DONâT CARE WHAT YOU WANT. donât care what you want, what you think is real. reality is an illusion, a truth of a sick and twisted pleasure that writhes with all the rest of him in his own manner of illusion. he smiles, It smiles, IT BEARS ITS TEETH WITH GLEE, and falls tender like a second seduction as he flatters the barren skin with the chillâŠand something else. something older. something true to Itâs own nature, the divested sense that plagues Its lingering essence. with face and form he whispers to it, coddles it within; no my jorj, my little snack. my potential. a temptation to temptation Itself, craning Its neck and exhaling a presence with closed lips and a breathlessness. filthy. rotten. CANCEROUS.
It shakes, It shudders, It caresses him in the dark.
â scared? â It asks, though It already knows the answer, and Its voice echoes, repeats itself repeats itself and blurs the smugglerâs vision of reality, in and out and in again with a sickly feeling of senescence crawling up his spine. a tilt of Its head, an unnatural series of movement.Â
âdavid,â for that was once his name, oozes into the dark. bleeds dark upon dark upon ancient dark, the cackle that echoes in the splits of his teeth, bitten and chewed to shreds on such precarious pinpoints! A FOUL BREATH ( or a fowl breath, perhaps? ), a deception with a penchant for disregard; even in Its subtler habitsâan artistry, truth be toldâthere is something brazen, brash and BOLD. a walking rash, wanton and erratic in Its sickness and Its spread.
â donât be scared, jorj. â he purrs, becomes a proper realization, Its eyes virulent ( TOO ALIVE FOR BEING SO SICKLY IN NATURE! ) he wears a series of robes that wither and dither into the bottom shadows, still coiling at his feet. a billowing sense, and still to fill the room, to ghost over jorjâs feet and skin and send the feeling crawling up and down again. he reaches out to grab, a touch too gentle ( just for now, only for now ) and cups the smugglerâs face with a hand that warms to the touchâŠeven still, that touch becomes an extension of himself within Itself, and snarls rather quietly around the base of his throatânot a squeeze, but a presence. be aware of the snake that sits there, jorj. be aware of how you thrash and throttleâand kisses the crown of his head. becomes the covering of his skull, and the frenzied outcrop of his hair. every strand, every sensation, every deceit that comes to welcome him, AND SERENADE THE DARKNESS IN HIS HEART.
HE WASNâT SURE WHAT THIS was -- it looked like a man, but it didnât move like a man, or sound like a man. It didnât feel like a man. But he couldnât be sure that he wasnât still asleep -- he couldnât be sure, even though the churning nausea in his gut suggested that he was wide awake, the thundering in his heart banished all ideas of rest, the whirling in his thoughts, their constant spinning, & the dizziness, it all meant that somehow ... this wasnât a dream.Â
   Heâd had more than his fair share of nightmares becoming reality, but they had always started in a more believable way. This seemed like something straight out of a horror holo.
   The man asked if he was scared, the man offered his name, though it seemed more like a joke than an actual introduction, & the man told him -- no, cajoled him, said to not be scared. It -- he was awfully close. Too close for Jorj to feel anything but a hyperawareness of the tiny movements of air on bare skin, to focus with intensity upon every touch, every breath. His body was in full alert, but he was also too frightened to move.Â
   Suddenly, the shadow of a man became a real one. There was no longer any uncertainty, no longer any wavering vision or heady confusion. But even as that realization snapped into focus, the man, David, put a hand on his face & directed Jorjâs eyes to meet his; Jorj looked into those eyes & saw ... nothing. There was just a deep, endless abyss lurking there, a void. Nothing nothing nothing in those nightmare eyes. But even so, they had a quality --- Jorj could only describe as beautiful. Something beautiful & empty & ravenous. He felt spellbound, for a second, fear melting away & replaced by fascination.Â
   He felt the manâs hand fall to the base of his throat, & the fascination melted away as the fear kicked in again. And when the man leaned forward & pressed an unsolicited kiss to his head, some mockery of intimacy, it felt like a violation. Jorj was alert. He was ready.Â
   He hadnât known how to fight a nightmare, but a man? He could fight a man.
   With no warning, he burst into action, pushing the man violently away. He rammed both hands violently against the strangerâs chest & ------ he looked down in horror, a sudden pain nearly blinding him as he saw all flesh melt off his hands, as he felt it all dissolve, as it ------ then a blink, & he was fine.Â
   A strangled cry, a stifled curse - both flew from his mouth as he scrambled backwards. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the sleeper & his legs buckled, but he kept moving back, away, as far as he could get. He ended standing on the other side of his bed, having had the presence of mind to reach out & grab with a flickering motion the holdout blaster & the vibrodagger he kept stashed in his bedside table.
   He trained the blaster on the intruder, & the vibrodagger in a guard position.
   âWhat in the nine hells are you?âÂ
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