1.1 - Such a pretty toy to play with
Warnings: Creepy and/or disturbing imagery involving dolls and eyes
Effects: The feeling of being watched
A door opens, revealing a large room with nice carpeting on the floor. Faint candlelight flickers, leaving shadows everywhere they don't cover. Someone unsees grabs a candle and the shadows shift, causing something to glint in a newly-lit area. The dream view follows the candle holder -- by the height, it's likely a child -- past more of the odd bright flashes, though every once in a while a flash of pale porcelain, curls, or an antique dress may end up being visible for just long enough to make it clear that what's catching the candlelight are a vast number of doll eyes.
A second door opens, this one creaking as if it's not used often, but the dozens of candles lit inside speak to the opposite fact. Which one is true - is this place visited often and the door simply ignored, or do the candles burn on their own despite being rarely attended? Perhaps it's neither, or both, or a strange mix of the above. Whatever the case, the dolls in here aren't pristine like the ones outside were. Most have some sort of cracks covering their face or cobwebs in their clothing. The candle holder sets his down and at that moment, pale moonlight streams in from a skylight, revealing him as a younger Muraki, one with both eyes visible. He's young enough to still be in shorts most of the time. After adjusting his shirt collar, he grabs a doll from the shelf, one who'd look almost new if it weren't for the layer of dust covering her clothing, and breaks her elegant face enough to pop out one of her eyes. The laughter he makes as the doll's eye rolls across the floor is far more unsettling than anything most people would expect from a child who looks no older than 12.
The moonlight overhead changes angles enough to illuminate an alcove behind Muraki full of broken and dismembered dolls. Several heads rest on the floor, nowhere near the shattered pieces of their limbs or their torsos missing stuffing from long gashes. Porcelain shards dotted with blood cover the floor and crunch underneath Muraki's small footsteps. He tosses the doll in his hands against a wall; it breaks loudly and a piece of her arm flies back and hits him in the arm. Muraki doesn't flinch as he pulls the sharp shard out and blood drips down his unnaturally pale arm after staining his sleeve dark red. An instant later, the doll's other eye rolls to bump against the first and they stare at the ceiling, a pair of violet glass balls too solid to break from something that simple. He smiles, picks them up, and doesn't seem to care about the blood that mars the eyes before he puts them in his pocket.
[Muraki seems oblivious to what was recorded when he wakes up and rolls over in bed to get comfortable again. He needs more rest.]
Effects: The feeling of being watched
A door opens, revealing a large room with nice carpeting on the floor. Faint candlelight flickers, leaving shadows everywhere they don't cover. Someone unsees grabs a candle and the shadows shift, causing something to glint in a newly-lit area. The dream view follows the candle holder -- by the height, it's likely a child -- past more of the odd bright flashes, though every once in a while a flash of pale porcelain, curls, or an antique dress may end up being visible for just long enough to make it clear that what's catching the candlelight are a vast number of doll eyes.
A second door opens, this one creaking as if it's not used often, but the dozens of candles lit inside speak to the opposite fact. Which one is true - is this place visited often and the door simply ignored, or do the candles burn on their own despite being rarely attended? Perhaps it's neither, or both, or a strange mix of the above. Whatever the case, the dolls in here aren't pristine like the ones outside were. Most have some sort of cracks covering their face or cobwebs in their clothing. The candle holder sets his down and at that moment, pale moonlight streams in from a skylight, revealing him as a younger Muraki, one with both eyes visible. He's young enough to still be in shorts most of the time. After adjusting his shirt collar, he grabs a doll from the shelf, one who'd look almost new if it weren't for the layer of dust covering her clothing, and breaks her elegant face enough to pop out one of her eyes. The laughter he makes as the doll's eye rolls across the floor is far more unsettling than anything most people would expect from a child who looks no older than 12.
The moonlight overhead changes angles enough to illuminate an alcove behind Muraki full of broken and dismembered dolls. Several heads rest on the floor, nowhere near the shattered pieces of their limbs or their torsos missing stuffing from long gashes. Porcelain shards dotted with blood cover the floor and crunch underneath Muraki's small footsteps. He tosses the doll in his hands against a wall; it breaks loudly and a piece of her arm flies back and hits him in the arm. Muraki doesn't flinch as he pulls the sharp shard out and blood drips down his unnaturally pale arm after staining his sleeve dark red. An instant later, the doll's other eye rolls to bump against the first and they stare at the ceiling, a pair of violet glass balls too solid to break from something that simple. He smiles, picks them up, and doesn't seem to care about the blood that mars the eyes before he puts them in his pocket.
[Muraki seems oblivious to what was recorded when he wakes up and rolls over in bed to get comfortable again. He needs more rest.]