#Hypnum

[bluestringpuppeteer]

Legato has been mostly ignoring the other occupant of Knives' home, partly because he doesn't like the idea of Knives being so enamored with another human and partly because he doesn't really have much to say to him. Especially after the incident between Badou and Knives in the forest where the Plant came back mauled.

He's been tolerating the other human for Knives' sake. Ignore him and it will be fine for both of them.

Now though Legato is a mess, and he knew he'd have a bad reaction to this stuff but he hadn't anticipated it being quite this awful. After the second mirror he'd broken in terror he and Knives had turned or covered all the rest of the reflective surfaces they could find, giving him a chance to breathe without feeling like the home he was staying in was a minefield.

He was sat on the couch, the house smelling of a pot roast he had cooking, a cup of tea in his hands, when the door opened and the other human occupant walked in. Legato turned his head just enough to visually acknowledge him before curling even smaller on the couch.

Both hands were bandaged from glass cuts, his coat was missing, he looked disheveled and exhausted. He'd convinced Knives he was alright for the moment while the Plant went to get more groceries but now he was left with nothing to do to distract himself from the images on repeat in his head. The only available distraction now was...

"You're back," he says quietly, voice rough from his screaming panic earlier. "I don't suppose you've found more then anyone else about this mess?"

@brokeassgoing

[magnusmodig]

@brokeassgoing / plotted !

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐒 was a seemingly infinite infestation. and there was very little in the way of resources when it came to dealing with it. defensive droids returned with moss entrenched within their systems or not at all. mortal men and women were too invaluable to risk plunging into the depths , and each day the numbers of willing volunteers dwindled — for sake of self-preservation or the destruction of addled minds both.

thor himself was faring no better , in truth. stripped down to near mortality , he was hardly any less at risk than the average aercon. his body could not withstand the damage of moss growing upon his flesh nor the effects of the pollen upon his mind. ( but fortunately thor was mighty. ...and he was STUBBORN. and he would let it be known this day and every day hence that no plant in all of the cosmos would subdue an asgardian warrior — much less its KING. if a plunge into the depths was what it would take to find the aercon answers ... THEN SO BE IT. )

that said , such travels would only yield best results when treaded carefully. ( and even thor felt the strain of fatigue and grief upon grief decaying his mind from the inside , more than it ever had. ) so thor sought out the mind of the second-smartest person on this planet he knew.

❝ son of nails , ❞ thor began , voice booming throughout the tavern walls before he placed hand upon table , and softened. ❝ ... badou. ❞ he amended , then ... hesitated. but only for a moment. ❝ i need your help. ❞

[silentaura]

−−−  ꧁  a fortunate gift for such unfortunate circumstances , zelda pours herself over the arcanus isle compendium , finger tracing annotations left in neat cursive script . no , no , this isn't it -- and the princess hastily turns the page . for as detailed as the compendium was , it lacked any specific notation of the nightmare moss she'd been hearing of .

click . frustrated , a sigh of frustration passes her lip as she quickly presses the cover closed and looks around , reassessing her whereabout . it was one thing to be thrust into the middle of chaos . it was a challenge entirely separate to be placed in the center of an entirely unfamiliar land . sure , she had hardly scraped the surface of her own land , but uprooting oneself entirely from the familiarity was . . .

admittedly thrilling , had it come with better timing . for even if she had always carried the unspoken desire to disappear , it was not to trade tragedies nor abandon her own ongoing . but she simple had to make do the best she could and put her faith forward .

which was much easier said than done .

" excuse me , " zelda approached the reference desk . empty . abandoned . when circumstances were most dire , people sought the comfort of their homes and families . of course there were no workers left .

tap tap tap . nail bounced against the wooden desk as if calculating her next move . she could just go and . . . try and scrape a bit of it off to look at it closer . asinine . she was no botanist , and if the information releasing had any bit of credibility it was not in her interest to get close to the nightmare moss . . .

however , " it's no use . we'll never get anywhere without some risk . "

and so zelda presses her compendium into her arms , making haste towards the closed botany hall of the arcanus university campus . without risk , there would yield no reward .

[drunkelreporter]

This shit was a lot more then Roberto had been expecting when he'd first woken up in this place. Nightmare Moss taking over the Isle, people falling into weird enchanted sleeps, sections of the city slowly being consumed and cut off from the spread of the black plant. He'd been both careful and lucky, cautious enough that he hadn't managed to get infected yet.

That wasn't true for everyone he knew. In fact that seemed the opposite to everyone he knew.

