faderift | i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream [closed]

This dream is different, has a sense of belonging. It was a dream in progress when she arrived, slipping into the skin of a ghost of herself.

It was the Circle, but not. The walls and hallways were wider, brighter. Sunlight shone in, in colorful puddles across the stone floor, and a courtyard boasted a garden she knew not to be there in reality. This was the Circle as he might have wished it, without fear and enclosure, the templars almost non-existent and still as statues, far away. A place they would both be happy and safe.

That place had never existed. Simon had to know that. He was a mage too, the Fade couldn't fool him. But she hadn't seen him so untroubled in months.

Darkness is only broken by slivers of light, here. Broken pieces of shivering imagry, wood and floorboards, stained dark in circles. She recognizes blood magic when she sees it, though the dead woman at its center is mercifully turned away. Their eyes are always open, they know what they're being used for.

Words echo, thrumming in the air, a robed figure chanting and pulling at the blood where it lays, hand raised in the direction of a young boy trying his very hardest to sink back into the wall and escape. There's another man nearby, red in the face, but he's not here to help. Why isn't he helping? He's--

Her eyes fall to the boy, but he shivers too. The entire scene trembles, the vibration wrong. She can't reach through, only watch from the shadows as the robed man continues his spell.

Emerald waves slosh up against a shoreline that fades in either direction. To walk the shore is to continue walking, no end in sight, and only the boundless body of water before them. Them. There is a girl, an elf, a Dalish First in her robes, and she lingers here.

Trapped. The waves lap, the sound rolls over them, and the rest of the fade watches, as though a way out for her might be worth pursuing. Their presence is a tingling on her skin, like the water's spray, and she wraps her arms around herself before stepping towards the other woman.

The sand is too fine under her feet, too soft. It could mire you in place, if you let it.

The room feels too big and also too small at the same time.

There's blood in the air, blood from his mother who he sees lying on the floor nearby, blood drawn on the floor in a sigil that he can't understand but can feel all too well. The sheer force of it is palpable, the weight of it making him stay on the floor, limbs shaking as his body trembles. His head hurts badly from where he had been hit earlier.

He's so stuck to the then that he doesn't even realize that there's somebody here who shouldn't be here, gaze stuck between the corpse that had once been his mother and his father, eyes widening as he sees him start to approach closer. He makes a pitiful sound and tries to curl himself up tighter, as if that would somehow help him in anyway. But there is nothing and nobody and Bruce lets out a pained cry as his father wrenches his head up by pulling his messy hair, the pain that he feels enough for him to loosen from his curled up position.

"You brought this upon yourself," his father hisses, nothing but hate and loathing in his tone - there is none of the kindness that a father should have had towards his own son. "I never asked to have a freak for a son."

She's just another shadow, another trick of the light, inconsequential. The dream takes the turns it will, following tracks worn into ruts. This is not the first time he's been here on the floor, watching his mother bleed out, feeling the rage boiling out of his father and sweeping the room in a warm rush.

There should be demons here, feasting. At the very least watching with interest. Something here is frightening them away, and it is there, hovering in the air between father and son. Some tender thread under pressure, threatening to snap and unravel.

Fear, pain, they coil around one another, churning sickeningly. She remembers the feel of the magic, like puppet strings under the skin. Fight. Fight it! The impulse is natural, and whether it is hers or the dreams, she is uncertain.

The Sina here looks a bit younger, though perhaps it is just the increased robustness of her health, her chest unencumbered by the shard. She turns her head to see the other girl and watches her thoughtfully, otherwise remaining still and composed. There is a deep sadness in her eyes, a quiet desperation to solve the unsolvable.
"Are you a spirit?" she asks quietly. Normally they try to take the form of someone she knows, someone from her clan, but on a deep level she's always aware it can't really be them. They're across the sea.

We all are. Bits and pieces that became whole, became human. We grow, we change, formed by hands we can't see.

The thought echoes without sound, without voice, a feeling more than anything. River tips her head, staring out across the vast water as she draws nearer. "They're far away now. Can't hear them over the waves," she remarks softly.

"Do you remember what they sound like?"

The fear is palpable, everywhere at once and its all that Bruce feels right now. Fear, confusion, the steam of why why why hanging in the air. What had he done wrong? Why was any of this happening? He just couldn't understand it. All he knows is the fear, the smell of blood in the air and the slowly crushing grip of his father's hand around his neck as he's hoisted up by his neck without remorse.

