[color=#1A1A3B][b][u][h1][sub][sub][sub]Farren[/sub][/sub][/sub][/h1][/u][/b][/color]		    felt his blood tremble—familiar, if not the least bit comforting, but almost immediately that familiarity turned not just sour, but [i]rancid[/i]. The trembling in his blood seemed to rapidly intensify into a thrumming vibration stronger than anything he’d experienced prior. Yet, nothing was changed as he peered around, a flash of worry and paranoia crossing his typically stoic features.

Then something shifted, the peace he’d hope would remain for more than moments fading in seconds as shadows lengthened, light dimmed, and the world became cast in veiled, desaturated hues as if everything in sight had been clouded. It reminded him of something and Farren’s head tilted…then he cringed as the memory of overhearing miners speak of their trade washed over him along with the smell of alcohol, ethers, and…something else…metallic? Surely not blood, it was a bit different somehow, but not dissimilar exactly.

Farren shook his head, the visions and sensations retreating into the back of his mind, leaving him only with an impression of the words from those men some time [i]before[/i].

[i]Like coal haze cast throughout, absorbing light, warping hues, muddying everything. Choking joy.[/i]

Farren shuddered and though he’d held no joy in his heart before—or upon—their return to the Dream, any semblance of calm was indeed smothered, strangled, and replaced by the cloying grasp of tight, heart-vicing fear.

Like a tickling sense of vulnerability—without any laughter, instead tinged with dread—paranoia grazed against the edges of his awareness. Not quite enough to notice while he was in it, but enough that Ophelia would have seen him [i]shrink[/i] on himself, slouching slightly. His face screwed up in a look much like a grimace, one eyelid twitching occasionally and though he almost appeared angry, she’d see the telltale jitteriness of paranoia and the deeper well of dread that colored his gaze. That was if she hadn’t fled.

Farren’s azure eyes dulled faintly, the glow they’d maintained dimming as if affected by the veil that [i]something[/i] had cast upon the Dream. Farren drew his Pistol and the Effigial Blade, scanning his surroundings again as that haunting melody itched at his skin and pried at his senses.

[color=#1A1A3B][b]“I…[i]do not[/i] like this,”[/b][/color] Farren’s voice, the traitorous thing, actually [i]trembled.[/i] Though there was no one to hear it, and it would likely alert whatever now haunted their ruined sanctuary to his presence, he said it anyways. Maybe if whatever it was revealed itself he could kill it.

After all, this all felt…too familiar. Like a nightmare he’d thought he had escaped.