SilverPaw

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

This is usually the thing which ends up last on my backlog, mb. Also, no decent ideas (yet) of reacting to an overly excited princess XD

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

Wulfric & Charlotte

4 pm

---

---

The Oasis Tea Café was a charming locale, located on the southern end of Priscilla Street. It had a nice view of the sea, but was still far enough from the hubbub of activity at the ports. It was a fairly popular, well-visited location. While not so prohibitively expensive that only nobles would visit it, it was still a high-class locale. Besides members of the peerage, merchants, businessmen, traders, tourists, and other relatively well-off patrons favored it.

It was seaside themed, and only very loosely reminiscent of an oasis. The façade was beige, and there was both local and imported foliage grown inside and outside of the building. The furniture and décor were tasteful yet with a feel of casual relaxation about it.

Wulfric was found on the upper level, on the terrace. He sat in a section which had been cleared of everyone else. He’d stationed a few guards on the imaginary borders. They were there to ensure that no curious onlookers from the other parts of the terrace strayed into his space. He could afford the privacy. Of course, he’d notified his guards and the host of the café that if Lady Charlotte sought him out, she should be permitted into his presence.

He sat on a couch by a long table adjacent to the railing, overlooking the street below. The table he had chosen could sit four comfortably, six for those who enjoyed crowding. There was one drink on his table. It was a so-called iced tea; a specialty of this café, with an assortment of tastes available.

Here and there, he sipped at the glass through the black straw provided. In one hand, he held a book that he leafed through casually. Occasionally, he set it on the knee he had crossed over the other. Seemingly in thought, he would then gaze over the railing, observing the environments and the populace below. Despite being at ease, he radiated elegance as if it were in his very nature. His attire was also more relaxed than usual, consisting merely of white trousers and a light, blue shirt. He did not know if Lady Charlotte would be able to arrive or not. Thus, he was taking the opportunity to read, think, and not do much else of import.

After a few minutes, the brief sound of a metal chair screeching against the floor for a moment disturbed Wulfric’s peace. Charlotte promptly withdrew her foot from the chair's leg, hoping to obscure the fact that her heart had momentarily skipped a beat at her error. As their eyes met, she offered a gracious smile to the heir. Her hair was neatly arranged in a bun, with softly undulating locks that framed her countenance. She wore a yellow dress with a diaphanous shawl. A heart-locket necklace adorned her neck.

“Your Highness.” She gave him a respectful curtsy with poise. Internally, she was cursing herself for the clumsy entrance. Despite her vexation, Charlotte remained as outwardly composed as she could.

Truthfully, Charlotte was rather nervous. It had been easy to forget herself as she had weaved between the tables. Her attention had easily slipped away from where she was stepping. It hadn’t been the guards that had eyed her down as she had approached, it had been the sight of Prince Wulfric on a couch amongst a sea of empty tables.

The air was still and the faint sound of the waves crashing had been filling the air. As her eyes had laid on him, she had found herself admiring him. When she had found herself face to face with the heir in the past, he had normally been intimidating. Seeing Wulfric relaxed, casually reading a book was a different experience, however. He had always been admired by many for his looks, but in this vulnerable state, his beauty was even more apparent. The prince was actually rather ethereal looking with his ashen hair and youthful face. His lashes cast shadows on his cheeks, and his downcast eyes gave him a pensive expression that seemed to add to his allure.

It’s just the two of us here.

She supposed she should have assumed he wouldn’t have wanted other people interrupting, but it hadn’t quite dawned on her what she would be walking into.

Charlotte could not remember the last time she had spoken to Wulfric so intimately. In fact, she hadn’t really spent much time with anyone the last year before the ball. She approached closer with folded hands but did not immediately seat herself. She couldn't afford to let her nerves get the best of her after everything Lorenzo and her had been through.

Wulfric had become aware of the company as soon as she’d passed his guards, but had elected to let her arrive without staring her down. That was, until an abrupt metallic screech resounded. He raised his head then, and met her gaze, eyebrow quirking up questioningly. The clattering noise reminded him of the incident with that heterochromatic peasant, who had stumbled over a chair when nerves had gotten a hold of her and she’d fled Callum’s presence.

