Quest 104
[Dream // Off-Network]
She is running down a darkened hallway in the ancient manor house, listening to the ghostly wail of a baby crying and the clanking gears of the grandfather clock ticking away-tick, tick, tick, how much time left? Tick-tock, tick-tock, how many more to go?
There are cold green eyes and razor-sharp claws waiting for her in the next room. The light is just bright enough to see the troll’s inhuman grin, saliva dripping from its bared fangs-and she runs, skids to a stop and turns around, running the other way as her skirt tangles in her legs and she trips, hands scrabbling at the threadbare carpet, desperately fighting to pull herself to her feet-
She can hear the sound of its footsteps behind her as she runs to the parlor, fumbles with the latch, and ducks into the hidden room. She frantically pushes the door shut and leans her weight against it until it locks tight, and she can hear the troll scritch-scratching at the wall on the other side, looking for her.
There is a shovel leaning against the wall, and the baby is still crying, and the clock is still ticking.
She takes the shovel and rushes up the stairs as fast as she can go, but they’re slick and she loses her footing more times than she can count until finally she’s pulling herself up by the railing more than she is climbing, heading for the top, and she climbs out of the hatch into a freshly-made grave.
The skeletal hands reach for her, clawing at her skirt, grasping at her ankles as she runs through the cemetery, searching, searching-and every gravestone bears the name of one of her friends, and they reach up through the dirt and try to catch hold of her legs, try to drag her back-
And there, in the back, behind the tree, is the one marking the grave of Princess Rosella.
She digs as fast as she can, digs until the shovel breaks from it, and the ticking crescendos as she looks-and there in the bottom of the hole, half-covered by soil, is a small black box carved with blasphemous shapes; it is heavier than it looks, for a box of its size, and it takes two hands to lift it out. The skeletal hands scrabble more insistently now, pulling at her as she falls to her knees, reaching for the box-but she clasps it to her chest, traces the latch with her fingertips, and yanks it open before they can take it away-
Flames burst from the box and a fierce wind picks up, whipping them against her face as inhuman figures begin to rush from the box-choking black smoke and skeletal fingers and long, thick coils of hair, and the madness, the howling clanking screeching madness envelops her and singes her skin and she screams herself hoarse and reaches to close the box-she must close the box, must close the box!
She slams the lid shut, but Hope is already free, and wafts away into nothingness like a tiny bit of smoke as she screams and screams.
Bandaged arms clasp around her shoulders, holding her tight, and the stench of rotting flesh fills her nostrils as a smooth, gentlemanly voice murmurs in her ear, “Your optimism is rather charming, if I may say so…”
[/Dream]
[Voice Post]
Zombies, this time. First dragons, then witches, and now trolls and zombies and mummies. Much more of this and I'm going to run out of things to have nightmares about...
I wonder what might happen to Sleeping Beauty, under a curse like this. Would she be trapped in her nightmares for a hundred years, until the prince came to break the spell that held her captive in her dreams? Or would the magic that kept her asleep take precedence over the curse, and let her spend her hundred years peaceful and dreamless? I wonder.
I hate zombies...
Do you suppose the nightmares mean anything? Or are they just...something to be afraid of?
I wonder if this curse will last until everyone sees their worst nightmare. Wouldn't that be awful...? I don't know if I could pick just one, really. There are too many things to have nightmares about. Dragons and witches and...nn, but I said that already, didn't I.
It's a lucky thing, isn't it, that Pandora managed to close her box in time? So we can still have hope. I'm glad she managed it, too, or it might've gotten away, and what would we all do then?
They're only dreams. Only dreams...
Mm.
[OOC: Aaaaand here's Day Two! And Rosella is tired enough that she's not making much sense at all; she's just lying around, hovering on the verge of sleep and resorting to talking to herself to keep herself awake. All responses assumed to be voice, since she's not in the mood to write.]
She is running down a darkened hallway in the ancient manor house, listening to the ghostly wail of a baby crying and the clanking gears of the grandfather clock ticking away-tick, tick, tick, how much time left? Tick-tock, tick-tock, how many more to go?
There are cold green eyes and razor-sharp claws waiting for her in the next room. The light is just bright enough to see the troll’s inhuman grin, saliva dripping from its bared fangs-and she runs, skids to a stop and turns around, running the other way as her skirt tangles in her legs and she trips, hands scrabbling at the threadbare carpet, desperately fighting to pull herself to her feet-
She can hear the sound of its footsteps behind her as she runs to the parlor, fumbles with the latch, and ducks into the hidden room. She frantically pushes the door shut and leans her weight against it until it locks tight, and she can hear the troll scritch-scratching at the wall on the other side, looking for her.
There is a shovel leaning against the wall, and the baby is still crying, and the clock is still ticking.
She takes the shovel and rushes up the stairs as fast as she can go, but they’re slick and she loses her footing more times than she can count until finally she’s pulling herself up by the railing more than she is climbing, heading for the top, and she climbs out of the hatch into a freshly-made grave.
The skeletal hands reach for her, clawing at her skirt, grasping at her ankles as she runs through the cemetery, searching, searching-and every gravestone bears the name of one of her friends, and they reach up through the dirt and try to catch hold of her legs, try to drag her back-
And there, in the back, behind the tree, is the one marking the grave of Princess Rosella.
She digs as fast as she can, digs until the shovel breaks from it, and the ticking crescendos as she looks-and there in the bottom of the hole, half-covered by soil, is a small black box carved with blasphemous shapes; it is heavier than it looks, for a box of its size, and it takes two hands to lift it out. The skeletal hands scrabble more insistently now, pulling at her as she falls to her knees, reaching for the box-but she clasps it to her chest, traces the latch with her fingertips, and yanks it open before they can take it away-
Flames burst from the box and a fierce wind picks up, whipping them against her face as inhuman figures begin to rush from the box-choking black smoke and skeletal fingers and long, thick coils of hair, and the madness, the howling clanking screeching madness envelops her and singes her skin and she screams herself hoarse and reaches to close the box-she must close the box, must close the box!
She slams the lid shut, but Hope is already free, and wafts away into nothingness like a tiny bit of smoke as she screams and screams.
Bandaged arms clasp around her shoulders, holding her tight, and the stench of rotting flesh fills her nostrils as a smooth, gentlemanly voice murmurs in her ear, “Your optimism is rather charming, if I may say so…”
[/Dream]
[Voice Post]
Zombies, this time. First dragons, then witches, and now trolls and zombies and mummies. Much more of this and I'm going to run out of things to have nightmares about...
I wonder what might happen to Sleeping Beauty, under a curse like this. Would she be trapped in her nightmares for a hundred years, until the prince came to break the spell that held her captive in her dreams? Or would the magic that kept her asleep take precedence over the curse, and let her spend her hundred years peaceful and dreamless? I wonder.
I hate zombies...
Do you suppose the nightmares mean anything? Or are they just...something to be afraid of?
I wonder if this curse will last until everyone sees their worst nightmare. Wouldn't that be awful...? I don't know if I could pick just one, really. There are too many things to have nightmares about. Dragons and witches and...nn, but I said that already, didn't I.
It's a lucky thing, isn't it, that Pandora managed to close her box in time? So we can still have hope. I'm glad she managed it, too, or it might've gotten away, and what would we all do then?
They're only dreams. Only dreams...
Mm.
[OOC: Aaaaand here's Day Two! And Rosella is tired enough that she's not making much sense at all; she's just lying around, hovering on the verge of sleep and resorting to talking to herself to keep herself awake. All responses assumed to be voice, since she's not in the mood to write.]