[IC] I dreamed a dream in times gone by~

[cloakanddaikon]

A heart unfettered of its trappings draws the darkness to itself, creating a form fit to carry out the one true will of all the worlds.

[Between them, the hand still holding firm to Prussia's fist begins to glow, black and green.]

Shall I educate you on the methods by which hearts achieve that freedom?

((From the dream post))

Comments

[dasschlechtende]

[sneering a bit as he leans in closer]

Here I thought I'm not worth the effort in your eyes.

[cloakanddaikon]

You could have said no.

[And around them, the library seems suddenly dimmer, the shadows longer, the smell of old books underwritten with something stale and damp. There's movement where there's nothing there to move, and outside the windows, there's the beat of gigantic wings, and a shadow large enough to block out the sky.]

[dasschlechtende]

Wouldn't've changed anything.

[can't help but to look toward the window out of the corner of his eye, taking in the change of the place, a sinking sensation going to his gut]

[cloakanddaikon]

[Snaps the fingers of his free hand, and a folded flag, showing nothing but black, appears in the air beside them.

It seems for a moment, that it should unfold to show a stripe of white-but instead, it's an unadorned panel of solid red. And gold, after that, as more folds come undone; the total length of the flag, as it hangs edge-down, higher than either of them is tall.]

[dasschlechtende]

[freezes at the sight of the flag, cold understanding creeping into his heart]

[cloakanddaikon]

[And the figure not quite Zexion reaches out, and there's a feeling like the cross at Prussia's throat being tugged away . . . only when his hand moves back into view, he's holding a key, instead, old and crudely cast, with a cross stamped upon its bow.]

[dasschlechtende]

[snatches at it, cursing, at first thinking that it is his cross and then because it's something being taken from him and not letting it go willingly]

[cloakanddaikon]

[Lets go of the key and Prussia's hand both.]

Return to your own dreams.

[dasschlechtende]

[stands for a moment before leveling a glare at the not-Nobody, clutching the key tightly in his fist]

Gladly.

[cloakanddaikon]

[Ignores, attention drifting back to the spot where Rhode disappeared.]

[dasschlechtende]

[... except he's not entirely sure how to do that and just looks to the key in his hand]

Why were you taking this?

[cloakanddaikon]

Because you won't get anywhere without the key. I would have thought that much was obvious.

[dasschlechtende]

The key to what?

[cloakanddaikon]

The door.

[dasschlechtende]

To where?

[cloakanddaikon]

[Looks over at the flag.]

. . . of course. You wouldn't see it like that, would you.

[Waves a hand again, dismissively, and

there's the smell of factories, and cement, and gunpowder, the lemon tang of oily cola and stale tobacco, the sound of booted footsteps, and

the coat of arms of the Deutsche Demokratische Republik takes its place in the centre of the flag-along with a small, but perfectly visible keyhole.]