"Shit, come on, don't you give out on me now," he grunted, hauling the nearly limp vampire higher over his shoulders. Astarion was a friend, he was willing enough to admit that after all the drinks together in various taverns, all the gossip and exchanges of information, the ease he felt around the guy comparable to how easy it was to relax around his kids. A terribly destructive monster, sure, but just a man wanting companionship at the end of the day.

Now fighting nightmares and visions and clinging to Roberto's shoulders with weak hands, pale skin dyed black by creeping moss.

At the end of the day, Roberto was always a protector, no matter how reluctant he might be to acknowledge it sometimes.

If trying to protect Astarion meant dragging him back to Roberto's home and trying to get the damn moss off of him before it made him worse that's what he'd try first. He'd keep trying until he lost someone else who was becoming dear, and then he'd get back up and keep trying some more. He might be a dead man but in a way dying had put more spirit back into him then he'd felt in a long time.

If he could trust his kids to keep on without him, he could keep on without them. They'd want that, he thinks.

"Easy, easy Starion, I got you. Here, lay on the couch. Let me see, maybe we can get this crap off of you huh? You with me still?"

@fangsanddaggers

[fellstcr]

⚔️ // rain dripped down from the eaves of no. 101. although it was frigid - half-way between snow and rainfall , byleth eisner circled the perimeter of the townhouse gardens , donned in little for cover besides her own coat and a small black umbrella. eventually , rounding the corner and peering closely at the flower beds , she found what she was looking for. black tendrils of moss had snuck within the crevice of soil , and tiny pink flowers glowed eerily in the dark of the gloomy night.

byleth tore the invasive species from the ground without a second thought.

soon enough , it joined the rest of its brethren in a compost bin , where it would ROT with the rest.

after one last perimeter check , byleth entered the townhouse , careful to close the door quietly behind her. but it seemed that the her caution was largely unnecessary , for upon the couch was the very reason she had tread so carefully.

after something of a comically long pause , byleth shed her coat from her shoulders and folded it over her arm.

"... it's late . you should be sleeping."

@magiccuco / hypnum insomnum

[magiccuco]

Nightmare ... Moss? Pt. 1 [ Open ]

To say he was feeling nervous was really an understatement. Sure he'd seen the messages, and even the roots that started cropping up. But it was the weirdest thing... lately, he'd been having a lot of nightmares.

The nightmares changed constantly, with the Nightmare Knight and disaster masters showing up in various degrees of danger as they all tried to hurt his sister, Sir Carrot, and Nautilus. All of his loved ones. But gosh if he didn't fight back as hard as he could - in his dreams and from sleeping at all.

He was afraid of so much already, and at every turn, it felt like there was so little he could do. But he just had to try and do something. There was always a way out if you knew where to look. A-and that's what friends were for too, right? To help you through the nightmares.

... but those nightmares also gave him doubts. Why would anyone come for a coward like him? He was supposed to stay safe, but how could he be a hero if he just stayed away from it all? He could do something... but he wasn't a fool. Cucumber was afraid.

He had gone out in the day looking for something he could do. He could help, somehow. If there was any time they could use some positivity, it was right now ( maybe he said that more for himself. )

[hecrtled]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ FAWN WAS GEARED UP in her best winter-wear. cotton and feather down lined the inside of her maple-leaf coat dress , and she had PLENTY of supplies tucked securely away in her satchel. charcoal sticks and a leaflet book , with all of the notes of moss-ification symptoms at the ready. and now , standing on the shoulder of SORA , surely then there was nothing fawn couldn't be ready for.

from what sora had said , the moss was coming from somewhere underground. so if they wanted answers , underground is just where they'd have to go. . . . but her wings still fluttered nervously beneath her coat as fawn looked at the creepy dark blankets of moss leading straight into an even SPOOKIER human building.

but then she thought of her animal friends , some of which had been scared half to death by larger-than-life frights and others who couldn't get a wink of sleep at night. that alone was enough for fawn to square her shoulders , and slide down sora's arm until she'd come to a stop in the palm of his hand.

❛ looks like that's EXACTLY the kind'a place you were talking about , big guy, ❜ she said , pointing. ❛ you nervous? ❜

@liightaga / hypnum insomnum (plotted !)

[epilvgue]

「𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤 𝔟𝔞𝔫𝔤!」- He was exhausted. More than exhausted. Waking visions were nothing new to him, however he felt ill after what he had just experience. The dark circles and lines under his eyes were only more pronounced than usual. Unable to be waved off anymore.

