Per anni, pensando di essere inseguita, scappò dalla freccia --
In the dream, there was never any air.
He dreamt other, terrible things, but this one was always the same. He would find himself in same colorless smoke hallway, numb except for his hands, and there was never any air.
"Details, lad, details," chided his double, still smiling that white-smoke smile.
Quiet, you. It didn't matter that he couldn't speak; the figure always heard him perfectly well. That smile grew a fraction wider.
The pair were standing side by side, leaning against a wall. Aside from Freeroll, the other was all he could really feel. Only having those two points of sensation was disorienting.
"You could change it if you wanted to."
Tyki ignored him; he was always saying things like that, things that made very little sense. This was the way the hall always was, so pervasively calm. He didn't have to think about -- about anything at all. There was nothing to worry about, so he didn't. It was comfortable.
He could feel the other shrug. "Suit yourself."
Tyki looked around. The hallway stretched on, as usual. Tiny wisps of smoke stretched and curled from every surface, disappearing an inch or so into the should-be-air. (He could practically see his double's pointed look, although he was just as pointedly looking away. Details, details, he knew.) There were no doors, but black windows were spaced irregularly on both sides.
They were only "windows" for the lack of a better word. They were an endless black, and the wisps coming off of them were more like tendrils reaching out -- as much as an unending void could be said to reach out. He couldn't see out of them, of course, but it occurred to him that he'd never thought to try.
"We're wasting our time here if you're going to do that. This isn't for my benefit, you know."
Tyki blinked. The figure sounded annoyed, which was unusual... but it didn't matter. He looked more closely at nearest window and wondered what was out there.
"You know what's there," sighed the figure, with the air of someone explaining the obvious. "If you didn't, you wouldn't be here."
That didn't make sense at all, of course. He ignored the other man again. ("... Oi. Don't --")
The window loomed, and a seed of terror cracked and spread through him. Suddenly, it was cold; suddenly, it hurt, and it was sharper than reality; suddenly, he could feel everything he didn't want to, and he wanted to shout but there still wasn't any air and the hallway was collapsing -- and he was falling --
His double grabbed him by the lapels and jerked hard, making him stumble and forcing him to break his gaze.
... He was fine. It wasn't cold. It didn't hurt, and in the dream, there was never any air.
He was fine, but he was so, so tired.
As the hall finished settling back into its normal shape, the figure paused, then released his grip. "You're not done yet. This is just a way station."
Tyki glanced back at the window for a moment, then moved to step back against the wall again -- but the figure grabbed his arm and held on tightly. The white-smoke smile was gone. Freeroll was starting to burn. The presence of pain here shot through the calm and made the hall itself shudder.
"Do you understand? You can't stay here. You had your choice, and you need to act on it eventually."
He tried to twist away, but pain shot through his hand and he held still. Freeroll had cracked. Over the figure's shoulder, he could see a thick gray fog barreling down the hallway toward them both, demolishing everything in its path.
"Ignore it all you like, but not like this. Can you really say you want to be here?"
Maybe not, but -- He didn't want to think about it. He didn't have to. Not here. Let go.
"You can't --"
The fog swallowed them both, and he was falling --
In the dream, there was never any air. His double stared for a few moments, then sighed and settled down beside him.
"You're not done yet." He only said it once, and without any force. It wasn't an argument he'd repeat this time. If his double had been real, Tyki would think he sounded tired, too -- and maybe something else, but he couldn't put his finger on what. He didn't have to think about it, though. He never had to think about anything here.
He dreamt other, terrible things, but this one was always the same...