ph_logs | January Event - Lost in Dreamland

January Event - Lost in Dreamland

**Plain text version here.

Lost in Dreamland

Bedtime Story

{ CONTENT WARNINGS: Unreality, dream logic. Mind the CWs in individual threads, as they will vary! }

It is no secret that in the Emerald Isles, winter and sleep have a deep connection. To some extent, this is true everywhere. The whole world seems to fall asleep under the blanket of snow. Plants recede back into the ground, trees stand leafless and slumbering till spring, animals hibernate. Nights are longer. But the local folklore intensifies this, as Mortanne presides over Winter and the Beyond.

As the tales go, the Beyond is the realm of souls, the place where the essence of a person goes when it separates from their body. And while this primarily refers to death, it can also refer to the half-step between living and dying--- the unconscious mind. Sleep, and moreover, dreaming. And thus, winter and dreams have always been kindred spirits. Connected through their ties to Mother Mortanne and to a hushed and sleeping world.

Perhaps it is for this reason that when you go to sleep on the night of January 19th, 16:55, it is a deeper, more consuming sleep than you’ve ever felt. One that swallows you whole, dragging you down, and down, and down, into a sunken place that is deeper and more terrifying than dreams.

By the time you think to feel afraid, it is already too late to jolt yourself awake.

LULLABY

Beautiful Dreamer, Wake Unto Me

You wake. Or do you? It feels a bit like waking, and yet, it does not. It is similar enough to waking that one might believe it to be so. You feel ground beneath your feet, or perhaps a bed beneath your back. Or something. You feel… something. It isn’t like waking. But it’s a little bit like waking. Perhaps it is not. But perhaps it is as close as you are able to get. Let’s try this again.

You “wake.” Your mind solidifies and reality defines its shape around you. Your eyes focus and you become aware. What are you aware of?

Whatever it is, it isn’t good. Perhaps it seems good at first, but it is not. Wherever you are, only horrors await you here, pulled straight from your own mind. Or the minds of others.

Move. You must move. The dream is a landscape. You must traverse nightmares to escape. Seek other dreamers, and flee. To the center, to safety in false daydreams. To the underground, where the Necropolis will conceal you. To the edges, where you can feel your consciousness break free of this sunken sleep and return to the world of hard objects and light. But you cannot stay here. Gods help you if you stay here.

[ Your nightmare can look however you desire. Laws of reality and physics do not apply. Fuse them, reshape them, choose your flavor. Be liberal with content warnings and respect sensitive content guidelines, but otherwise, there are no rules. ]

Starlight and Dewdrops are Waiting For Thee

If you reach the center of the dreamscape (or perhaps you “woke up” there), you will find an oasis. You find yourself immediately embraced by a beautiful dream. All of your wishes granted, your deepest desires pulled directly from the core of your soul and brought to life before you in vivid detail.

What sort of dream do you find yourself in? What do you dream of? Is it success, love, peace? A life that never came to pass? For your troubles never to have occurred? Do you dream of fame or glory? No matter how beautiful or extravagant, no matter how simple or selfish, the things you desire most are yours.

You cannot escape from here. This is the center, as far away from the waking world as you can go. But the dream entreats you, as do the illusory figures within it. ”Stay,” they croon. ”There is nothing for you beyond here. Only nightmares, only terror. You are safe here. You are loved and wanted and happy here. Why would you ever want to leave?”

Time blends together. It often does, in dreaming, but this feels different. How long have you been here? Do you remember what you were doing before? How you got here? Have you ever even been to a town called Pumpkin Hollow? You can hardly remember.

Maybe that was the dream, and this is your reality. Even as the edges of it bleed together with that of your neighbor, even as fleeting memories come back to you, even as a little voice deep within you screams at you to wake up--- you have no reason to doubt the legitimacy of this place. Here you are happy and safe. Here you are everything you ever wanted to be, living the life you always wanted. Here there are no debts, no suffering, and you shall never die.

You belong here. Surely.

Sounds of the Rude World Heard in the Day

With how far you had to sink into unconsciousness to be here, it’s hard to believe one could go any deeper. But the Beyond is a many-layered place, and perhaps by descending a bit further, a bit deeper, a bit closer to death, you can find another place. Maybe you have a connection to death that brought you here. Perhaps you find your way by mistake. Either way, you may find yourself on a more peaceful journey through the Beyond through the Frozen Necropolis.