Vash stood up from the bench at last. His stomach was rolling. Infection be damned, he wanted to be inside somewhere. As if that would do anything. He knew it wouldn't but he supposed it was better than rotting out in the elements. He would slink back to shelter to suffer there.

However, as the gunslinger made his way back towards Seaside 204, something else occurred to him.

...Knives was probably also experiencing something... He should probably...

He pulled his phone out of a pocket, dialed, but no one picked up. No one answered for Badou either.

Despite the growing pit in his stomach he justified it - it was late. Far too late for most to be awake. Nearly dawn in fact.

Making his way down the nigh abandoned street, he looked at the moss and flowers that had begun to overrun even the residential area. And then he was in front of 203. At least he was close by, and he would keep a distance from his brother as best he could.

He carefully tried to hide his right hand behind his back.

He knocked. Waited. Knocked again.

"Knives?" Vash called.

After several long moments there was no response and Vash carefully tested the doorknob. ...It was open...? That didn't really seem like something his brother would do. Or Badou. Had they both evacuated or had someone broken in?

A hand instinctually went to his hip but there was no weapon there. No Colt. No Peacemaker. Blue eyes glanced around for anything he might be able to use but all he found were vines and flowers he didn't dare touch again. So... with a careful and silent step he opened the unlocked door and crept inside -

Only to be met with something - someone curled on the floor right in front of the couch next to the entrance, tangled in blankets.

Heaving.

Sobbing.

Whimpering.

Distinctly not Knives or Badou.

Vash carefully shut the door behind him, just loud enough that the man on the floor might notice. He abandoned hiding his infected arm. Besides, the creeping moss had now begun climbing up above the collar of his coat.

"...Legato?" The venture was tentative.

@bluestringpuppeteer || Hypnum Insomnum 2024

[mischiefmodig]

@fellstcr \ / It's you ... Hypnum Insomnum pt. I

... this was not a part of the plan. Not that anything ever truly fell into Loki's design. He was a master of the ever-changing, constant flow that was Chaos. It was not something to control. All you can do is watch, listen, then follow. From there you may yet find the outcome you desire.

But this was not the outcome he wanted at all.

He had grown frantic as of late ( damned moss, wretched disgusting clouds of pink dust ) a helpless, evil feeling of knowing what he was supposed to be and unable to rise above it all. While his magic was still locked away... he needed a way to gain control fight back.

At the time ... the most straightforward solution ... was to acquire a weapon. Daggers had always been his primary selection ( the ability to stay nimble and light with accuracy and flexibility suited his style best ) and thus a stroll toward a secluded weapons location ( dark, quiet, criminal it seemed ) was in order. Unfortunately for him, he had no coin to his name.

But what was he if not someone willing to do whatever it took for his survival? The weapon was stolen, though it seemed his sleight of hand was not as clean as he had thought. A fight had broken out over the dagger, and he kept to his own well enough ( a few scrapes, bruises, bloodied nose and fingers ) ...

Until she showed up.

From out of the darkness itself, the green-haired fiend ( he knew her, how could he forget the heel that dug into the snow. ) emerged from hiding and brought upon the scuffle new attacks. Loki held his own for as long as he could, but she seemed to him a master of combat herself. It was as if she could read his movements before he even could - something that not even Sif or most of Asgard's finest had ever done.

Following her appearance were the annoying androids of the police department, and thus the illegal weapons deal had been put down as swiftly as it had ever gone up.

And that was where he was now. In a cell. Two pairs of cuffs on his wrists in the front ( he had already slid out of several pairs from the back, he was petty ) he sat on the "bed" in his holding cell, staring at the grey stone floor nursing his wounds. Nothing but quietness, a chair, table, and iron bars in front of him. His thoughts raced, but his sleep-deprived mind struggled to form much of anything except to admonish himself for being caught at all.

The preferred outcome in this place? Escape.

[ttauriwanderer]

Steven is worried. Its understandable at this point, considering the whispers he's overheard about this Nightmare Moss from the researchers and those in charge of the clean-up crews. He's been putting himself forward with the Guild as often as they'll let him, for any duty that will get him close to sources of information. People tend to forget he's there half of the time, which suits him just fine for overhearing the researchers talking about their progress.

Besides that he's been spending most of his time in the Archives, winding around others, Echoes and natives alike, who are doing the same thing he is; searching for information on the Nightmare Moss.

