fragileprophet | Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

[These memories come together in the stream-of-consciousness style of a newborn. You know nothing, but you know that you don't know these things.

You don't know where you are, who you are, how to speak, how to move. You want to cry for no reason other than that its scary not to know, so you do, but it's a numb feeling, the water on your cheeks. The sounds around you are frightening in their unknown ambiguity. The stone is cold beneath your naked body.

You lift your hands in front of your face. Why did they put you in chains? They make your wrists hurt. There is nobody here to answer your questions, but you don't know the words to ask them. When there are people, they regard you impassively, talking in words that sound like sludge in your new ears, thick and terrible and mean.

You're lifted up by your arms and removed from your cell, your footsteps weak and clumsy. Where are they taking you? What do they want? Scared, you're so scared, and you pass cell after cell of little green-haired boys who look just the same as one another. Do you look like that, too?

For days you're made to do things without explanation, things that confuse you, but you somehow know how to do if you just mimic the actions of another one of those green-haired boys. There's something in his eyes that you don't like, and every time you do what they want, your body gets so weak that you can't lift yourself up off the ground. What is this? Why is this?

The green haired boys are gone from their cells now. You wonder where they went. You wonder when the floor got so red.]

[You're in an enclosed garden, where the gentle breeze caresses your cheeks and the fragrance of blooming flowers tickles your nose. Before you, across an elegant table, sits your maker: radiant as always, his majestic wings spread behind him—Lucifer.

You watch as Lucifer takes a sip of coffee, your shoulders tensed in anticipation. You've spent countless hours practicing this brew, in the hopes that he'll enjoy the fruits of your labor. You watch his face for a reaction, but, as usual, his countenance is one of serenity.

"This is very good," he tells you. "Really?" you ask, your heart skipping a beat in elation.

He suggests that you try some yourself. You obey, eager to taste the result of your hard work—but the second that familiar warmth trickles down your throat, a sting of disappointment cuts through you. It's passable, nothing like the coffee he makes.

You're told that you're too hard on yourself, but you insist that you need more practice. After all, Lucifer deserves so much more than you're able to give.

"Invite me, the next time you practice. I'll be happy to help," he says.

Whatever this feeling is, it wells inside your heart and spreads to every fiber of your being. You are humbled, honored that Lucifer would choose to spend his precious time with you. You say his name reverently . . . ]

[Sandalphon wakes up. His eyes snapping open, he lies there in bed, stunned by the dream that remains disturbingly vivid in his mind.

A green-haired boy. He, and the others, looked just like—Sandalphon turns his head to where Ion should be slumbering next to him. Is Ion awake?]

[At first it might not be clear--but he stirs, his movements as characteristically slight as ever, and then he, too, is turning to look at his partner. Surprise is clear in his eyes when he sees that Sandalphon had the same idea, and he gives him a smile.]

Good morning.

[He decides, for just a moment, to keep his dream to himself. He keeps thinking about those wings. How strange.]

[He can't say that he feels the same way about the morning, but it would be impolite to say otherwise. He nods and returns the greeting softly as he scoots to sit up.]

Good morning. Did you sleep well?

Yes...I think so.

[Ion begins to sit up as well, keeping the blanket around him as he does.]

I had...a dream, I think it was about you. Actually, it felt more like a memory than a dream.

[His eyes widen, his blood running cold.]

A memory . . . ? [The next question comes out hastily.] What did you see?

[The tone of Sandalphon's voice causes Ion to jump just slightly, the bashful smile falling from his face as if he'd been slapped.]

O...oh, um, I was in a garden, drinking coffee with someone named Lucifer.

[He opens his mouth, then closes it. Even that memory is . . . ]

Is that . . . all?

Well...

[He trails off. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks--because it just felt so personal.]

He was trying some coffee you made--it was like it was me, but I could hear your voice--and he said he liked it but you tried it yourself and you felt disappointed, because it wasn't good enough. He said he'd help you when you chose to practice more. And you were so happy...it was nice.

That . . .

[His face crinkles at the memory. He'd practically forgotten about that (because he'd wanted to).]

That was a long time ago.

I see.

[The silence that falls between them is...not necessarily comfortable. He wants to say more, feels somewhat as if she should say more, but the words curl up nervously in his throat.]

Sorry if it was uncomfortable to bring up so casually.

[The apology snaps Sandalphon back to reality, and he's quick to rectify this mistake.]

No. You didn't do anything wrong. But . . . that was definitely my memory. How were you able to see it?

[Oh.]

I don't know. I just fell asleep...and suddenly I was in it.

[Which means...he can't help but ask.]

You didn't see anything you think might have belonged to me...did you?

[He scowls, wondering if it's wise to share what he dreamed. While confusion and numbness reigned in the dream, he finds himself unsettled in the safety of his own body.]

I saw . . . your birth, and others who looked like you in cells.

Oh.

[Oh.

...

More silence. This time, because Ion feels like the inside of his body has suddenly turned into a pressurized kettle. Cold...how can he feel so hot but so cold? He pulls the blankets farther up toward his shoulders.]

I'm sorry. Did you...no, I'm sorry.

[He doesn't know what he's saying. Why is he apologizing? Why does the whole world feel so dark so suddenly?]

[His scowl deepens, more out of concern for Ion than anything else. He knows how intrusive this can feel.]

Why are you apologizing? I was the one who looked into your memory without your consent.

[And it wasn't a frivolous memory like his. What he saw was . . . private.]

[His heart is beating so fast. Ion puts a hand against his chest, closing his eyes and trying to focus on breathing.]

I just hadn't...thought of the six of them in...in awhile. Not like that. I hadn't forgotten but I'd...

[Well, he doesn't think about it.]

It must have alarmed you.

I wasn't expecting it.

[He was alarmed, to be sure, but that has since morphed into a feeling of faint unease. There isn't anything he can do for Ion, so he gives him a moment instead.]

But it's over. The dream ended and I'm here now. So are you.

Right...right, you're right. We're here. Together.

[He closes his eyes, but it's a bad idea, because he sees his Original glowering down at him with cold, uninterested eyes and wants to vomit. He opens his eyes again. He laughs weakly.]

None of that matters anymore. It was two years ago--it's all in the past now.

[He wouldn't say that it doesn't matter. If that's how Ion will recover from this stressful state, though, then Sandalphon won't say anything.

Two years . . . ]

You don't look so good. Do you need to lie down?

[He shakes his head.]

No, I'll be okay. I'm calming down. I'm sorry for causing trouble.

[The more you apologize, the less they expect from you. It's better to be left alone in that company, even when you feel so frightened to be alone.]

Trouble?

[Sandalphon doesn't recall there being trouble this morning, as reckless as Ion can be.]

It's been a while, so I'll say it again: tell me if you need anything.

[As his words sink in, Ion feels the shaking start to ease. Ground. He's found ground--he never left the ground. Slowly, his smile comes back. He looks tired, as if they hadn't just woken up, but he pulls his gaze back upward.]

Right now, I'd just like it if you stayed close. Is that okay?

[The request, though simple, is truly sincere and touches something in his depraved soul. In return, Sandalphon offers a tentative smile.]

I'll stay as long as you need. Take this time to rest.

Week 2 - dreamshare catchall with Sandalphon

MONDAY

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