[center][img]http://txt-dynamic.static.1001fonts.net/txt/dHRmLjcyLjBhNzU0ZC5SR0ZwYlhsdmJpQk1iMjVrWlEsLC4wAAAA/dr-sugiyama.regular.png[/img][/center]
[center][color=SeaGreen][i]Though you're the knife held to my throat
I'm still drawn to your flame like a moth
While I sleep you shake my cage and go:
“Sing, bird, sing!”

And so I sing!

Of torturous inspiration,
Beauty carved by damnation
O killer muse, blessed you be!
Angel from my nightmare, never leave me![/i][/color][/center]
[center]—Daimyon Londe, [i]‘Angel from my Nightmare’[/i][/center]

In his dream, Daimyon was free falling. How did he get here? Did he try to fly again? What prevented him? He wanted out of this, out of the bottomless depth he was falling into, but there was nothing to grasp onto, only a silk-smooth cliffside facing him.

Oh wait!

Suddenly, he spotted a long ledge. He reached out for it and grabbed the stone with as much strength as he could muster. He was surprisingly light and felt no pain at all. As he raised his head up, he saw the reason for his salvation: the white swallow, standing on the ledge and looking out into infinity with majesty. Daimyon smiled.

[color=SeaGreen]“Show the way, my friend.”[/color]
He pulled himself up and the swallow flew up the cliff. What he previously saw as a smooth surface was now littered with ridges and cracks. So he began climbing, tracking his movements higher and higher on the endless mountain. In his eyes, the swallow; in his heart, determination.

[hr]
The first few moments after waking up were joyous, they always were. A new day was beginning, filled with inspiration to harness. A few minutes later however, the poet was sitting on the edge of his bed, head hanging down. He was clutching his notebook, trying to write something to help him through the massive wave of sadness that came over him, but his mind was silent. The last entry on the papers was his ‘chronicling’ of yesterday's tragic events, though he did not remember when he wrote it down. In fact, from that moment, everything was but a shaky, horrible blur. He had a sinking feeling in his gut—there must have been some importance of it. He did recall some bits and pieces about Monokuma's big announcements and that there was lots of movement as well: some people leaving the hospital, others just arriving... How could have he even fallen asleep in such circumstances?

It must have been the sheer shock and mental exhaustion, he told himself, but the explanation only made him more frightened. He was not known to be emotionally frail at all, quite the opposite! His ability to bounce back from rough patches and let go of fears and worries was one of the defining traits that made him into who he was.

Though he had never witnessed a murder before, either.

He stood up.
Shona died trying to free them from the manic bear's tyranny. Though escaping has been the goal from the moment he had first woken up in the elevator, it only became more resolute in his mind now. He had faith in his fellows: faith that the first tragedy would not lead to more, but instead bring them closer together and unite them in this goal. What one knight could not do, a dozen Infinites might just be able to.

It was with this faith that he went through something resembling the morning routine and stepped out of his room. When picking up the e-handbook to open the door, he first swiped through the tabs aimlessly and noticed—as he thought before—new names and new faces in the list of ‘patients’. He hoped he would get to meet all of them today. One last glance at his notebook also reminded him that he had promised Mary to help her write a love poem for Caora.

All in all, there were things to do...thankfully.

[hr]
The hallway was largely empty when he walked it, though he was unsure if it was because he was early or because he was late. He headed for the break room where he would no doubt find at least a few of his peers to talk to, perhaps cheer up. He was almost to the large open area when he suddenly spotted something...out of place. Very out of place.

The elevator just next to, in a fit of dark irony, the late Shona's room was open...and not only open, but occupied! There was a woman inside—dark skin, dark hair, wearing a white dress. She was slouched against the wall and she looked dead ahead with teal eyes, almost soullessly. From a first glance, it was not obvious whether she was even conscious.

Daimyon froze for a moment. In the next one, he thought of the worst and in the next one, he hurried to the woman's aid.

[color=SeaGreen]“Oh no...”[/color] he muttered as he crouched down next to her. [color=SeaGreen]“Hello? Are you...all right?”[/color]
He asked, almost fearful of—or the absence of—the answer.

[center][@MyCatGinger][/center]