Nothing he's found has been good. Mentions of sleep related trouble, night terrors and hallucinations, implications that Nightmare Moss was responsible for many tragedies in the past of the Isles. He's worried about the people here, Echoes and natives alike.

There's no mention of a cure for the symptoms either, which is what worries him the most. There's already been more then a few people on the clean-up teams who have been exposed and their behavior turned erratic a lot faster then he'd expected.

A couple he'd had to help restrain when they panicked.

If only he had the Ethereal, he could analyze these things and find a way to stop their spread. Or if he had his powers... But he has neither and wishing for something he doesn't posses is not helping.

What he hopes might help, is breaking into the labs after dark to try an analysis there himself. Sure, he's been helping as much as he can, but he's also had an ulterior motive for volunteering for so much guard duty. He can make his way around pretty well from the map he's made of the places he's been and he's stealthy enough to manage otherwise. If he can get a look at what they're working on he can get a better idea of what's going on.

He's not a genius for nothing, and his specialty is biology and life science. He'll find something. He has to.

However, he doesn't even make it to the building before stumbling on something else entirely. A hunched form down a side street, hissing quietly. The white curls and long ears are a dead giveaway but there's something wrong, Steven knows it in his bones. The Captain tugs down the cloth mask he's been wearing in case he found more moss flowers to frown at the vampire.

"Astarion... Are you alright?" Wrong or not, especially if not, Steven has to check on him. It's part of his duty, part of his make-up. He won't just walk away if the vampire needs help.

@fangsanddaggers

[dragonhcrt]

@seirosu

There's nothing in his power to stop the moss from spreading and from affecting others. He's been investigating, seeking out information on what is going on, but as far as he can tell, there's been nothing yet.

He hopes Byleth is doing alright.

"Seiros, I think that's the last of them." Now that the area has been cleared of civilians in this part of the district, he's looking around for anyone else hiding.

"How are you feeling?"

[bluestringpuppeteer]

Legato was already anxious about the unrest the moss has been causing over the Isle, but now, knowing he's been exposed to the stuff himself despite his best intentions, he's even more so. He heads home with his coat bundled in his arms, careful to keep the bits he'd used to clean his face off inside the rest. He's tired, worn down by a day of work and anxiety is building up more rapidly then usual.

What was going to happen? What made this stuff so deadly? He didn't want to die again, not least because he wasn't completely sure he'd come back here. Probably. He hoped. But he wasn't sure. And dying was horrible even if he was going to come back.

He felt like there were eyes on him the whole way to Knives' home, something dogging his steps, and he gripped his coat tighter. There's nothing there, he can't sense anything. It's fine. He's fine. Just get home, get his coat washing, and curl up in bed to wait for Knives to come home.

And it goes well enough despite the dread coiling in his chest. He gets back, gets his coat and his shirt washing, even takes a shower. He hears and senses Knives come home and it eases some of the anxiety thrumming through his veins. He's not thinking of much when, freshly washed and dressed, he walks back the full length mirror on the bathroom door and glances into it.

A manic grin splits his face, blood running in thick rivulets down his face, a hole blasted messily where his left eye should have been. The right is alight in manic glee, mad, utterly mad and all the more deadly for it as he reaches out with a high laugh. Legato feels the threads catch at his body, catch and pull taunt and Peacemaker is a heavy weight in his hand as he raises it to point at a familiar figure. Blue eyes, sky and ice, blonde hair and black, red coat and white jacket, his voice hissing in Legato's ear. A scream he can't place, seeming far away, and a crash rings in his ears, pain shooting up his arm. A dark laugh he knows better then anyone alive rings out.

He's on his knees on the floor of the room he shares with Knives, shaking hard enough he can barely keep himself from falling over. The mirror he'd been glancing at is shattered into pieces and there's blood running from his fist. A shattered piece reflects his face and there's a hole in it, insanity in the single wide eye.

A scream tears itself out of his throat, an echo to the one he'd heard, and he all but throws himself back across the room.

"No no no no! Go away! Not here! Leave me alone!" He sobs as he retreats, scrambling on all fours to the other side of the bed before he collapses and curls into a defensive ball.

@angelictragedy

[magnusmodig]

@clxscdeyes / following (x.)