A seemingly endless maze of stone walls, mismatched in their depth as if they were patchworked together over centuries. Mausoleums, slotted tightly against one another. Covered marble passageways. Stone statues and carved reliefs depicting gargoyles, knights, Virtues, mages with skull motifs--- necromancers, perhaps? Banshees and dullahans, elves and humans and dwarves and orcs and fae folk of all sorts. All of these things line a network of cobblestone pathways lined with powder snow drifts and crunchy brown grass. Names are carved into the arches above mausoleum doors. Some are familiar, some are not. Fairbanks, Gladwyn, Dirthariel, Leeds, Larson, Endrin, Applegate, Brenning. Above you, white pillar candles float magically overhead, burning bright, lighting your way through the dark pink sunset sky.

In the distance, you see the achingly thin spires of the Winter Cathedral. An austere grey monolith with ornate carvings of horses and snowflake-shaped stained glass windows. Perhaps you will find some solace there. Otherwise, make your way to the river. A familiar ferryman awaits you--- though returning to reality this way will have a small consequence.

[ Encountering Mortanne here is possible, though her threads will be heavily restricted. You can do a thread here with someone else, though! It’s fine to be here without encountering her. Returning to the island by ferry will cause your physical body to die in the process, leaving you a ghost for the usual amount of time. You can also return to the nightmare and get out through the edge. ]

Lulled by the Moonlight, Have All Passed Away

Should you find the edge of the nightmare, you will be able to push yourself through the iridescent membrane at the edge of consciousness. You float through the seemingly endless darkness for a moment, then another, then a third, senses dull and drifting drunkenly, until suddenly---

Like breaching the surface of water, you return to the solid, bright sharpness of reality. Actual reality, firm and true. You are where you went to sleep the night before, though some time has passed. It might take you a bit to figure out exactly how much, though…

Those who escape the nightmare will find themselves home sometime between 1/20 and 1/30. Those who stay in the dream oasis will be comatose until the dream ends, and will not wake until 2/8. They will find the return to reality deeply unpleasant. What are you willing to endure to keep dreaming a while more?

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Valdis goes still, any emotions flowing from her to Fever cease, and it seems like she may have even stopped breathing, holding her breath as if in anticipation of something. Just because Fever isn't upset doesn't mean she won't be, doesn't mean what Valdis did was right.

I was afraid you would fight me if you realized I was taking you away, so I drained your lifeforce to prevent that from happening.

She goes quiet for a long moment, contemplating and processing that.

"...Well. You're right in that I would have fought you. With everything I had. I might have brought the mountain down on us both to prevent it."

It's a strange, murky feeling that rolls around in her heart. Ordinarily, she wouldn't have cared, would have trusted Valdis easily, but with what she carries now, she cannot risk going too near death. If she dies, what will become of it? Will her own heart, where it resides so far away, cease beating? One of her hands presses over her ribcage to check - still intact. Still safe.

The words do not match what Fever feels.

The soothing flow she had been sending cuts off as Valdis pulls away, uncurling from where she's wrapped herself protectively around Fever. The emotions within Fever circle around doubt, worry, fear, causing cold claws to dig into Valdis' own heart. She knew Fever would react like this, the only person insane enough to accept it is Max, because he loves and trusts her. It's frustrating to realize the trust she has isn't extended to her. She knows where the line is, always has, and she perfected her control on the Eterna.

To have Fever doubt her now hurts more than anything Fenrir had done.

"...Valdis?"

Why is she moving away? It doesn't make sense to Fever, who sits up on the ground with one hand pressed to her ribs. Under it all she can feel it, as if it was preserved in amber, still beating, still enduring - her mission to protect, still ongoing.

"What's wrong?"

Was she supposed to simply brush that off, in the end?

You're safe now.

There's no trace of the hurt in her voice, nothing that would indicate that anything is wrong. Her tone is even, calm, unbothered.

I need to go help the others.

Instead of just accepting that, she scrambles to her feet, red eyes slightly narrowed.

"If you try and run from me, I will pursue you. I'll figure out how."

And probably get herself terribly lost and in extreme danger in the process, which will undo all of Valdis's hard work in getting her out. A step forward, and then another.

"Talk to me. Please. Something's not right here, and I can't just peer into you and know what it is."

Valdis' lips curl back to show off her teeth, or they would have if she had been inclined to release her emotions, but all Fever sees is complete calm, serenity, acceptance. Nothing about her body language or tone of voice gives anything away.

And it's all fake.

Inside she's hurting, and angry, and stressed. She wants nothing more than to tear her enemies apart with her teeth, vent her frustrations upon their bodies and take her due in blood and flesh. She wants to taste that moment right before the very end...but she knows where the line is and she won't cross it, not even in her pain.

After all, the violence won't make her feel better.

