Quoted By:
<span class="mu-s"><span class="mu-b">Winner:</span> "Are you stupid?"
<span class="mu-r">2 + ??? = ???. Don't Panic</span>
René looks like he's about to protest his teacher's words. Before the words can escape from his mouth, you once again cut him off with a gentle finger to his lips. That gesture is just about the only thing gentle about your mood and your motion as you rise up from your happy place atop your darling to address this interloper. Your limbs move like those of a puppet caught on strings as you restrain your <span class="mu-g">barely concealed rage</span> at being interrupted.
Your head tilts at an awkward angle to meet the interloper's eyes with contempt. The delusions and dreams shatter to reveal the scars of your most recent battle. In this dream, you had all the trophies you carried from war, but not the curse mark that crawls up your left arm to embrace your breast with a bough of black thorned vined and flowers. Nor your blackened eye, marked with an inverted Flower of Life that burns with emerald flames.
<span class="mu-g">Your blood is boiling</span>. Black flames pour from your skin like water overflowing in a pitcher. They eat away at the dreamscape around you and leave behind a sea of stars upon the soothing expanse of the ever-blessed night sky. They tear apart the clothing you wear, and that wretched chastity seal that kept you from enjoying René's company to the fullest. They burned away the glaze of his love upon your skin. Yet for all they burn like the very fire of the sun, the flames are cool and soothing to the touch.
The dream heals itself as quickly as it is eaten away, but the truth wraps around your body like a second skin and clothes you in the colors of a crystal clear night.
"<span class="mu-g">Huh? Are you <span class="mu-i">stupid</span>...?</span>" your voice comes out with an uncharacteristic drawl. No, not quite uncharacteristic. It's the tone you <span class="mu-i">want</span> to take so very often, when people say foolish things that show how very little they understand about you, about the topic at hand, about the world. Your mind floats, free of the shackles that normally keep your words and voice restrained. It's a side of yourself that even your darling René has only seen scarcely. "<span class="mu-g">We're in <span class="mu-i">love</span>, you rotten old hag. A love that burns pure and bright, <span class="mu-i">and casts a terribly deep shadow</span>. So why don't you leave before you're made to.</span>"
Huh? Why is your René looking at you with a panicked expression like that? Doesn't he know that this is all a dream, that the fire surrounding you has even begun to peel back the morphean veil and reveal the oblivion of blissful sleep? But of course, you can only dream up a René as clever as you are, and your darling is the most brilliant and clever man in all the world, you're quite certain.</span>