𝐓𝐎 𝐁𝐄 𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐈𝐒𝐋𝐄'𝐒 shores was to remain each day suffocating in the wake of his own absence within the nine realms. his dreams , if they could ever be called that , recalled their sunken faces covered in dirt , blood , grime and ash. then recalled still how hands had clung to his cape , soiling the the fabric as he'd tolled the names of the dead , the lost , and those who had survived. perhaps another all-father might rave , beside himself at the audacity of commoner's dirtied hands and rivers of tears. but all thor had seen then was the grief of his people. cold and dark and heavy. he felt in himself the weight of every loss as though it were his own. ( if he was asgard's molten gold , his cape the same red of asgard's once-proud banners , then thor felt that the dust and dirt to stain his royal hem was fitting . asgard the people wept for their legion dead. it was thor's burden to bear the striking lash of each name he added to it. )

each day was counted in mortal months , weeks , days and hours. and for each sorry , sordid day spent far away from his people thor could only rue the moment they had looked up and found in him their golden child.

he couldn't escape this planet. even as it fell ill all around him he could do nothing to sway the tide of the "nightmare moss'" infestation. still , thor would not rest contented with that. the aevum realm was hardly one of his own , but he had alighted upon it all the same. and so he would toil against the tides of reckoning that consumed the isle beneath the light of the blue moon.

his work had led him first to the archives with his brother. then deep into the decrepit ruins with his flame-haired friend. but thor would not rest with such little known and such little done , and carved out in himself the WILL to continue as exhaustion foxed the edges of his mind. ( he felt them. his people . like shadows lingering just outside his vision . like hands clawing and clinging to his boots / pants / cape — ) he turned a corner on his return to the guild headquarters. behind the trunk of one tree and slumped against the next , the mangled corpse of an asgardian child , befelled by surtur's infernal flames , eyes accusatory and wide open and mouth agape with the whisper of asgard's scorn upon her lips – leering at him. the mighty thor faltered. blinked.

there was no asgardian girl. there was— another.

❝  — ᛒᚬᚴᚴᛁᚱ . ❞ ( damn . ) one foot fell before the other. in a rush of movement he had snapped mossy tendrils from his boot and crouched at her side in an instant. ❝  child, ❞ he called. then , placed a hand upon her shoulder. ( shook it as lightly as he could - aware of a primordial strength within his fingertips that could move mountains . ) ❝  luna. this is no place to rest. not at this time , young one. ❞

[simknowsstuff]

my latest creation. I call it hypnum moss and tiny resurrection fern on a red bague rock.

If for some reason this gets traction i'll do more custom rockpet posting (mostly lavarocks, but they're also intricate)

[clxscdeyes]

It's like a clock repeating time over and over again. There's NO escape to this. She's trapped and she cannot breathe. All Luna can do is be forced to watch each and every tragedy fall right in front of her over and over again. There are no breaks.

~~~~~~

You should have paid attention. You should have taken heed of our warnings. Now look at what happened. It's your fault.

It wasn't enough for just your parents, but now you've got blood on your hands.

~~~~

Mr. and Mrs Mathis were scared, but they did what they could to make her feel comfortable. They were distant, sure, but they always made sure to celebrate milestones with all of the family. Even when it pertained to her. Her birthday was always celebrated yearly without a miss. It was like when Luna was first welcomed into their home. Sweet, kind, warm....As if they were still oblivious to the curse residing inside of the child.

where did it all go wrong? The Mathis family sang happy birthday to the birthday girl who had turned 14. The sound of singing, laughter, and clapping filled the house and filled Luna with joy. She was happy. She was grateful to be in such a warm and loving home...So why did it end up like this?

Again?

"M̴̦̹̿r̵͙̉.̷̣̲̯͖̈̾̑ ̵̧̐M̴͓̪̮̈̎ä̷̫̻̀̀t̸̤̼̜̿̏h̴̛͉̑i̸͉̍̂̍͠s̵͈̐͑̒̕?̸͎̩͋̂̕ ̷͓̖̎̅̀̓M̶̡̫̝̼̅̀̕͠ŗ̸̠͎͔̍̾͑s̴̠͓͕͊̈́͛̕.̸̖͘ ̸̢̱̱̝͛͠M̸̡̯̖̘̀͋͝ȁ̶̤̱̎t̶̫̙̞͝h̸̰̼̐̔̒ì̷̗̅̎s̴̭̠̪̗̋̓́̒?̴͍̦͗̉ ̶͖̝̖̏"

She doesn't recognize her own voice when she calls for them. Her eyes are looking at the bodies on the floor and when she raises her hands to her face, they are covered with blood. Mr and Mrs. Mathis are in a puddle of their own blood. The child steps back and nearly trips over a leg.