You're safe. She repeats. Follow if you wish, but I am far faster than you.

"You'll have to kill me for real to stop me."

Step by step, coming closer and closer. She's frustrated, visibly so, but she's trying to not shout, not raise her voice, not yield to the urge to cast and force Valdis to not run away from her.

"Tell me what I don't know. Something's eating at you, and I can't figure out what it is."

If something is bothering me, what makes you think you have the right to demand I speak on it?

The tone is still calm, curious even, as if she really does desire an answer. But it's also the tone of someone who doesn't particularly care, of someone who is simply answering in order to appease the frustrations of someone else.

She continues moving away, but not running, as if she doesn't really want to leave Fever behind.

"I have the right that you yourself gave me. If you would call me partner, then I have the right and the obligation to not just smile and nod when something's clearly amiss. If you want me to go away, then you have to tell me that."

Or she'll keep following, keep pursuing, with a dogged insistence. No matter how tired she feels, no matter how drained she's been, she'll keep after it.

Valdis stops in her tracks, a new kind of rage boiling beneath the surface and breaking through her façade. She turns with a snarl, scarlet eyes almost glowing with animalistic anger.

Yes. I do call you that, but you have yet to do me the same courtesy. I feel everything you feel, your care, your affection, your doubt...but it would be nice to actually hear you say it. You want me to be honest with you, but you forget that you hold secrets too. I do not beg you for yours, do not beg me for mine.

The words find their mark, find the soft exposed places in Fever, and she stops in her tracks. Her voice dies in her throat, and something in her eyes retreats, goes dim, her spine minutely straightening by degrees. She looks, in that moment, like nothing so much as her other self, the one who let herself be choked into nothingness by the overbearing presence inside of her. Something hollowed out and empty, retreating even further.

It's the sort of look that says Valdis could lunge forth and sink her teeth into her, and Fever wouldn't raise a hand to defend herself.

Fine. If Valdis wants to be cruel, she can be cruel. It's something of a relief, to have it come from an exterior source instead of interior for once. If only it bit deeper, it might actually offer some peace. Instead, Fever just lets her hands fall limply at her side, and turns away.

Go, then. This way she won't see what direction Valdis goes.

That's not the reaction she wanted, but it should have been what she expected. After everything Fever has been through, as honest as they've tried to be to each other, as vulnerable as she's tried to allow herself to be...

"Fever."

It's a human hand that reaches for Fever's, the armor of the wolf dropped in this moment. It's not needed now, just something she wears when she needs to protect herself.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

She doesn't turn around, and there's something in her bearing that feels like she's waiting for something worse. For someone to start yelling, or for a blow to fall. Hesitation, as her hand slowly curls around the one that's taken hers.

"Didn't you? You don't have to spare my feelings."

She's probably in the wrong here, she knows. It hurts, but she shouldn't say it, if it's her fault. No one wants to hear about that. Here Valdis is, doing the courtesy of collecting her, and Fever's here, fucking up again, driving people to these lengths. Always inevitable, isn't it.

(But gods, she wants it to stop.)

Valdis hesitates, biting her lip.

"I did mean it, but it was wrong of me, you don't deserve my wrath and I shouldn't have treated you like you do. This is...me, and my fears. I let them rule my emotions for a moment too long, and I'm so sorry."

Crichton had told her that her refusal to share how she feels would cause problems, she shouldn't be surprised he was right.

"I felt your concern when I told you what I had done. I was afraid you'd finally realized how dangerous I am, and thought you wouldn't want me anymore."

She squeezes Fever's hand.

"Logic has always served me better than emotion and I'm sorry that my lack of control hurt you. This is my fault, not yours."

"...I wasn't concerned for myself, Valdis."

Her voice is soft, while she turns slowly in the other woman's direction. It's not a full acceptance of the apology, but it's not a rejection. It's holding it, considering it, trying to find some way to turn her mind around so that the words sting less. Even said in wrath, they still had hurt.

"Right now, I can't risk myself dying, for someone else's sake. I don't know what would happen to them if I fall, and I don't want to find out."

Better not to risk it, when he's still down in his depths.

"When have I shied away from your danger? When has it ever been a problem? I know who you are and what you are - you've never kept that from me."

Valdis can still feel Fever's pain, feel how she turns it over and holds it and tries to settle with it. Even the explanation, the communication of what had been hidden doesn't make her feel better. Even if she had lashed out in fear, she had used Fever's fears to do it, and she can't expect anyone to let that go so easily.

"I never would have gone that far."