"You shouldn't have been born," his father spits out again, voice twisting and warping in the Fade, giving his voice a much deeper and monstrous tone. "See what you've done? It's all your fault."

His grip tightens, unforgiving, and Bruce gasps as his air starts to get cut off. Thin, bruised arms strain as much as they can as small hands clutch at his father's clothes, Bruce trying anyway he can to get his father off from him. His legs flail, trying to kick and hit too, the need to survive overpowering his fear.

Behind them the chanting gets louder, and the circle on the floor begins to take on a pale, eerie red glow.

Fight him.

Her voice isn't hers. It's a ripple as the scene gives another heaving shudder and the glow from the floor grows brighter. The darkness peels away, gives her space to stand, and she flickers to Bruce's side, watching his face darken as his father's fingers dig in.

Don't. Fight.

This is a memory. Touching it might touch him, might unravel things in his head he needs. He shouldn't be like her, picking up broken pieces, especially this sharp.

Don't fight.

The scene lurches again, and there's a distant sound like a roar, guttural and terrifying, growing louder and threatening to drown out the mage's chanting. That. That is why there are no demons here, and River is suddenly not at his side at all. Not that anyone can see, at least.

Sina nods sadly in response, then follows with "yes, of course." It hasn't been that long.
As if on cue, Keeper Thalia's voice rings out in a similar voiceless echo. Above all, your duty is to your clan. Do not pledge yourself to this shem'len cause unless they are willing and able to return to us you, our First, in good health and uncorrupted by their influence.

Sina's face is dreamy and sad, her gaze raised upward as though the source of the feeling is a taller person addressing her. "I have failed to be in good health," she observes, then looks at River. "Am I corrupted?"

Bruce struggles. He struggles as much as he can, but compared to a fully grown man there isn't much that a seven year old can do. His father grips his neck tighter, nearly crushing his throat, and its getting so incredibly hard to breathe. Everything hurts so much and he wants it to stop, wants all that pain to stop, it hurts and he's choking gasping struggling crying breaking--

All at once, the scene changes. Everything suddenly ripples like waves in a pond and the green tinge of the Fade seems to have seeped into every corner, from the floor to the ceiling. The other end of the place shatters and vanishes, revealing the Fade outside of this dream-memory, and right where the entrance of the room once was stands it.

There are no words to describe it properly. It almost looks like a golem but yet it is not, a mess of what seems like lyrium crystals twisted together to form a monstrosity unlike anything that anybody has ever known. Its reflective surface gleams with the sickly green hue of the Fade itself, making it seemingly even more green.

It's presence its nearly unmistakable, and it looks right at where River is, the sockets on its face glowing a green that's brighter than the Fade itself.

River's shape shifts, a reflection of the girl in front of her, searching for what pain she feels. "Am I corrupted?"

What does corrupted mean? The mark isn't poison, though it consumes, and change is inevitable. They form, they pass through the Veil, and then take new shape. It is the same with magic, with spirits, with all things.

Her hand lifts to her chest, where the mark would be. Behind her fingers, a light flickers. She's trying to puzzle this out, but better on her than Sina, better than touching her outright for now.

It is like no demon she has ever seen before. Most crawl, tear at her skin, painful even to look upon. Whatever this spirit is, it is not simply rage. Bruce is still inside of it, for all its monstrous beauty.

And it is steady, as the memory was not. Something thrums and roils off of the creature -- spirit -- and she knows it does not want her. It has what it needs, lashed to Bruce's pain and suffering. There is a boy inside who lost a mother, whose father hated him, who wants to do good when so much evil is written into his past in bloody letters.

She can feel eyes on them, the spying presence of weaker spirits, envious and hungry. They're close, but dare come no closer. Eyes wide and dark, naked of any effort to hide, she holds up one small hand, palm open.

He hurt you.

Bruce might not know her for what she is, but this hulking thing, it may.

Sina looks at her own image with total acceptance, as though it's just a mirror and not another person who just changed to become her twin. She reaches out, carefully, to brush her fingers along River's cheek. "I'm so thin," she breathes, and turns away, not wanting to look at the hated shard. "I've become a shadow." She walks a few steps away down the beach, allowing the green waves to lap at her pale bare feet.