Granted, this was far less offensive, though still somewhat surprising. He hadn’t taken Charlotte Vikena for being clumsy. He supposed she had grown distracted watching him - he had noticed that - which was an effect he had on many.

But she had remained acceptably collected throughout the embarrassing ordeal.

And, at the very least, there were no onions involved.

Nor did he expect there’d be any nonsense of the kind her father was a veritable harbinger of.

When she greeted him calmly, he gave an approving smile. “Welcome, Lady Vikena.” He worked in some warmth into his otherwise neutral tone.

He closed the book he had been reading, and deposited it to the side of the table. Charlotte would see from its title that although he’d been perusing it so leisurely, it was in fact a volume on economics. Elegantly, he uncrossed his legs, and with remarkable fluidity stood up to return her curtsy with a proper bow. “Please, do take a seat.” He gestured to the seating opposite, which was also a couch. Thus, there was no need for him to pull out a chair for her, but he did wait for the lady to settle in. Only then did he retake his seat as well. This time, his position and posture were more proper. Yet, the usual oppressive formality was absent.

“I am glad you had the opportunity to accept my invitation on such a short notice,” he commented, smiling charmingly.

“I’m very grateful for the invitation.” Charlotte replied with a smile in return, then seated herself on the couch. She sat up straight, holding her chin high and her shoulders back, just as her mother had instilled in her.

“How have you been faring?” He started their line of conversation with a polite inquiry.

Charlotte stifled a dry laugh that had risen in her throat. He certainly did not want to know about the day she had. It was best she redirected the target of conversation as to prevent the need to lie incessantly. “I’m doing well, thank you. And how about yourself? …What was your day like? ” Charlotte replied, her voice calm and composed. Her gaze set on him with genuine curiosity. It was hard to imagine a man like him having any flaws within his life, but she did suppose he had to deal with having King Edin for a father. With that in mind, she wondered if his life was truly the painting of sophistication he seemed to present to the rest of them.

There was no change to Wulfric’s expression but it absolutely did not escape his notice that Charlotte had avoided answering. Or rather, her reply had been the courteous non-answer of those who did not wish to speak about their day. He could only assume she’d dealt with something unpleasant. The exhaustion from the events at the ball? Perhaps the attack on Damien - her neighbor - had affected her? Though, that was the kind of thing people were usually ever so fond of retelling.

“Quite well,” he responded. “I attended some events, such as the archery and dueling competitions. The court as well, of course. I also managed to catch the tail end of the race,” he summarized. “Did you attend any?” he asked, curious about her activities now.

Charlotte's eyes sparkled with interest as she allowed herself to lower her guard slightly. “I wish I would have had the time to attend those competitions… Did you participate in either of them? Regrettably, in my youth, I was never permitted to touch weapons…” Her words trailed off for a moment then she thoughtfully added with a smile, “However, I suppose there is nothing to stop me now. Sword-fighting seems to be quite… Invigorating!" She concluded wistfully. "...Anyway, to answer your question, I did sample the pancakes at the park this morning. For the remainder of the day, I was occupied with entertaining guests at my home."

“I did participate in the swordsmanship tournament. It is, in fact, invigorating,” he confessed, leaning in a tad closer. Briefly, a tiny grin flashed across his face. Inevitably, as it usually did when it came to dueling and the like, a sharp glint appeared in his gaze. This time, there was a greater degree of vicious excitement to it, as the memory of his match against Mathias was still fresh in his mind. “If you are interested in learning…” he tilted his head at her, “I could introduce you to some people.” His first thought was Zarai. Based on Charlotte’s words, he’d surmised her mother (and possibly also her biological father) had been against her learning the blade, which was a situation rather similar to Zarai’s.

“That would be amazing!” Charlotte beamed.

