With how frequent these dreams are, he slowly thinks that the doctor is him.
Or rather, he wants to become the person loved by the girl in his dreams.
He records them, hoping to find their traces in the barren city.
And if it's possible, he wants his warm dreams to consume him.
❆ Dawnbreaker Zayne Askblog | Dream Journal
❆ For adults only. Mun is 21+.
❆ Please read the information below before interacting.
❆ Personality
Dawnbreaker's personality will mostly be based on his anecdote where he is depressed, jaded, and consumed by an overwhelming yearning for the girl in his dreams.
❆ Posts
Due to formatting, all posts are best viewed and interacted with on the dashboard (with the default dark grey background) on a computer browser.
❆ Interactions
Dawnbreaker's warmth is only reserved for MC. All asks will be assumed from MC unless specified otherwise.
All other characters will be met with cold indifference.
You can interact with him through asks, comments, tags, etc.
Longer prose roleplay will most likely not occur unless a clear plot is established beforehand through DMs.
❆ Response time
If your ask has not been answered after a few days, feel free to send in a different ask. Please don't take this personally. Feel free to send as many asks as you like.
Some asks may not be answered due to lack of inspiration, as I try to make every answer a piece of writing that's worth reading.
Because of this, responses are highly dependent on how active my muse is. Some asks may be answered immediately, some may take a few days or even weeks.
Dawnbreaker tends to sleep as long as he can in hopes to meet you again.
Interaction guidelines may be subject to change as this blog progresses. Please check back from time to time.
I hope you have a good holidays. Warm and safe. If nothing else, I hope your dreams with me are peaceful and comforting— something that lingers like an aftertaste
Your Hunter,
Hestia
Zayne presses his palm to his chest, his heart pounding against it. It's the only thing that reminds him that he's still alive — in his own body, in his own world. He grips at his shirt as he clenches his teeth, tears of frustration trailing down his cheeks.
He thought he heard your voice just before the dream ended. He thought you saw him through the doctor's eyes once again — those rare, fleeting moments where he felt like his cold, fractured soul was being cradled in your warm hands.
He wants to hear your voice again, hear you speak to him softly with love, with understanding, with acceptance. He wants to go home.
He wants so badly to fall into your arms and keep you close to him, until your warmth seeps into the ice in his chest.
Until his numb, frozen soul finds the safety and rest it longs for in you.
For now, he's forced to face his reality. He's not there in the light with you. He's here alone, in his dark room, in his dilapidated apartment, in this bleak world of death and pain. Without you.
Only the jasmine in the small pot by his bed reminds him that somewhere, in another universe, you might be happy, surrounded by warmth and friends and the one who makes you feel loved.
He takes in a slow, quivering inhale, tears falling from his cheeks, your name just a whisper, a prayer, a plea on his tongue.
I saw you again. I felt you, your hand in mine.
You're always so gentle when you take my hand... his hand. My heart always freezes when you wrap your fingers around mine. It hurts, like splinters of ice piercing through my heart. But I don't want to let go.
Never. Let go.
As the polar night reached its end, you were excited to greet the first light of dawn. But then, your smile dropped. Were you not happy to see the sunrise?
I wanted to ask what upset you, but the dream slipped away from me, the warm sunlight fading from my eyes until all I saw was the icy darkness of my barren room.
I know the doctor was able to make you smile again. But just once, I'd like to try and make you smile... just for me.
Zayne? Why are you trembling? Do you need some sugar?
He squeezes your hand in a poor attempt to steady the tremors, but the fear of hurting you only forces him to let go. He closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm, pressing a hesitant, reverent whisper of a kiss into it.
"Nothing. It's... Nothing," he says, his tone subdued as he tries to remember how the doctor forms words with precision and ease. After all this time, he still sounds as though he's speaking from a dream.
You looked at me with those eyes again, those eyes that make my heart feel as though it's being cornered, choked, and ripped apart by frenzied claws inside my chest.
You always look at me with so much hope, so much love and adoration.
I still feel the warmth of your hand on my cheek, the softness of your lips pressed against mine... Sometimes I wish these dreams would fade away so that I wouldn't know what your love, your acceptance, feels like. Sometimes I wonder if it would be less painful to live in ignorance of what is absent in my life.
I wonder if you knew, then, that I wasn't him.
Did I kiss you the way he does? Did I kiss you the way that you like? Did I hold your hand in the way that makes you feel safe? Or did I scare you?
My love... Forgive me. I wish I could have held on more tightly. I wish my hand didn't tremble when I touched you. Maybe then, the dream wouldn't have ended so soon.
You may not be mine
but I will always be yours,
Zayne