"But without the shem'len I would be dead by now," she distantly observes, looking out at the water. "My purpose is to live, and they have helped me in that." She looks back at River, uncertain, seeking confirmation or denial. Her clothing has become the nightshift in which she sleeps, her hair untied and falling loose to her shoulders. The shard is in her chest now, but far larger than it is in reality, spanning nearly from shoulder to shoulder and down to her solar plexus. Strange flickering cracks appear in the skin of her shoulders, breasts, and ribcage, visible through the shift and painful looking.

If it is aware of the other spirits around them the creature certainly doesn't pay attention to them - it keeps its sights on River, everything staying still for a moment, an eternity by itself in a place where time has no real hold.

Then River moves, stepping forward with her palm stretched open, but when she moves closer the creature only growls in response, a rumbling sound that echoes around them. It's not that it can't recognize what River is, but its the first time anybody has ever intruded like this - and for it, the unknown has always been a dangerous, vicious thing that's ever only out to get it. She may look frail, but it is more than aware that looks are inconsequential in the Fade. There's no telling what she could try, and survival is the first thing for it, no matter what.

She freezes at the growl, recognizing it for the warning it is. It resonates, reverberates, shivers under her feet. The void stretches around them, shapeless and abstract. Unknowable. Maybe structure would help.

But she can't reach Bruce through the layers. This is his protection, his shield, the reason this spirit and he have bonded. So she pulls at her own memories, distorted though they might be.

It's still green, but it solidifies from light into leaves, grass, soft shaded sunlight. It's no more real than the terrifying room full of shadows had been before, but it's not a place of pain. She and Simon had played here as children, picked berries from their neighbors...

Safe. Serene. And open to escape, if it wished.

"Leaving changes you."

River leans down, picking up something in the sand, a stone rolled smooth by the water. Her thumb rubs at it, swiping away at the surface until something became visible beneath the surface. An eye?

"Taking a journey, you never come back the same. The waves roll over you, the current carries you, and the shape changes. She knew that when she let you go."

The walls of the castle are crumbled, neglected, much like the halls of Skyhold without any of the warmth or noise.

There are only echoes here, footsteps drawing quickly away, and around each corner only more hallways. They swallow up any sound but that of retreat and pursuit, a string tied in a circle being pulled along endlessly.

Here, there are no shadows to hide in, only the sense that she can't possibly be here. Aleron has his mind on other things, doesn't he?

These were wild woods, far removed from the barren, snowy mountainside of the Frostbacks. Here things hummed, vibrant greens in thick foliage all around them, trees older than men looming overhead and only allowing soft spots of sunlight to dapple through the forest floor.

It was foreign to her, but clear in the woman's mind. She had been here before, whether in dreams or reality.

Here it was easy to hide, to watch, as the girl made her way alongside a shade. To her, he might have seemed real, but the wavering edges were clear enough to River. A memory of a boy.

Curious, she crept after them, nothing more than another rustle in the brush.

As fine as Cumberland's Circle had been, Simon knew that it didn't match what the Fade presented. Yet even knowing it was a pretty lie Simon felt comfortable with it. It was empty, after all, save for those distant wisps taking on the roll of armored templars watching from a healthy distance. Demons were regular visitors for mages and dangerous company in dreams, but they were quiet tonight and he was the only soul truly present...but it didn't stay that way.

Simon paused when he noticed River, looking across the garden that seemed to draw inspiration from Skyhold's, but bigger and with a proper fountain rather than a well. For a moment he looked uncertain but offered an open arm anyway, inviting her closer. It could be a trick of the Fade...but the chance that it wasn't was enough for Simon to want to see his sister up close.

"When did you get here?" he asked.

Sina's attention is caught by the object in River's hand, but she simply watches it from where she is. Is that an eye? A wave of disturbance passes over her, and she looks away again.

"I will return to her," she says, to no one in particular. The sea is unending, and as she stands there, the waves lap up closer and closer to her feet, until she's ankle-deep in the surf. She looks down at it, then back up at River, her expression imploring. "I must."

"Can't backtrack. Won't be what it was. Everything moves forward."

River observes the ocean for a moment, and on the horizon there appears to be a ship. Something like a ship, at least. The sails are red, and the figure at the head of the ship might have horns. It comes no closer, at least for the time being, but Sina's longing for it is still clear.