At the mention of the park, Wulfric nodded. Rather than sighing, he picked up his drink and took a sip from it. She and Lorenzo must have attended together, and her father had mentioned violence. He’d not pursued the matter with the duke, but supposed he could with her. “Ah, the park,” he stated once he deposited the glass back onto the table. His countenance had smoothed out; his demeanour neutral to serious. “I heard there was some altercation there involving your father?” he questioned. “If you are willing, I should like to know what happened.” He affected a mildly concerned frown, because the details of that situation were something he’d prefer to know.

Charlotte's smile faded slightly as he fixated on the topic of the park dilemma. "I believe there was a misunderstanding, but I had missed the initial part of the argument." She began, her tone growing more serious. "I had rejoined my stepfather when I heard shouting. At that moment, a person began to verbally insult both of us… He even attempted to push Duke Lorenzo, which led to the nearby waffle table to topple over. The situation devolved into chaos from there… Ultimately, we decided to leave the park.”

“An unfortunate beginning to your day,” Wulfric noted regretfully. “And the kind of situation which would have benefitted from the presence of a guard, I imagine.” One situation in a long line of many. His gaze was drawn to the left, towards the city. It swept across various locations, not fixing on any one in particular. Better strategic placement? Perhaps, each event and gathering should have some enforcers in place as a precaution. But then, there was also the matter of their usual patrols. And to increase their response times…? His fingers tapped at his leg. But, before he could get too absorbed in his own thoughts, he mentally shook himself out of it.

“Oh, but please excuse me,” he turned back towards his company, offering her a slight smile. “We were in the middle of discussing our days,” he redirected his attention back to the conversation at hand. “Would you like to hear more about any of the events I attended? Or did you wish to say more on those guests of yours?” Wulfric purposefully gave her the choice here.

“Yes. I suppose I should have foreseen that the gossip from the newspaper and last night’s events would have traveled fast, and brought along a guard.” Charlotte agreed. However, the last thing she needed was a guard. They would just get in the way. Her thoughts had also ventured until Wulfric’s voice had pulled her back to the conversation. “Hmm, well, there isn’t much to say about my guests. I had Dr. John Williamson, Lord Smithwood and Count Fritz from Varian visit as well as Lady Thea. They were all wonderful company and I have no complaints.”

“I had meant the city’s guards should have been available…” Wulfric waved a hand, dismissing both the notion that he’d accused her of not ensuring her own protection, and the topic in general.

She then tilted her head and mused, “I would love to hear more about your experience in the sword competition… Though first… I am curious. You said you attended the horse race? Did you…” Her brows furrowed and worry crossed her expression, “Did you happen to run into my stepfather? “ She softened slightly, “… Lord Smithwood did inform me that he did well.”

At the mention of the duke, Wulfric’s expression acquired a further degree of severity. “Your father…yes,” he confirmed. “He did well - on the surface of it. However, when I chose to speak to him…” He gave Charlotte an intent look, and quite suddenly, there was the pervasive awareness that she was speaking to the crown prince. It had been a subtle shift, but now, his presence was heavy with the full weight of the authority befitting his status.

“Several issues were revealed to me,” he finished his sentence. “I assume you wish to learn of them, despite the fact that this will undoubtedly add to your already taxing day.” Though it had been a statement, the prince waited for the lady’s affirmation.

Only after she gave it, did he continue. “Duke Lorenzo Vikena is suicidal, has a penchant for abusing drugs recreationally, and seems rather…emotionally unstable.” Wulfric’s crystalline gaze settled on her as he gave her however long she needed to process this.

Charlotte’s countenance crumbled and it felt as if her heart had as well. The word "suicidal" reverberated in her mind, sending shockwaves through her entire being. For a brief moment, the horrific image of her mother's lifeless body sprawled out on the grass flashed before her eyes, etching itself into her memory with painful clarity. Her heart started to race in her ears, a deafening drumbeat of fear.

Charlotte only realized she had been staring down at her lap the entire time when she noticed a tear stain on her dress through her blurred vision. After a hard swallow, she blinked away tears in an attempt to compose herself. Then, she raised her head to speak, but it was difficult. Her words felt heavy, like trying to sift through a fog of emotions.

