it's all a dream

[rosestolilies]

Characters: Anyone who wants to participate!
Date: Mid-event.
Summary: All of these individual dreams have combined into one mass dream that the characters have found themselves wandering around in. And it's less than pleasant.
Warnings: Possible violence.

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KUJA

[existwithoutme]

[She never used to dream. Her mind wasn't refined enough, supposedly. Her mind. Who could be more refined than she is? She'd always believed herself superior--if she had no dreams, no emotions, why should she need them?

She can dream now, though she wishes she couldn't. It's always the same dream. Fire.

Reason falls away as fire flickers at her fingertips, then explodes into blinding light, flames of violet and scarlet. Her body, too, has turned scarlet, radiant with feathers, her long, furred tail the same color, coiling as she moves through space, her feet far above the ground. The earth does not bind her, but her rage does. So many ways to destroy the world, but Kuja favors fire. She won't stop, she can't stop, not till everything is charred, lifeless, and dark.]

[a_good_daughter]

[There is fire, but it doesn't touch her. Nothing of any warmth ever can. Light and heat flee from Kadaj like birds from an oncoming storm.

The red-feathered being isn't a bird, it is the one called Kuja. Kadaj watches, suspended in a void of her own making, a chill black mist coiling around her, her bright eyes reflecting the fire falling all around. Kadaj seldom thinks of anything as being beautiful. It is a human idea what only just touches on the perfection of reunion-- but, this fire, it is something like the beauty if the end that precedes the beginning.]

This is your poetry then, Kuja.

[It isn't a question.]

[existwithoutme]

[She's not used to having her flames withstood, not so easily, and the oddity makes her hesitate. She looks down at Kadaj with eyes that, in her current state, hold an expression similar to Kadaj's own: cold, mad, remorseless.

Here is someone who understands. No one else names her poetry what it is, identifies it so immediately and neatly. She smiles]

That's correct. No other poet can write so well or with such dazzling finality! A poem to end all poems, to wipe the world clean of everything that is not my verse.

[a_good_daughter]

[Kadaj tilts her head, expressing neither agreement nor disagreement, pleasure or displeasure.]

And when all things are ended, poet? What then?

[existwithoutme]

After the poem is the end of everything. Why should anything survive my masterpiece?

No, I can't have that. I am the superior artist. Nothing else deserves to exist.

[a_good_daughter]

After the end, comes the beginning, poet. I will write that poem, Mother and I will write it together.
We will write it on the nothingness you leave behind you.