Dreamscape Event

[dreams_are_mine]

Characters: Rhode Kamelot and OPEN
When: Every night March 6th through 12th
Where: Rhode's dreams
Rating: R+
Summary: Rhode dreams. You dream with her.

Comments

[dreams_are_mine]

It tastes absolutely deliciously. Sinfully good. Tea shouldn't taste like liquid chocolate chip cookies. But as Killua takes a sip the table dissolves, leaving him in a chair alone in the circle of light. The hat hovers in front of him, before plopping onto his head, the black rose vines snaking down to hold him to the chair, thorns piercing skin.

Someone as strong as Killua shouldn't find them hard to break out of, but for some reason the vines are stronger than diamond, or possibly Killua's weakened. But the mild pain of the prickles is nothing he can't handle. A few scratches, not even a bother.

A whispering begins, not around Killua, but in his mind. A soft scratching at the back of his thoughts like a rat in the walls. At first an annoyance, but rapidly increasing to something maddening. Something wants in.

And there's a feeling that starts. It's incomparable to any physical sensation, because it is fear, longing, agony, malice. The deepest hate like a stone beneath Killua's heart, the blackest despair like a pit in his stomach. A howling vengeance that stiffens the spine, and none of these feelings belong to Killua.

There is no language to describe the defiling sensation that follows. Like invisible fingers wrapping around Killua's soul, touching the deepest, most scared part of his hidden self and true being, and slowly polluting it. As if knives could cut the spirit, this is that feeling. Of being shredded--not in body, but entirely. Killua has the unique honor of experiencing what it's like to lose his own soul, self--not all at once, but in small, agonizing nibbles.

I forgot to specify. Let's say Thursday. /fail

[kill_joo_ded]

The first thought that bulldozed through his head was, "Danger." The second was, "Too late."

He immediately began to struggle against the thorny bindings, shaking his head to buck the hat, completely unwilling to accept that he was trapped. Anything to get away, anything to get away. It was what he'd been taught from day one; never, ever get caught. The thorns drew blood, but he only pushed against them harder in his futile attempt to escape, ignoring all else even as the whispering began.

He barely heard it at first - too focused, too panicked, too frustrated. It wasn't long before those little whispers escalated in urgency, however, and any focus he may have had began to deteriorate. The only thing that kept him from shouting at the warring voices to shut up was the sudden urge to vomit.

Something. Something was in him. He didn't know how else to describe it. It was right there - in his brain, in his lungs, in his stomach, in his blood. All struggling had ceased by then, though even Killua wasn't sure when that had happened. Now he only wanted to shrink into that chair, as if that would somehow halt this unearthly progression. Killua had lived with fear for a long time, but it had never felt quite like this, quite this complete. Before there had always been somewhere to go, something that could happen afterward. Even if it was painful or screwed up or shattered, it was still there. He was still there. Something was still there.

He'd almost died once. Before Adstring.

He was beginning to wish he had.

No way in hell could he allow that.

It took enormous effort not sob as the shout ripped through his throat, followed by an attempt at Ren - a violent explosion of his aura. "GET OUT!"

SOUNDS GOOD

[dreams_are_mine]

It's useless. The struggle, the attempt to expel the thing eating into his soul. There's laughter, high and low, echoing in a thousand pitches with one voice. Sinister, childish, cackling, insane. It grates on the nerves and ears but in a way that's almost a relieve in comparison to the other sensations.

Cold so chill it burns, but not a physical cold, another of those soul-sensations. Freezing, defiling. Nothing should be able to cause this kind of experience. The soul shouldn't be accessible to feelings like this. It goes beyond emotional and physical, until Killua's very identity slips away and his knowledge of himself consists only of pain and violation and even that existence is slowly deteriorating as something consumes him.

There is only one sure thought that lingers, one bleak certainty. When it is done, Killua will not only cease to exist, but his essence will never be again. It will be as if he never existed in the first place, because worse than death, he is being unmade.

And with that, the terror and pain blocks out all other awareness as Killua is devoured.