Her eyes lower and there, she sees Mr. and Mrs. Mathis' children. Her own siblings.

J̷̺̘̀̈́͠o̷͍̟̼͊́̌̊ȩ̵͈̦͓̍ẙ̸̹͙͔̊̑̕͜ ̶͇̍ͅ ̶͔̼̮̤̽͆̂Ẽ̵̝̲͛l̷̯̓̚ì̵̤̐́͆͜z̴͇͙̼̤̒̈́̕a̷͍̼͂͂

She covers her mouth with bloodied hands, feeling sick to her stomach, and yet...The sound that comes from her isn't the sound of horror or the sound of agonized wailing, but the sound of cackling, and laughter.

W̴͚̹̾̉͝h̴͇̳̓̚y̶̩͆̀̆͋ ̶̪̼̏̔̍ḁ̶̼̲̊m̴̳̐̉ͅ ̶̫̫̥̎́̃ͅI̸̩͌͌͝ ̴̥̘̓͑̃́l̴̳̄̀̐̅ä̷̧̖͙̗́ư̷͍̟ğ̵͙̦̜̮͗h̵̬̦̼̜̅i̵̦̓̔n̵͇͋̿̈̚g̴̛̲̲̲͗̽͜?̴̧͔̰͉̆̋ ̷̱̺̣̆͜S̸̗͕͈̠̅̆t̵͖̘́ò̸͔̎̇p̸̦̺̎̈́̈́!̵͔̰̹͔͊ ̵͇̘͎͒̑̿͝Ṣ̴̙́̿̉͜T̴̩̖͐̒͒Ỏ̷̡̈̾̂P̵͉͙̊ ̴̺̮̈͜I̷̡̱͕̍̓̓͝T̷̺̙͖͌̕.̵̼̤̽͆̃͝

Luna steps back further and when she looks in front of her and blinks, the one behind all of this stands in front of her. "N--!!!" Luna stumbles backward and the ominous figure with the long black hair covering their face looms closer and closer.

"S-Stay AWAY!"

But it doesn't listen. it gets closer with every step Luna steps back. As the evil spirit gets closer, Luna feels panic and fear bubble up inside of her. She feels like she'll get sucked right into the void.

[fellstcr]

⚔️ // slumber was a quiet and slow thing. it had stitched her broken from together once , and REVEALED TIME'S FLOW to the form that had come before. clearly in aevum , with a mask donned over her face , traversing the realms of slumber was similar to those such undertakings. a hazy imitation of the city sprawled before the enlightened one as though it were an extension of the haze of TIME'S PAUSE. from here , byleth could see all that connected the dormant with the living. pathways into the mind's eye , and shadowy serpents that clustered around the traps that held them there. with a flaming sword in hand , byleth had cut down the beasts from one glistening dream-orb to the other , freeing the pour souls trapped within from the depths of their own mind's despair.

THERE WAS NO TIME FOR HESITATION.

. . . that was , until she found seiros.

— seeing her , BYLETH COULD ALREADY HEAR IT : scorn upon a scalding tongue . unbridled RAGE for trespassing upon SACRED GROUND. for after all what was more hallowed than the sanctity of the mind ? even with the best of intentions , byleth had learned that her words were paltry upon the tongue and her actions doubly worthless .

but this was not the rhea that had grown to loathe her so. nor was she the rhea that byleth had shared precious time with. she was younger. the SAINT OF PROPHECIES and future deliverer of fodlan's people. easier to read in some ways ... and even more difficult to understand in others.

but byleth recalled the smoke of bonfires and the glitter of light upon stone . green tresses like hers , and eyes that glowed like hers , and songs sung in celebration as dragons soared in the skies above. honeyed wine in a golden cup. the indivisible with his sterling smiles and silver-woven tales. WOULD SEIROS' DREAM BE SIMILAR? did she yearn for those old temples and courtyards and halls?

( from afar , sleep crawlers ghosted over the fields and drew closer to the immaculate's resting place. tightening her grip upon her blade , byleth gauged their distance before turning back to the woman's entrapment. )

maybe she was too much of a STRANGER to encroach. . . but even rhea had welcomed her into her dream of the dancing city of ghosts. as though she had been , and was fit to stray inside of it.

. . . so why couldn't SEIROS ?

( . . . besides , even if she reproached her , byleth could always point blame at the unprecedented circumstances . )

byleth's fingers unfurled , and she pressed against the dream's surface.

@seirosu / hypnum insomnum prt. II (plotted!)