With a series of incoherent noises escaping her lips Iviroa rolled around her sleep a stream of saliva flowing down her cheek. The Witch had turned her bed into a carpenter's desk as her dead flora left their dying decayed brethren littered on the floor and mattress. Darkness filled her dreams like an inky ocean of blackness with only the slightest red hue in the skies above. She felt trapped as though she were drowning in her own inner sorrow and rage. "We do what we have to Bud." Said a low gruff tone that was both commanding and compassionate at the same time. "Papa..." She mumbled her voice quivering and filled with regret. "It's alright! We'll survive. We always have...and we always will." Whispered an angelic voice with deadly intent ready and willing. "Mama!" She clutched her pillow a whimpering noise parting her lips. "Ouch! I'm sorry Mama! I won't-" Her sentence trailed off, even in a dream she refused to relive that moment.
A vision of death befell her eyes, a room scattered with bodies all of them mangled beyond recognition. In the center of the room was a small woman in a white tattered dress splattered in crimson. She had black hair and orange eyes and the look on her face conveyed pure rage and feral hunger. "Stop!" The witch cried. "I'm not you anymore I'm different! We'll never be the same!" Stoically, the figure paced towards Iviroa a plethora of long wooden spikes protruding out her hands and arms. She couldn't move, this figure had her locked in place as if her gaze alone was enough to paralyze you. "You..." The figure spoke her voice cold and robotic as if she were bound to a program or code. "You will never be different...Im you...I always have been...you can lock me inside...beat me down...starve me...neglect me...and I won't care...I'll still love you..." The entity lifted Iviroa by the throat her nails long and sharp and her grip cold and stronger than iron leaving the small pulsing of blood through her veins as a reminder that she was human. "After all I'm you aren't I? " The figure's eyes turned dark and empty. "And we love NO ONE more than us right?"
Iviroa's eyes snapped open her breathing heavy and her flora blackened and decayed. She rubbed her neck as she found her throat to be sore and hurting. "Damn it! That couldn't have been real could-" The witch turned pale as her blood ran cold and her muscles started twitching with fear. There were a series of runes carved into her flesh the blood aroused by them still fresh and spilling. Appaled Iviroa grabbed a nearby towel the white fabric turning red immediately. Hastily she sped down the hallway and into the refresher a hot shower reaching out to her.
Two hours later...
Convinced she was clean as a whistle Iviroa donned her Jacket and jeans once more her left arm now encased in a thick bandage. For years she's been having these dreams but never before have they...transcended the dreamworld. The past few days have been nothing but change for the witch but this was RIDICULOUS. While she considered it, Iviroa eventually decided against telling Kahlil about her experience. He likely knew even less than she did, not to mention her sharing would involve going into deep detail about...Corellia. If she told him about what happened there any trust he may have had for her would vanish, along with a friend that has done nothing but been kind and generous towards her.
No. He doesn't need to know about the dream. If it comes up she'll just...say she fell! No...he's not stupid enough to believe that...
Kahlil Noble
A vision of death befell her eyes, a room scattered with bodies all of them mangled beyond recognition. In the center of the room was a small woman in a white tattered dress splattered in crimson. She had black hair and orange eyes and the look on her face conveyed pure rage and feral hunger. "Stop!" The witch cried. "I'm not you anymore I'm different! We'll never be the same!" Stoically, the figure paced towards Iviroa a plethora of long wooden spikes protruding out her hands and arms. She couldn't move, this figure had her locked in place as if her gaze alone was enough to paralyze you. "You..." The figure spoke her voice cold and robotic as if she were bound to a program or code. "You will never be different...Im you...I always have been...you can lock me inside...beat me down...starve me...neglect me...and I won't care...I'll still love you..." The entity lifted Iviroa by the throat her nails long and sharp and her grip cold and stronger than iron leaving the small pulsing of blood through her veins as a reminder that she was human. "After all I'm you aren't I? " The figure's eyes turned dark and empty. "And we love NO ONE more than us right?"
Iviroa's eyes snapped open her breathing heavy and her flora blackened and decayed. She rubbed her neck as she found her throat to be sore and hurting. "Damn it! That couldn't have been real could-" The witch turned pale as her blood ran cold and her muscles started twitching with fear. There were a series of runes carved into her flesh the blood aroused by them still fresh and spilling. Appaled Iviroa grabbed a nearby towel the white fabric turning red immediately. Hastily she sped down the hallway and into the refresher a hot shower reaching out to her.
Two hours later...
Convinced she was clean as a whistle Iviroa donned her Jacket and jeans once more her left arm now encased in a thick bandage. For years she's been having these dreams but never before have they...transcended the dreamworld. The past few days have been nothing but change for the witch but this was RIDICULOUS. While she considered it, Iviroa eventually decided against telling Kahlil about her experience. He likely knew even less than she did, not to mention her sharing would involve going into deep detail about...Corellia. If she told him about what happened there any trust he may have had for her would vanish, along with a friend that has done nothing but been kind and generous towards her.
No. He doesn't need to know about the dream. If it comes up she'll just...say she fell! No...he's not stupid enough to believe that...