Home. Everyone wants to find it again. She shifts free of the image of the elven woman, taking her own shape again before offering up the stone.

"There are more paths than the one you took to get here."

Sina squints her eyes at the ship, the waves lapping higher and higher with an unrealistic rapidity. She looks down at the water when her shift begins to float around her, then up at River again, her eyes sad and weary. She opens her mouth, perhaps to speak again, and instead is wracked forward by a violent cough.

When the scenery changes around them the creature lets out another unsettling growl, eyes shifting slightly as it takes in the new view around it. Wide, lush areas, grass swaying in a non-existent breeze, soft and gentle light gleaming down, its colour different from the usual sickly green of the Fade.

It can recognize what this girl is, sure, but it sure doesn't know what its intentions are for even doing any of this. The confusion only has it wanting to lash out, but the lack of a threat prevents it from doing so as well. So all it can do is to try to make itself as dangerous as possible, staying stock still as it stares at the girl, waiting for her to make whatever other moves she might be planning.

As with everything else in his life, Aleron is intent on his goal. That goal is to reach the retreating figure of his wife. There is some part of him that knows that this cannot be real, that he must be dreaming, that he has had this dream before. This time, surely it will be different. The part of him that yearns to hold her again, to beg forgiveness of her, to once again taste the sweetness of companionship... that is what compels him forward. He cannot acknowledge the dreaming. To do so will rip her from him and he cannot bear it.

"Mirielle! Wait! Please..." he pleads with her, voice heavy with longing and desperation, while he continues to follow the echo of her footsteps.

Only out of the corner of his vision does he glimpse the presence of another. But no, he cannot look that way, lest he lose his way in the labyrinth of hallways. For a split second, his attention is torn: inquire who she is and why she is here when she can't possibly be, or pursuit his wife before she vanishes.

He chooses to follow, rushing around the corner to the left.

"Not long after you."

She beams up at him, bringing over a small folded napkin and settling in to sit on the grass. It's comfortable, open, and they're together and safe. It's all he wanted, she knew, everything he would have fought for them to have. She can't bring herself to break the illusion just yet.

Instead she grins impishly and opens the napkin. Berries, plump and red, sit there in her lap.

River hesitates to touch her, but sinks down onto the wet sand, the water lapping up around her knees. Instead of touching her outright, she reaches to place her hands over the glowing mark on her chest. She can feel it pulsing, the way it's trying to change her, breaking down skin and muscle and blood, making her more.

But she isn't ready for that. She wants to be her, a Dalish elf, a First. She wouldn't understand being anything else.

Maybe she can ease the pain. River closes her eyes, and as she does, the water begins to rise around them. The tide is coming in, sweeping higher and higher with each new wave.

Sina is in too much pain to speak, but watches her between the waves. She still looks sad and resigned, but her brow creases in a small smile of relief at River's touch on the shard. After meeting her gaze for a moment, she is submerged. And then she is gone.

She wakes up coughing and confused, looking around to a dark tent lit only by the green glittering of the shard.

He will never catch her. She will slip through his fingers like sand, and as thought to prove that point the floor Aleron runs across suddenly pulls weightily at his legs, slowing the pace of his pursuit. She lingers now, around each corner, long enough for him to see her hair, the flow of her dress, the faintest glimpse of what might be her face as she turns. But the hall seems to stretch.

She is so very far away, and he is moving as though through mire. River watches, her eyes on the woman. She's thin, a wisp of a thing, so very fragile. If he caught her, she might simply break in his arms, to look at her.

The weight pulling at him, slowing him down is unbearable. Strange for a man who has spent his adult life encased in armor, used to being weighed down by it. Weighed down by what it represents in his life too: duty, responsibility, keeping others out.

He'd let Mirielle into his heart and it had crushed him when she died.

The thought that she can be saved this time takes hold and he cannot, will not, turn it loose. If only he can reach her, he knows he can stop it. The last years of his life will be the nightmare and he'll wake to her smile. But first he must reach her. To reach her, he must go faster, move unencumbered.

The gauntlets are the first to go. They are cast aside as he attempts to run across the sinking, fighting floor. Still fighting, still pushing, chasing her footsteps, drinking in every detail of her beautiful face before it goes around another corner. Without looking away or thinking of what he's doing, the fastens on the breastplate are next to come undone. It is cast away in haste, lest the seconds squandered as it blocks his view cause him to lose the sight of her. There it lays, Seeker's Eye face down on hard stone, sinking. Next is the sword belt and tassets. Unnecessary burdens he does not need.