"What?" Her voice was barely a whisper, so she took a deep breath and tried again, putting more effort into her words. "Are you... are you certain? I've never seen Lorenzo suicidal nor using drugs.... I know he drinks occasionally, maybe a little too much at times, but..." Her voice cracked, betraying her own inner turmoil. Wulfric wasn’t high on the list of kindest men in Caesonia, but she was sure he wouldn’t fabricate something so serious.

The prince reached into his inner shirt pocket, and took out a very neat handkerchief. Carefully, he reached over to the other side of the table, and deposited it in front of Charlotte. Then, he leaned back and took care to gentle his tone for his next words. “He was intoxicated when we spoke. That it was more than alcohol is a suspicion on my part. A fairly strong suspicion based on his behavior and words, but I am not a medical professional. You may want to confirm this for yourself, however,” he said.

She had graciously taken it with a nod and patted at her cheeks. I need to get it together.

“As for the other matter…” his demeanour was calm, though reminiscent of one trying not to spook a wild animal. “It was but a fragment of our conversation…Yet, I deemed it concerning. Apparently, he believes that he was at fault for your mother’s death; that he might cause you to follow in her footsteps; or that perhaps you might be better off without him,” he summarized. “I do not know how seriously he meant that, or if it is a general disposition of his…his mood changed rather quickly,” he explained.

A longer exhale followed. “I wish I had something more comforting to relay to you.” Wulfric seemed to think on it for a moment. “If nothing else…he was in good spirits when we were concluding.”

"I… I see..” Charlotte lowered her gaze. “... Thank you for telling me.” If Lorenzo was truly suffering this much, she had been a fool to miss the severity. After a pause, she looked up at him once more. “If there’s nothing more, I think maybe I should depart… I do have the dinner with the Sultan to prepare for after all. Though, I am grateful for your time here, Prince Wulfric.”

Wulfric inclined his head in understanding. “May the Gods’ blessings be upon you,” he wished her as a farewell. She’d need quite some fortitude to deal with all that had occurred (and all that still would). It was unfortunate their conversation couldn’t have been pleasanter, but what he’d told her was something she needed to know.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Yeah, I'm fine with moving on too.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Damon Howard

---

---

For some reason, David thought Odaya needed ‘defending’ from his comment. “Are you saying you’re charmed by me?” he joked, but that conversation soon met its end.

Eckehart had a lot to say about the world – Yo’Bikur aka The Dreamland – and Damon listened to it quietly, absorbing the man’s words.

Then, his friend or acquaintances began comparing various trinkets they’ve received. “Oh, you guys got some stuff?” he asked curiously, inspecting the trinkets. He wasn’t jealous per se, but it did occur to him that he could get something for himself, too. He glanced at the pair of sneakers that hung off his fingers uselessly as he carted them along. “I’ve got an idea – be right back!” he said to no one in particular, and dashed off to the nearest stalls he could see.

They were set against a series of buildings which looked like they belonged in a desert. Colourful, patterned textiles stretched between the buildings, and hung above the stalls.

Damon approached a lizard-person merchant, and explained his issue. He didn’t mind going barefoot as much as he’d thought, but would still prefer some kind of footwear. However, his claws had almost ruined his. He showed the bipedal lizard the holey socks to demonstrate. “…I only have this to trade with, though,” he pointed at the sneakers sheepishly. “Unless you’d take…?” He had a wallet in his inner shirt pocket, and showed the shopkeep some banknotes and coins.

After some bargaining and bartering that was difficult for Damon to make heads or tails of – being used to buying at a fixed price – he parted with his sneakers, socks, and a relatively non-significant amount of dollars. (Maybe the merchant was interested in foreign currency?) In exchange, he received a nice pair of leather boots. As the lizardfolk apparently also had tough claws, they knew how to make durable clothing. For some reason, he got a matching pair of leather gloves as a bonus. Or a gift. Or an incentive to come again. He wasn’t quite sure.

It took a bit to find where he was supposed to go; a kind and dashing harpy helped him. He received from them a large, beautiful feather that he tucked into his belt.

