009 ♔ dream;
Effects: Confusion, loss, perhaps a hollow, lingering sort of discomfort.
Velvet rose petals drifting across the path, and -
Pendragon, the city of lights, endlessly glittering -
- the spill of red across the floor, the birds singing above and the…
- crater of barren dirt, the bowl to hold nothing...
…rattle of gunfire on the edge of your hearing.
...but loss. Not even ruin. Just nothing.
"Your Highness."
Your eyes open and the room is as it always is, bright, arctic, endless. White, white, white. The winter world stretches out around you in the height of summer like stationary static, and if you reach, if you brushed the edges with your fingers -- wakefulness comes to you then, and the world falls into shape around you.
"Why?" You ask, the single word out and in the air before you even have a hope to rein it in (what a frightening thought, that little loss) and your father just glances at you, sharp as a whip crack (you're not sorry for that, either) and everything just dies in your throat. Your heart hammers so loud it is deafening in His Majesty's silence.- not your place to question, not a son's place to challenge -So you kneel, before him, and your heartbeat is so fast it feels like it's fluttering, like the wings of a trapped insect, and you try not to breathe. But you are only human, when it all comes down to it, and when you swallow (your throat clicks, just so) the smell of blood assaults you. White, white, red.
She's heavy,and when you hook your arms beneath her, her dark hair seems to cling to your arms as if it could drag you down and down and down. The fabric of your clothes sticks to you, wet, as if you've been caught in a rainstorm. The steady, retreating ring of your father's footsteps seems to make the world shake, or maybe you're just weak.
Come now. You're better than this, aren't you?better
Older brothers are patient and they do not push, so you wait until he speaks up, his voice small, uncertain: "His Majesty is just as proud of me? Nunnally and Lelouch, too?" You're vaguely aware of how your smile sort of freezes on your face before falling away, of something dogging your heels, trying to trip you. But that doesn't matter:"I cannot see how they could not be," you assure him, and reach out to him.
She's heavy, but your carry her as if she was weightless, and the lights of Pendragon glitter, and your little sister crowns you with flowers.
[There's a certain sort of bleariness around the prince that suggests someone who has been asleep for a long time indeed. He runs a hand back into his hair, expression neutral, seemingly before noting that the dreamberry is recording. His lips may just curve, the smile minute and wry, as he picks it up to switch it off.]
((Aaaand Schneizel is finally awake! because I'm hopeless and RL is a crafty bugger...))
Velvet rose petals drifting across the path, and -
Pendragon, the city of lights, endlessly glittering -
- the spill of red across the floor, the birds singing above and the…
- crater of barren dirt, the bowl to hold nothing...
…rattle of gunfire on the edge of your hearing.
...but loss. Not even ruin. Just nothing.
"Your Highness."
Your eyes open and the room is as it always is, bright, arctic, endless. White, white, white. The winter world stretches out around you in the height of summer like stationary static, and if you reach, if you brushed the edges with your fingers -- wakefulness comes to you then, and the world falls into shape around you.
"Why?" You ask, the single word out and in the air before you even have a hope to rein it in (what a frightening thought, that little loss) and your father just glances at you, sharp as a whip crack (you're not sorry for that, either) and everything just dies in your throat. Your heart hammers so loud it is deafening in His Majesty's silence.- not your place to question, not a son's place to challenge -So you kneel, before him, and your heartbeat is so fast it feels like it's fluttering, like the wings of a trapped insect, and you try not to breathe. But you are only human, when it all comes down to it, and when you swallow (your throat clicks, just so) the smell of blood assaults you. White, white, red.
She's heavy,and when you hook your arms beneath her, her dark hair seems to cling to your arms as if it could drag you down and down and down. The fabric of your clothes sticks to you, wet, as if you've been caught in a rainstorm. The steady, retreating ring of your father's footsteps seems to make the world shake, or maybe you're just weak.
Come now. You're better than this, aren't you?better
Older brothers are patient and they do not push, so you wait until he speaks up, his voice small, uncertain: "His Majesty is just as proud of me? Nunnally and Lelouch, too?" You're vaguely aware of how your smile sort of freezes on your face before falling away, of something dogging your heels, trying to trip you. But that doesn't matter:"I cannot see how they could not be," you assure him, and reach out to him.
She's heavy, but your carry her as if she was weightless, and the lights of Pendragon glitter, and your little sister crowns you with flowers.
[There's a certain sort of bleariness around the prince that suggests someone who has been asleep for a long time indeed. He runs a hand back into his hair, expression neutral, seemingly before noting that the dreamberry is recording. His lips may just curve, the smile minute and wry, as he picks it up to switch it off.]
((Aaaand Schneizel is finally awake! because I'm hopeless and RL is a crafty bugger...))