he had a mortal life, in it he was often manipulated by doing horrible things but he always suffered for his actions, in addition he died of starvation, it ended really badly but for this reason his punishment was not heavy, he is the guardian of the skies, one of the few angels with greater attack powers than the healing powers.
I'm not sure whether to put the cream, even if I don't think it would appear in the story, but it would make sense since practically Cross is the knight of Dream, so they know each other and are often together
not that he actually serves a protector of the skies, very few demons are actually fighting angels and there are those who do not have a soul
i want to bake something deeply indulgent and rich and beautiful . i think i am going to make a nigella lawson sticky date pudding.i think im also gonna make some chilli peanut brittle for my coworker whose last day is this week
He had no idea what to do. Laying in front of him was dust and a diadem. The diadem was nestled comfortably, or it would be comfortable if the sight of the dust didn’t make him want to throw up. He clutched his pendant, the one his parents gave him, as he watched a hand reach and carefully grab the diadem, balancing it on its fingertips. Crescent finally looked up at the owner of the hand. Dream. Dream had killed his father and was now holding the diadem, the crescent moon emblazoned on it glimmering in the light. Cross was holding off Killer, his dad screaming for Crescent to run. But his legs didn’t move. They refused to as his breathing picked up, Dream’s footsteps almost silent as he approached.
Crescent tried to stop the goop that was now blinding his left eye from how much was spilling out. He was powered by negativity, but, much like his dad, too much of his own made his goop harder to get rid of.
“Oh, you’ve gotten so strong, my nephew... too bad you were raised by the wrong people.”
Then, he screamed.
“But, don’t worry,” the metal against his skull was cool, almost soothing if it weren’t for who it belonged to. “We will finish raising you. We will let you see how the world should be.”
He stirred from his nightmare at the banging of a fist against his door. It was both a curse and a relief as he heard Cross’ rough voice.
“Up. Dream’s made breakfast.”
He carefully sat up, coughing a couple times. Oh, how the positivity hurt him. At least he knew who his parents were. The gentle scrape of the heavy diadem against his wood nightstand reminded him of the last words his parents told him.
“Know that I love you, so much...”
“Know that I love you, so much...”
The diadem felt cold and heavy against his skull. It always did. Everything always felt heavy, especially at the source of pure positivity he was approaching. The only thing he felt anchoring him to reality was his plated boots, which he pretty much always wore. They were hard to get off and held his ankles and feet together since Dream had Cross break them after they caught Crescent trying to run away for the first time. They had never healed his feet and it kept him from learning to fight properly. By now, he was numb to the pain, but pulling his feet up too fast made the pain come back. That’s why Dream had made sure they were heavy.
Crescent couldn’t run. Not on his own. His feet hurt. They hurt a lot. Dream’s scowl didn’t help as he worked on pulling plated boots on his feet. It made the pain worse, them hanging from where he was sitting. Cross was holding him to keep him from trying to get away. He didn’t see the point. He could barely breathe from trying not to cry.
Because he couldn’t move his feet quickly, without hurting them, he walked slowly. It was almost reassuring, the way he’d learned to walk, reassuring to Dream that Crescent was still with him and wouldn’t be running anytime soon.
Pausing when Crescent came across the large door to the dining room, he set his hand against it gently. Then, he knocked. He’d long since learned the rules. He could only come into a room where Cross and Dream were if the door were opened for him. He learned to avoid the areas a lot. He counted the seconds until the door was open. It was almost a minute, accompanied by hushed whispers of yells and footsteps running around. Finally, the door opened with a powerful and low creak. Cross was holding the door open. Dream was setting out plates on the awkwardly long table for how little people would be eating.
Crescent quietly stepped inside the dining room. Cross closed the door and moved to stand next to Dream’s chair. He always found it funny that Cross never seemed to eat with them, and yet Dream had more respect for him than Crescent. He moved to carefully pull out his normal seat, to the right of Dream’s and sat down slowly. He kept his eyes focused on his empty plate and his hands folded in his lap as Dream spoke.
Everything Dream said felt muted. Everything his own mouth said felt muted, honestly. Muted and rehearsed, just as everything else was, against Dream’s aura.
“Morning, Crescent! How are we feeling today?”
“I’m perfectly fine this morning, Uncle Dream.”
“Well, that’s amazing to hear! Do you remember what day it is today?”
That was a new one. He never kept track of time well. Not since he was usually huddled in the library, even when he should’ve been sleeping.
“Uhhh... no?”
“It’s your birthday, silly!”