He managed to return to the group while it was crossing the great stone bridge. Odaya found him, returning his jacket. “Oh, alright. Nice dress,” Damon said, a bit distractedly. As amusing as it was that the little gremlin child practically had a ‘fantasy princess’ transformation, there really was so much else going on just then.

When Audrey first mentioned wanting to return home, Damon wasn’t concerned yet. What really caught his attention was Eckehart’s answer. “Does that mean Rulania has no friends?” he frowned. It’s what she’d asked for, and she had to wait for some to come from another world? “And she’s sixteen?” They were the same age, but it struck him that the princess was young.

Then, both Ambrose and David chimed in to Audrey. “Guys, I’m sure they were just inviting us, and maybe they were too eager, but if there was a way here I don’t see why we couldn’t go back whenever we wanted-”

He looked at Eckehart. The man seemed concerned. His words were concerning. “Oh.” Damon swallowed, a thread of anxiety taking root. He suddenly remembered that when they were swallowed up by the surging water – similar to the depiction of Tyrdania, a part of his mind noted – it wasn’t just wonderful. It had been terrifying. And showing up here had been all sorts of weird and confusing.

But everyone also seemed so friendly, and open, and inviting. They were practically celebrated, their presence here welcomed. They were appreciated by the natives, even though they were all just some strangers, really.

Damon didn’t know what to do about the disparity. “…Let’s just go talk to the princess.” He agreed with Eckehart that she might know more.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Uh, yeah, I'm also...very behind on this.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

I mean, the details and worldbuilding are just astounding, and honestly kind of intimidating. I love how you do these little activities, like coming up with the powers for us (soon to be revealed), having us do sort of thematic appearance changes, getting those 'tarot cards' previews done (chef's kiss) checking up how we are.

Similar to what's been said, I would like more space for interactions between PC characters, because as much as I'd like to get to, well, the proper isekai part or however you'd call it, I feel like there's been a lot of us just getting to the next scene. So even though I feel very comfortable with the pacing as far as posts go (thanks for giving us all the time we need to write), the content has been progressing quite quickly so far. But fair point that you were afraid of losing interest before getting to the meaty part. Probably the whole 'meeting with the princess' is that, uh, checkpoint for getting into it...?

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Damon Howard

---

---

Sitting cross-legged, Damon peeled off his holey socks. Though he wasn’t being careless, per se, his clawed fingers made additional punctures in the cloth. “Hm.” This could be a hassle.

With all the otherworldly, fantastic things going on, it was simpler to focus on the most mundane concerns – at least until he got his bearings.

Huffing, he balled up the socks, pushed them into the shoes, grabbed the sneakers and picked himself up.

The ground was really soft, and pleasant to burrow his toes into. The dewy grass was cool, but not uncomfortably so.

The Song still beckoned them, and Damon looked around to try and find its source.

However, he was distracted by Odaya, who began laughing at them all. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s this world’s idea of a joke,” he retorted to her remark, rolling his eyes. Maybe it was because he’d been one of those acting as a demon in that one play. Or it was a terrible pun on his name.

…Possibly it was something melodramatic about how he viewed himself, or how he thought others did.

But there were much more fun and wondrous things to think about.

At Audrey’s prompting, a tall, thin man approached them. He was a tad vampiric, but the strangest thing about him was that scar. The youth stared at it for a long, moment, before realizing that was probably rude. Then, his gaze settled on the glowing collar-like symbol.

Which was likely also impolite, so he looked into the man’s eyes instead.

But, just then, the guy bowed to them. Really low.

And, wow, that was a lot of hair to manage.

When Eckehart rose up, Damon gave him a bemused nod, then felt prompted to bow in return. It was shallower, and less refined, the kind he’d given to Odaya what felt like forever ago. “Hello…?” he greeted with an awkward smile.