If only that had been true, Simon thought. How old was River when she first started showing her gifts? Eight was the earliest he'd heard of it happening...which would have only been four years after he'd left home for the Circle. Providing his parents had done the right thing...

But Simon did his best to sweep those thoughts away before they could get any more bitter. This little corner of the Fade was too pleasant to ruin with his usual pessimism.

"I'm glad you could make it," he told her, watching the napkin spread out like a small picnic in her lap. It seemed like a good invitation, so Simon knelt down next to her, the grass cool and slightly damp from the nearby fountain. Yet for once he didn't mind if his robes came away stained...something told him it wouldn't be a problem in the dream. "What do you have there?"

She's too frightened to approach, to shift any closer. That growl catches under her skin, resonates in a way that has her wanting to turn and flee, or disappear into the trees she's conjured around them.

He's gone. They're gone.

The words aren't spoken, but they echo, bouncing off the trees, thrown towards him like some meager offering to appease him.

Don't be afraid.

Oh, she wants him to reach her. She's extended her arms, beckoning him closer. But the hallway stretches ever longer. For every step he takes, she only seems farther away, her eyes desperate under the veil of her hair falling about her face.

And she grows paler, like color fading from an aged painting. The stones in the hall fall away, and those that are left are jagged, jutting out from the ground like tombstones. But there is every indication he could reach her if he just kept going.

But only a memorial waits for him if he does. Cold, unfeeling stone, arms outstretched in rigid embrace.

"I found them in the garden. Remember the Camberson's berries?"

She plucked one up in her fingers before offering it out, trying to maintain the mirror-stillness of the illusion. Don't let it warp, twist. Don't let the seams show through. Simon would notice, he was too clever not to.

Let them enjoy these moments, just for a little while, pretending everything had turned out alright.

Oh those reaching arms...

Those are all it takes to spur Aleron on all the more. He can see the desperation in her eyes, even as she beckons for him. The hallway stretches more, taunting them, teasing. She is fading to shades of marble while he struggles with each closing step.

For a fleeting moment, there is a flit of an idea. If reaching for her puts her further away, perhaps turning about will close the gap, overcome the chasm that grows to keep them apart. It would make sense. It would be logical.

But he just cannot turn away from her.

Determined, he digs in harder. He will reach her and save her. Ignoring the unending holes left behind the fallen flagstones, he moves slowly where there is remaining footing. The rocks are sharp and painful, biting and clawing into his bare feet. Where his boots vanished, or when, he doesn't know, nor care. The agony of the pressing forward he ignores. And well that he does. Each slice of rock into his flesh is one more step closer to Mirielle.

Exhausted and bleeding, his hand finally brushes hers outstretched. Cold stone, lifeless. A perfect statue, ever reaching, face marred with terror evermore. He is too late.

"No!" Aleron sinks to the ground, clinging to the fragile statue of his wife, broken, with his face pressed against those dainty feet. "No..."

"She isn't here."

River is there, some distance away behind a broken headstone, watching this man grieve for his wife as though she were still there to touch, to hold, to save. But the stone is empty, an afterimage. What he seeks can't be found here, could never be reached.

There has to be another way. But this is his dream, his fears and guilt and doubts that the Fade reflects back to him. To touch them is to touch his mind, and she is hesitant to do so if she doesn't have to.

It hears the words and that has it glancing around, as if trying to find where the source is from. But there is nothing except the trees and her and this isn't what its used to. There's no violence, no pain, nothing to be angry at - and that alone is a huge juxtaposition to its very nature.

Without anything to vent its anger towards all it does is to eventually roar its frustration out to its surroundings, growling and snarling and letting everything nearby be well-aware of its existence. For it does exist, no matter how tightly caged it is, and the world should know that.

"I do remember...Maker, it feels like an age since then," he said with a quiet smile. Sometimes he dreamed of the old house instead of the circle, but the memories were even more blurred. Halls were wider and ceilings taller and the grounds seemed to stretch on forever...but, yes, he did remember the Camberson's berries. "We thought they were wild."

The smile shifted as he leaned forward, mouth open obediently to accept River's offer.