Suddenly, everything felt less drowned out. Less muted. Dream was muting his own aura to help Crescent because it was his special day. But it was only one day. It would be the one Dream brought up the most for the next month as manipulation. But at least Dream was nicer to him. Tentatively looking up, he saw a fake smile plastered on Dream’s face. God, how he wished he could punch the teeth out of that smile and make Dream hide it forever. His father had fallen for that smile and it made him hate it.
“Brother? Have you... have you finally seen it? Do you finally see me, us, as family?”
“Oh, Nightmare. Of course I do! You’re my twin! You took care of me for years! Of course you, and your small family, are my family too.”
Crescent could see past the fake smile. His dad seemed able to too but didn’t say anything. He knew Nightmare would at least attempt to defend himself. But they realized they should’ve pulled him back. They should’ve pulled him back as soon as Nightmare went to approach Dream. But before either of them could do anything, Nightmare had hugged Dream tightly. Stress had made him shorter than Dream. Shorter and much less viable to see the knife Dream raised from behind his back, only for the blade to plummet into Nightmare’s skull. He fell limp against Dream and nothing could be done as he started to dust, Dream whispering fake apologies to him.
Crescent could only slowly nod and look back at his plate. Within seconds, breakfast was being served. He only got a small amount, compared to what Dream usually got and despite it being his birthday. He always got a small amount and he felt like it was too small to remain healthy. Once Dream permitted him, he started to eat. He ate carefully and often hid his mouth to avoid getting in trouble for “spilling” the food Dream “so carefully made for him.”
“Now. Let’s eat breakfast, then we can have some cake while you open your present.”
The breakfast was awkward and quiet. Crescent finished much before Dream. This left silence as he sat and waited for Dream to finish his daily morning splurge. As soon as Dream was done, the dishes started being picked up and taken to the kitchen. He kept his head down. Dream was heard grabbing something, based on the sound of paper. He heard the sound of a platter being set down. After a minute of a knife cutting something, a chair could be heard scraping across the floor quietly. Cross was now sitting to the left of Dream for a slice of cake. Crescent’s plate was set down last and he carefully picked up his fork to eat the cake.
Glancing up, Crescent saw a perfectly wrapped present sitting in front of his plate. He looked at Dream, who motioned to open it. Careful with the wrapping, he quietly tore into it. He was surprised at what it was. His dad’s jacket... still covered in the blood and dust from when he’d been murdered. Before he could stop himself, he was standing, sending the chair behind him back and knocking it over as he shoved his arms through the sleeves. He could wash it later. Before he turned to leave the room, he spit in Dream’s food, and it seemed to make Dream more offended.
His feet now hurt like hell as he tried to rush out of the dining room. But he wasn’t fast enough. Just before he could get to the door, Cross grabbed him, roughly manhandling him to turn him, to make him face Dream, who seemed absolutely pissed.
“I thought you would appreciate the gift. I thought it would give you some semblance of happiness. But instead, you insult me and how much I’ve cared for you. I don’t suggest you try this again.”
When he started to come to, his head was pounding. Everything was heavier than usual and his bones felt like they were on fire. He couldn’t feel anything past it. He couldn’t even feel the source, but he could tell it wasn’t a physical one. His jaw was numb at that point over what he felt. Eventually, his eyes forced open, though he couldn’t tell if it was his own doing or the doing of whoever else was in the room.
Before he could even try to stop it, Dream delivered a punch to Crescent’s jaw. He heard a crack and felt a horrible burst of pain before everything went numb and black.
~
It seemed to be the other one in the room, seeing as only one was open, wider than he would've been capable of.
"I know you're awake."
He didn't respond. He didn't want to.
"Speak or your punishment will be worse than before."
He remained silent. He didn't want to speak. He didn't care what the punishment was. He was determined not to slip up again. He could handle what would happen. After a moment, his eye socket was allowed to fall slack again and the overbearing pain took over again. Dream must've had his aura at the max.
He didn't think it would actually happen. Not until a knife came slamming down and more pain burst from his hand. Crescent almost yelled. He almost whimpered in pain. But he felt unable to do either. Whether it was the positivity or the achiness, he had no idea. But either way, it hurt.
"Fine then," there was the sound of a knife being unsheathed. "For every minute you don't speak, I'll remove a piece of finger."
He knew it would've continued, but he had no idea why it didn't. The positivity was dulling and he was feeling more capable of moving, just a little bit. He didn't know what was happening, but it didn't matter to him. Not as he started to drift off again, feeling someone pick him up.
~
Yup. All the stuff I wrote was a prologue. I'll start working on proper chapters soon. Enjoy. Crescent was created by @help-im-a-gay-fish and adopted by @yuriyuruandyuraart
