different - in every direction an endless stretch of desert sand with no discernible features - the sky so blue that it hurts to look at, though no sun is visible in its entirety. My fangs gleam - his golden coat shines.

Do you see how They follow? I ask. My lips are on him again, my tongue - running up his neck. At his ear, I do open my mouth to speak, and my sharpened teeth graze the thin membrane of his ear.

"Do you see?"

And from where I lead his eyes to gaze, It rises.

Kagerus

sweet nothing

@[rapt]

[rapt]

there is a dream in the space between the hammer and the nail ------ the dream of about-to-be-hit, which is a bad dream ------------ but the nail will take the hit if it gets to sleep inside the wood forever The shift is subtle, at first, the way one does not recall the exact moment of slipping from wakefulness into sleep. The world blurs and reshapes, just slightly, everything off-kilter in a way he does not consciously recognize, not yet. He is focused on her, on the way her eyes are glazed in galaxies, on the promises she makes. Trust me, she says. And he – no stranger to blind faith – does. He looks down. To the earth. The sand? And back up. The sun burns hotter on his back than it had before. The trees are gone, if they were ever there, and they are back in the desert. She is smiling. Her fangs gleam. Had she always had fangs? He can’t recall. She’s close. Touching him like he belongs to her (maybe he does, or maybe he will – oh, how he likes to belong!). He can feel the cool press of fangs when she does. Close enough to bite. To tear and rend. She whispers, instead. Soft as anything. Do you see? He looks where she does. He sees. The sand shifts and humps and rises, a living, organic thing. The sand falls away from It – from him - and the monster is there, goat horns curling, smile curling like smoke on those poisonous lips. He is trembling, or maybe the ground is moving again. “I see,” he says, and his voice is oh-so-quiet, reverent, “you brought him here.” rapt caius x else

[Kagerus]

Out with the golden we sew, and the lower past that crawls.
Now, to the doorway you run, to the girl that's not lost.

From where our eyes linger, granules of sand shift and shimmer, parting as the womb of the earth will in order to birth its next monster. The rising creature is a hideous thing, all smoke and horns, the image of what must haunt this boy's mind day and night. In my stomach, a forgotten part of me screams and cowers, but I ignore her. She is no dreamer.

My smile is wide, distorted, filled with too many teeth. To think that such a quiet, meek fellow could dream up such monstrosities - I relish the sensation of surprise. I want more, I want to be shaken. I glance back at him, breathing heavily, admiring the way his golden skin trembles and quakes, the way his eyes glow. On his tongue, reverence.

Above, the sky silently shatters. A hole is rent in its middle, folding in on itself, compressing and distorting and shriveling up until nothing of the deserts remains except for stray granules of sand at our hooves. Around us, now, the Abyss - my favourite place to come. A nothingness so intimate that one can almost forget - anything.

But today, we come to remember. I can see that in his eyes.

"Rapt, my little boy," I whisper, possessive. That other worldliness has entered my voice again, and it shall be in his too. It is a nonnegotiable quality of the Abyss. "Won't you say hello?" The creature stands where he was manifested, but now, a step forward. Eyes, glinting. That smile... The granules of sand vibrate below us.

"Monsters don't like to be kept waiting."

Kagerus

sweet nothing

@[rapt]