[82 / 16 / 16]
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Near a tree by a river
There's a hole in the ground
Where the old men of Saman
Goes to lay down and drown
And this thyme is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of magic
There is a wrong and right
_Old Saman rhyme
You fall in and out of consciousness as the days go by. The hunger and the thirst have long become the same feeling of hellish pain. You can’t tell the difference between hallucination and reality anymore. How long has it been? Have you ever not been stuck like this? Did you dream that you were a successful wright in the capital of Throne? You can’t make out the face of your uncle or your brother anymore. You don’t remember your parents voices. You have memories of memories of them, but as soon as you try to focus on the past it all blurs into a fuzzy whiteness. And no matter what, the whiteness always leads your mind back from the dream, and into this waking nightmare.
“Ew. Why is this one so lifelike?”
Someone walks into your field of view. Your vision is blurry and dry, but you can make out some features. Long hair, the white robes, her lithe frame. A student? Another apprentice?
“Don’t touch that. That’s what’s left of that old apprentice. You know the one?” There is a male voice too.
“Oh, eeeeeww! The murderer? The one that killed his parents?”
“That is the one!” He steps into view. Blue robes. A teacher.
You try to scream at them. Grab their stupid little necks and twist them in your grip. Poke their eyes out with your thumbs. Bit their throats out. Nothing happens. You are trying to flex every muscle in your body, every aching incredibly tired muscle, but nothing ever happens.
“Oh Princes... I don’t like it here.”
“Come on, honey girl.” She giggles at the overly sweet nickname. You want to vomit. “Storage is the only place we can get some alone time for ourselves. Don’t you miss me?”
“I do, but... That thing freaks me out. It is just there, looking.”
“Ah, it is dead. Leave it be. It can’t hurt us, honey girl.” She giggles again. Like broken glass inside your ears.
“I don’t knoooow.” She bemoans, arms around his neck.
“Here, I will cover it for you.”
You see a blue cloak, then black, then nothing, as sounds and sights meld back into dream.
There's a hole in the ground
Where the old men of Saman
Goes to lay down and drown
And this thyme is a beacon
In the veil of the night
For a strange kind of magic
There is a wrong and right
_Old Saman rhyme
You fall in and out of consciousness as the days go by. The hunger and the thirst have long become the same feeling of hellish pain. You can’t tell the difference between hallucination and reality anymore. How long has it been? Have you ever not been stuck like this? Did you dream that you were a successful wright in the capital of Throne? You can’t make out the face of your uncle or your brother anymore. You don’t remember your parents voices. You have memories of memories of them, but as soon as you try to focus on the past it all blurs into a fuzzy whiteness. And no matter what, the whiteness always leads your mind back from the dream, and into this waking nightmare.
“Ew. Why is this one so lifelike?”
Someone walks into your field of view. Your vision is blurry and dry, but you can make out some features. Long hair, the white robes, her lithe frame. A student? Another apprentice?
“Don’t touch that. That’s what’s left of that old apprentice. You know the one?” There is a male voice too.
“Oh, eeeeeww! The murderer? The one that killed his parents?”
“That is the one!” He steps into view. Blue robes. A teacher.
You try to scream at them. Grab their stupid little necks and twist them in your grip. Poke their eyes out with your thumbs. Bit their throats out. Nothing happens. You are trying to flex every muscle in your body, every aching incredibly tired muscle, but nothing ever happens.
“Oh Princes... I don’t like it here.”
“Come on, honey girl.” She giggles at the overly sweet nickname. You want to vomit. “Storage is the only place we can get some alone time for ourselves. Don’t you miss me?”
“I do, but... That thing freaks me out. It is just there, looking.”
“Ah, it is dead. Leave it be. It can’t hurt us, honey girl.” She giggles again. Like broken glass inside your ears.
“I don’t knoooow.” She bemoans, arms around his neck.
“Here, I will cover it for you.”
You see a blue cloak, then black, then nothing, as sounds and sights meld back into dream.
