Log: Complete

[1st-dream-king.livejournal.com]

When; Last night (during Host attack)

Rating; PG

Characters; Morpheus 1st_dream_king, Scarab noh_dancer

Summary; Chess stratedgies, or Morpheus sews the seeds of discord.

Log;


She was silent, and soft as she led the other through the train tunnels, taking the overhead pipeworks where the trains ran, and the deeper tunnels where they did not.

In fact, the further one went from the main line, the older, more derelict the tunnels became.
Darker and darker, until the tiny shuffling sounds of hand and knees on concrete were echoed, step and repeat, by the inky blackness beyond.

The sounds of many bodies, all moving around and over one another, some with a discernable moistness to them.
Many silent voices, much like hers whispered to each other as they passed.

She had wept bitterly at being outside, for there there was so much she had forgotten, but the memories still crowded and passed like fractured pieces of mirror through her mind.
It hurt....and she wanted to run back; back to teacher, back to father, and where she was safe from the forgetting.

.....But she couldn't leave.

Not now, not yet.

She sat on her heels, and pushed the dirty hair from her eyes while they wept bloodied tears from the pain in her mind.
There was work to be done, intruders to be evicted, and while Teacher was away, that responsibility fell to her.

A great deal of noise and fear was swirling about both outside and here in the darkness.
Father was unconcerned, and away returning the judas to it's master.
The Serpent and Mother..well...they had eyes only for each other, and did not trouble themselves on anyone else's account.

Another three or four tiny, protean bodies thrown out of the overhead into a shaft she knew led to nowhere.
A bottomless place that sometimes water fell into, never to be seen again.

.....When she..felt something.
Or rather, someone.

Instinctively she crouched, coiled, ready to attack whatever was this close to the borders of her Lord's lands, but the scent was elusive, and the feeling nebulous.

Blood-blackened eyes scanned, looking, looking....

Until they turned again and found a ghost.

A ghost...dressed in shades of twilight with stars in his eyes.
She froze, as an unknown sense that he was not an overt threat, but also as the mark on her lower back sang to life.
That Unknown sense told her to bide her peace, the mark told her to rend.

She was confused, and the ghost seemed to know this.

"Hello, Keico." The ghost said softly, and moving with great care ( so as not to startle a fight or flight response?) he found a seat on an ancient pipe running parallel to the floor.

She frowned, though the mask of her face never changed.
That name...so familiar...

"Lost above thick trees.
Deep mist mountain mystery.
Future path unknown "

He recited. A poem she knew...Or rather, one of the shards of pain she couldn't forget to remember.
A whimper, and her coiled pose of attack faded into a flinching pain.

She doesn't speak with words, for she no longer remembers how, but she is language in motion.
Small subtle cues that whisper intents; A shiver of flesh, her long, loose hair falling across her face, eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Leave me...Leave me, please.
It hurts too badly to remember These things say without saying.

His starfield eyes are remote, but not without sympathy.
The ghost of Dream moves without moving, until his own whiteness echoes hers.
He crouches near her, head cocked to the side in a measuring gaze.

"You have chosen to serve, Keico....but you did not choose to give up your dreams."
An edge of thunder trickles into his voice.

"That is a power Nemesis should not wield, and yet does.."
A pale hand pushes the curtain of hair away.

"Gird the world with Despair..." he says so softly it is questionable if this statement was meant for her at all.

She shivers again, but does not shrink from him. The smell is still elusive, but the feeling...this sense is familiar.
Cori...it says to her. Someone like Cori, or someone who knew Cori, she can not tell.

The ghost sets his fingertips over her shut eyes, and surprising herself, she leans into the touch. It is cool and while not so comforting as Father's it helps ease the ache in her mind.

The ghost smiles sadly, for he knows she is a strong dreamer....strong enough, perhaps, to one day break the chains of her guilt.

Pawn to King, three.

" I return now what was taken from you, Keico."

She draws in a tiny gasp as that cooling sensation moves through her eyelids, through her eyes, and spreads through her bleeding mind like a breath of sweetly clean air.




" I return your dream of hope."