All sorts of questions were trying to bubble to the surface. “Is that from an injury?” Since his thoughts were so disordered, perhaps it was inevitable that the first one to emerge was inappropriate. “Uhhh…” his cheeks coloured as Damon forced himself to ignore that scar. “Sorry, never mind that.” Sheepish, he looked away. His gaze was drawn to the dragon. “Is that…? Are they….Ru-la-ni-a?” he carefully worded the name. He wasn’t all that certain about his guess, but he was sure that the dragon was at least somehow related.

Emboldened now that they had a guide – that they weren’t just entirely unto themselves in a strange new world – Damon followed after Eckehart. He had to move somewhere between a quick walk and a light jog to catch up, but didn’t seem bothered by that. “True Voice?” he questioned. He assumed that's what that Song was. “Do you hear it, too?” He really hoped ‘all would become clear’, because in stories, cryptic remarks like that weren’t usually followed by immediate explanations.

He glanced at Zeke when the teen said this seemed suspiciously good. “It is a weird situation,” Damon had to acknowledge. Weird didn’t even begin to describe it. And, if it weren’t all so beautiful, enthralling, and enchanting, maybe he would call out the strangeness; compare it to a kidnapping scheme, or some cult thing.

But when the Song was so sweet, how could it be bad?

Freyja pranced past him, remarking that at least he didn’t have hooves. “You got used to those fast, though,” Damon pointed out, amused.

They delved from the island into the city. It was a city unlike any he’d ever seen, but there were building, roads, bridges, stalls…It was recognizable, just foreign. The roofs were vibrantly coloured, some buildings had no edges he could see, and some were overgrown by foliage – or made in the hollows of trees and the like? There were numerous shopkeeps peddling their wares, and people – beings? – were dancing, and drinking, and buying, and watching…

He didn’t know if there was a single ‘human’ there, though many were humanoid. A charming dark gray lady, long tail swooshing behind her, pink tufts on its end; her long light gray hair braided and beflowered, a light almost see-through dress adorning her. A cheerful white-haired boy perching on a thin laundry line, huge white wings folded behind him. A being of unknowable age and gender, who was all fire, and magma. A green male naga. A chunky, furry, horned and teethed and multi-eyed thing (person?) who could walk on all fours or stood up on their hind legs to tower over everyone else.

Some of them had the same symbol as Eckehart, and each of them bowed. Damon nodded and waved to each of them in return.
But from all of those, their guide was the only one receiving gifts. So, maybe, he was the senior herald? Still, if these beings were special, then what about them, whom Eckehart had called honoured guests? If they were all chosen, or called here for some reason…They must be important, too.

Why them? And for what purpose?

Maybe they were about to find out.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Added Yo'bikur form to CS, very slightly edited because I've decided on a different pic than I initially thought.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Damon Howard

---

---

Theirs was the last performance before the main ceremony. It was a sort of preview of the ritual, except they acted out the other side of it. The unruly demons to be subjugated, the lake waters to be calmed, then the flames cavorting atop the waters and in the skies.

It was mostly through music, dance, and body language that they conveyed the play to their audience. Scant lines were spoken or sung – though those few were all the more poignant and memorable for it.

The beginning was ominous, creeping; the waters surged and spilled, bringing forth with it monstrous beings.

Some in the background played the scared villagers, dressed in outdated casual wear. The lake were several people, dressed in robes shaded a multitude of greens, blues, and even dark purples. The remaining few were the demons; wearing thick furry hides, gruesome masks covering their faces.

The villagers were chased away. The robed folk spun and spun; a devouring whirlpool which would take and take. In the middle, the monsters; waiting, stalking, pushing the water’s edge further out.

The circle of robes widened until person by person, they dispersed offstage.

The harbingers of doom left to their own devices. They stomped, and they ruined; heavy boots thumping across the wooden floorboards as they danced. It was a facsimile of chaos; practiced coordination giving rise to something seemingly unpredictable. Something dangerous. Low, growling hums accompanied it; a wordless song of discontent.

But then, something changed; a procession arrived, and with it, a transition in the music. Two rows of darkly clothed people came on; pair by pair. Monks, each with a khakkhara of their own. Clearly ringing; neat and orderly. A chanting started; from an inaudible murmur, gradually rising in volume.