The rest of Fever's words have her tempted to clam up again, to stop talking and put up the walls. But Fever had already stated very clearly she wouldn't accept any deflection.

"We just left your nightmare, Fever, and before that, I was in mine."

"What was in your nightmare?"

Slowly, she's coming back, peering from behind the metaphorical curtain. Setting the pain to the side, still unsorted, to try to be here now. If there's one thing Fever can do, it's ignore her own tangle in favor of solving other people's problems.

"I...don't really want to talk about it and it doesn't excuse what I did to you."

Valdis doesn't want her own pain to distract from her actions and how it had harmed someone she loves, but she's not refusing to speak on it.

"But it wasn't like yours, because I can't actually dream. Even my nightmares are not like yours."

"Valdis..."

Questions rise up in her, ones she has to take a breath to stifle, to not push unreasonably.

"Whatever was in there, dream or whatever it happened to be...it rattled you, didn't it."

Valdis looks away, not wanting to recall or describe her experience, but Fever deserves something. They have always tried to be honest with each other and it's not like Fever would ever look on her pity, only care.

"I don't regret my past, Fever, but having to watch and feel the promise of what I was be destroyed all over again, then see and feel the pain of the choices I made in the aftermath...my father, the wars, the countless lives I took and ruined. It was painful and I couldn't escape, no matter how hard I tried, and even now...I have worked so hard to separate myself from both Meira and the Queen of Hounds, I am neither of them, but if that is true, then I don't know anything about myself. I've been living lies so long that now that I've been invited to live a truth...I simply don't know how."

She's completely lost her sense of self, and though she still doesn't regret her past, it just adds salt to the wound.

"I don't know who it is that Max, Miles and you care about, and quite frankly I'm uncertain how anyone could love a person who doesn't regret the atrocities they committed by writing it off as 'another life,' no matter how true that may be."

Fever regrets her past choices, has never tried to separate herself from them, and she is healing, or at least is trying to.

Turning fully to her, Fever raises her other hand to lay it on her cheek, trying to encourage the other woman to look back at her.

"I do not think less of you because of the choice you made. It is a choice that was before me as well, and I chose differently. But that doesn't mean I don't understand why you decided to shed the past."

Her thumb brushes over Valdis's cheek, trying to impart her sincerity through her words, her expression, instead of through their connection. Let her know it exists regardless of the tie.

"No one is asking you to know who you are right now. No one expects you to suddenly understand. Why do you think I live by improvising, by adjusting to what comes my way instead of planning for it?" Because what makes up herself is a collection of disparate parts, things that cannot be strung into a person, and yet every day she wakes up and tries, tries. "You say you don't know how to live a truth. I say, you do it by waking up each day. By persisting, since you have no choice but to do so. We carry on, and hope an answer unveils itself."

From the little she knows, it doesn't seem like anyone has a clear idea of what to do, or who they are, not without some hard work that can take a lifetime.

"And I will share something with you I've found to be true. You do not have to know yourself to be cared about. You don't even have to like yourself. You just have to exist, and the rest follows."

As reassuring as Fever's touch is, and as much as her words resonate, Valdis still feels lost. She's been trying for months to find herself in others, but it's not working, her frustration keeps rising, and that uncertainty is what led her to hurt Fever without thinking. She doesn't want to go back to how things used to be, when she was aloof and uncaring, living those lies without a care, but she's not sure how to go forward either.

She's never not had an identity, but she knows none of her friends care about someone who doesn't exist, therefore she must have one somewhere. She simply never thought it would be so hard to find. She covers Fever's hand with her own.

"Age should have given me far more clarity than it has."

Though considering how long she's been living as someone else, perhaps it isn't so strange she knows nothing about herself.

"Fever, I'm immune to the dreams, no matter how conflicted I am or the pain I'm in, I need to see if I can help the others."

Throwing herself into something else is the only peace she has been able to find, averting her focus away from herself.

"I won't ask you to let this conversation go completely, but will you let it go for now?"

"...Okay."

That's enough for her. That'll be enough for now, if they can admit there's more there.

"Be safe, when you're out there. I'll try and do the same."

She cannot tell her to stay when Fever knows if she had the same power, she'd be doing exactly that. She'll have to let Valdis go, and trust in her once again.

Valdis draws Fever's hand to her lips and kisses it softly before gently lowering it, but she doesn't let go, not yet.

"I'll see you back in Pumpkin Hollow, I promise."

She releases Fever's hand and within a breath the Hound is standing there again. She brushes Fever's shoulder softly with her nose and then turns away, praying that Fever will be safe.

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January Event - Lost in Dreamland

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CW: Dismemberment and violence

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