#I don’t even project on Armand why the fuck is he implanting his dreams in my brain

[the-crooked-library]

so imagine, if you will, the vampire Armand staying in a gloomy Victorian-built hotel by a forest. he goes to sleep and has a disjointed surreal dream about Daniel Molloy sitting across the table laughing at him. the beautiful, beloved face glitches and splinters between young and old and inhuman, his laughter between genuine and taunting and chilling - and then he stands up, hatred in his eyes, and punches Armand in the face, upon which Armand wakes up and realizes he has floated up to the ceiling in his sleep and bumped his nose against it.

now, you might think that this is the premise of a post-season 2 fic, but no, I just fell asleep last night and had an absolutely haunting yet stupid dream, in which I, the vampire Armand -