The numerous priests accomplished what in reality, Freyja was supposed to (believed to) do. The actual sealing procession was considered far too sacred to be mimicked in a play. Thus, it’d been replaced with something similar.

Strange, wasn’t it? When even for the most superstitious, including monsters wasn’t too much?

But then again, maybe the creatures were too fantastical, after all – or imagined so differently, that it was fine.

As all good endings require, evil was vanquished. The devils fled. The monks, then, could leave too.

The full moon watched, still and silent.

Then, the actors returned, now all robed. What followed was the most intricate scene yet; a fabulous finale.

Some wore the blue-greens of the lake, others the fiery orange-reds of light. They swayed and they danced; but then, when some held hands, the roles switched. They turned over their clothing, the other side bearing different colours. The effect was mesmerizing, as roles changed at a moment’s notice.

When it was all over, they were met with thunderous applause. Faces shining with awe, exhilaration, pure joy.
That was one of the best feelings in the world, Damon thought.

He was just as jubilant to attend the actual ceremony even as only an observer, however. The ritual of it resonated somewhere deep inside.

But then, something went wrong, and it all started feeling unreal.

Even though he’d been so absorbed in it that he’d genuinely felt it was all true – the demons, the sealing – he couldn’t help but think–

Wasn’t this…just a story?

He broke into a cold sweat, and shivered. Goosebumps formed over all his body, and he rubbed his naked arms. The knowledge that something went terribly, dreadfully awry brought with it shock and horror.

But then the song appeared.

First, it seemed just like one voice; now deep, then high. But no, it was a multitude; a whole chorus.
Damon couldn’t tear his gaze away from the fantastical scene occurring atop the lake. He was aghast and amazed at once. Unknowingly, he took a hesitant step forward–

Then he was swallowed up by the water, managing one last panicked breath…But he didn’t hold out for long.

***

He gasped, and found himself half-submerged in an otherworldly lake. The air was so clear, it was almost too sharp; the water so pure, he wondered if it really was just water.

He coughed and spluttered, and dragged himself out. He looked wildly around, and saw all sorts of unbelievable things. Various beings; familiar as they were not. He saw Odaya the crow looking up.

Looked up himself.

Saw a dragon.

And was left gaping open-mouthed.

It took some time for anything else to enter his awareness. When something did, it was David’s question. “Missing?” he questioned hysterically. “We are the missing ones.”@Conscripts

He sighed tremulously, and looked down. His gaze settled on the lake, and almost numbly, he took in the changes to his own form.

His hair was now longer, pitch black but with (super?)natural highlights of blood red. Elongated, pointed ears peeked through. His canines were sharper, too. A pair of ivory white horns curled from atop his forehead. His pupils were slit – like a cat’s, or some snakes’ – and his irises were so strange. There were all sorts of colours there. Each time he tilted his head or tried to take a closer look, they shifted. It took a few flashes of silver – the only consistent thing – for him to realize that they reflected the environmental hues. He went to brush through his thicker mane, but was stopped by two things.

One. His fingernails were now matte black and clawed.

Two. There were these strange broken up lines on his (still pale) skin; spidery, thin, light gray – barely visible, but definitely there.

Like cracks seeping through.

A part of him was tempted to lift up his shirt to check how far they spread.

The other part didn’t want to know.

What the fuck? he thought wildly.

And also, At least it’s not on my face?!

Shifting to sit on his knees, Damon went to splash some water on his face. “Gods…” he muttered.

Finally, he tried picking himself up. But something was off. His shoes felt uncomfortably tight. There was an ominous scratching sound as he moved.

Suspicion arising, he took off his sneakers.

Yeah. His feet bore claws too, now.

And his socks were ruined. Great.

Hearing Ambrose’s remark, Damon snorted. “…I could use some nail clippers, here,” he snarked.@psych0pomp

Then he shot another look at the dragon. “Seems chill,” he commented to no one in particular.

Dreaming Together With You - A Fading Memory Experiment

Wrote some today. Will see if I can finish tomorrow.