There would be those that would want it chained, defeated, locked or hidden away. But the rage demons she'd encountered before had been painful to even be near. Perhaps, in joining with Bruce, his nature had changed it. Humans could corrupt spirits...perhaps the opposite was true as well, if a thousand times more unlikely.

Her head tips, eyes closing, trying to find something that will let him know she means him no harm. What comes to her is a song, old, the voice was lower and rougher but still female. Kind.

She gives it to the birds around them, a melody bouncing off the trees. A lullaby.

So tender, the way she places the berry at his lips. They leave a stain on her fingers, too, deep red and trickling downward, but no. No. He doesn't need to get his hands dirty.

She'll keep hold of them for him. The stain has already found her, in red streaks down her robes.

The song resounds around the area, soft and gentle, everything that it isn't right now and if anything it brings about even more confusion. The demon roars even more, as if trying to fight back against the peace, but at the same time there's something inside that is responding to what it hears - the melody, the voice... everything.

Even as it roars it seems like the glow around the demon is flickering, starting to grow dim as the rage burns out. The green tinge fades, disappearing, and cracks start to appear across its lyrium shell, sounds of crackling echoing out as they get bigger.

As if knowing its hold won't stay on for much longer the demon roars even louder, its cry resounding through the Fade, letting out its loudest one yet before the cracks cover its form entirely. It stays still for a moment after that once the roar dies out from its throat, a single second of silence, and then there's the sound of something shattering into a million pieces as the lyrium splinters and breaks, revealing the human who had been encased inside of it.

Bruce tumbles down to the ground, powerless and exhausted, crumpling in a heap as the lyrium fragments dissipate into the Fade, leaving nothing but trails of green that quickly vanish.

It's only then that she dares to creep closer, knowing it is still there, still lingering in his skin, in his heart, in his head. The fury simply has nothing to rail against any longer.

River sinks down into the grass nearby, watching those fragments fade away. She can almost see the scene replaying itself behind their brightness, the angry older man, the dead woman, the frightened child. The ghosts that haunted him even now, tying this creature to him, lashed by old hurts and fears.

But no other demon dared walk this section of the Fade. The demon was...keeping him safe?

It takes a while but eventually, Bruce stirs back awake from his exhaustion. They're still in the Fade, but his mind is back to itself and no longer trapped by... everything that had been happening earlier.

He groans as he shifts, hands moving to brace against the ground as Bruce slowly tries to at least sit up. Even in the Fade having the demon overpowering him is--unpleasant, and Bruce can only hope that none of that transferred over to outside of the Fade.

He doesn't really want to imagine that.

Edited 2016-03-30 17:01 (UTC)

She doesn't reach out to touch him, not here, but he'll no doubt recognize the young girl crouched in front of him, peering at him with a mix of worry and curiosity. "His shape is different. He shaped inside of you, started corrupted but crystallized. A chrysalis. It changes the body politic."

The birds still sing sweetly overhead. Just in case.

There's a pause in where Bruce first hears the words and where he registers said words and the voice in which they were spoken. Once it sinks in, however, he's instantly looking up even though he's still lying on the ground, head raised to look at her.

"...you." His voice is strained, tired--uncomfortable. "You shouldn't be here."

He had a good idea of what she was, yes, but this just confirms it. And Bruce doesn't know if he should be scared of this or not. If she was here, then she must have... he doesn't want to think about that, either.

"You were afraid."

He's not trying to shoo her away, as far as she can tell. It's more that she shouldn't be here, she shouldn't have seen what she did, reflections on a broken mirror. His heart remembers the terror of that day and it reflects on the Fade, but she can smooth the edges, shield him from the vast, terrifying unknown around them.

Her brow furrows delicately.

"I wanted to help."

Somehow hearing that she wanted to help only has Bruce letting out a short, brief laugh, the laugh itself harsh and bitter before Bruce lowers his head back down to the ground.

"Don't bother," he returns, and far from his usual mild manners there's nothing but bitterness and disappointment in his voice. "There's nothing left here to help."

He's already lost himself, so long ago. All he is now is a shell, an empty husk of something that had once been who he was. Now he's only a little more real than an actual ghost. Or maybe he's even less than that. Who knows, really. The Maker certainly didn't.

i know you, i walked with you once upon a dream [closed]

Simon

Bruce

Sina

cw: blood magic, REALLY BAD PARENTING, dead moms

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Aleron

Melys

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