before great demise had flooded his own dreamscape ever since he woke up within the hive confines, others were the dreams he’d make ━dreams that were actually memories, and they just seemed oh so real he could grasp at them the same way he could grasp his own shirt with his calloused fingers. those were dreams leaving him with headaches and dejà-vus and long winded arguments to discuss with that only person that wasn’t there anymore, and who had been a constant to his life.
he had talked her about the beat mesa, about the scent of metal burning and fire crackling meant to invade his nostrils alongside the blooming sound of time against his ears and through his veins, about the many deaths he lived and that still showed, even after the scratch, within his palewhite figure. he had dreamed of black wings and black sword, and of a man to loathe and adore with a bleeding chest and a sword stuck in it in a morbid rendition of excalibur, a man whose eyes, for once, didn’t seem to shine like the colors of the rainbow, a man whose grip on the sword he knew as unbreakable looked shaky to his trained eye, his dancelike fight out of tune.
“ he’s scared. ” he’d utter, in silence, a simple spectator of what was to unfold, what he had seen countless times ━unable to react, just to watch. “ he’s in control after all this time... after being trapped in his own head and forced to do someone else’s bidding for so long. he doesn’t know what to do. ”
bro was afraid to die.
@cawfully