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ominous-faechild · 6 months ago

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✦ Writer Questionnaire 2 ✦

Thanks for the tag, @the-golden-comet! (And @the-letterbox-archives tagging me when I was almost done here, haha)

Heads-up! Long post!

How long have you had your writing Tumblr/Writeblr? A fast and loose estimate is fine!

Two months ago to the date actually??? Or, at least, that's when I first uploaded a story here. My first actual Writeblr post was me hopping in on an open tag on the 6th of June, haha. I thought it was just a month, but looks like the summer's gone by in a flash! 😭

What led you to create it?

So, I'm a writer on Tapas! I'd been attempting to social network on other social medias (twitter and bluesky) but wasn't getting anywhere, didn't like the general formats, and uh... I'm sure I don't have to explain why I don't want to touch Twitter with a 10-foot-pole anymore. Let's just say, if you haven't seen, it's just as bad as (if not worse than) everyone says. Anyhow, I'd seen lots of Tumblr short stories on other platforms and started investigating what it's like here. Didn't know what "Writeblr" was or that it even existed, but eventually stumbled into the field after posting my short story. Thanks, @darkandstormydolls! ❤️

What’s your favorite thing about the Writeblr community?

How supportive everyone is??? Like omg you guys are so sweet, idk how to take it. Also I love seeing how much passion everyone else has for their writing, haha.

What’s one thing you’d like your mutuals to know about you?

Uhhhh, I think I'm pretty open about the things I'd like people to know about me, haha. I never mean to offend, so if I accidentally say something wrong, please tell me! I'm autistic and very dumb.

Is there anything you’d like to see more of on your dash?

I'm ngl I keep meaning to build out my followed tags for my fandoms, haha. The only fandoms I really see things for are TMAGP (10/10, TMA is my obsession. I am obsessed. It is one of my Special Interests and I love it with all my heart) and House of the Dragon??? Except I'm not even a fan of HotD??? So that's kinda annoying, haha. (Aka, my fandom stuff, but that's on me.)

WIP it Good

Which Works-in-Progress (WIPs) or writing projects are you noodling about, lately?

Rising From the Ashes, tragically. (Because it's one of the LAST things I should be working on right now, haha.) Otherwise, I'm of course always obsessed with the Arcane Rifts. Then I force myself to be obsessed with Sun and Shadow, though it's slowly growing on me, haha.

How long have you been working on them?

Haha, so I've historically jumped around a lot in working on different things, so these are approximate guesstimations!

Rising From the Ashes has likely had 3 or 4 years put into it/the characters. If you include the Calamity Crew (which overlaps with it in the timeline and originally ended up merging with the cast of RFtA), I'd say definitely 4 years!

The Arcane Rifts has had 5 years put into it.

Sun and Shadow is very new; I'd say it probably only has about 4 months of work in it? It's part of why I'm less interested in it, haha. Less I've put into it and less I'm attached to.

Do you remember what inspired them/what got you started?

Oh... oh dear. How could you ask me this??? 😭😭😭

Rising From the Ashes has existed since, I think, 2016. It started (tragically) as an RP starter on Google+. I wish I was kidding.

To those unaware of how it worked in that space (and likely similar ones to this day), you'd post a starter and people would join in with their own characters. 99% of the time, they'd drop out before long. However, I'd work out details of the characters in the process and carry that info over into the worldbuilding. I eventually stopped RPing with the masses and settled down with a single "partner" who I'll call Kris.

She's the one who stole my docs.

The Arcane Rifts technically originated as another RP starter? It never got attention, though, and instead my ideas for it simply carried over into the worldbuilding in general.

One of the characters of the original starter was important in the worldbuilding. It was not a character you see in the early books of tAR, though, so don't bother trying to figure it out. But, since he was so important, his origins were also important.

The Arcane Rifts started in 2019, as I wanted to make a story building out said character's origins. It was originally going to be a duology, the first book being Gene's backstory and the second being how Gene and The Other Guy's lives intertwined. (No, they were not gay for each other! 😂) It's since changed a lot, and focuses basically exclusively on Gene, haha. The last book in the series will probably be focused on the other character, though!

Sun and Shadow started for a romance novel competition on Tapas which has since ended. I didn't get to finish it in time for a lot of reasons, but I primarily cite stress and exhaustion from working full time at a physically-intensive job. It grew shockingly quickly and I had some fans donate to me related to it, so I'm kinda forced to work on it, haha. Dw--I like it! It's just harder to work on for a number of reasons, haha.

How much time, in your best estimation, do you spend thinking about them?

Tragic, the questions you're asking me--

It depends, haha. I'm autistic and hyperfixate a lot. Also, for one, that's a suuuuuper vague question??? Like what do you mean "how much time"--how much time within the day? How often in general? Idk, man, haha.

I think about the Arcane Rifts a LOT!

I've put an incredible amount of time and effort into it, and I'm in love with 90% of the characters there. Even the background characters have had a lot of work put into them, getting relatively fleshed-out backstories to make their motives understandable (even if not agreeable!), and I love them all so much, haha.

Except Katerina. She's a bitch.

I also think about Rising From the Ashes a good amount, and it's invaded my brain again lately, haha.

I took a step away from RFtA and basically all of my other stories late 2021 when Kris (my ex-writing partner) and I had a falling out. It was incredibly difficult for me emotionally to look at anything I worked with her on, and obviously RFtA was a huge one (actually, tAR was the only thing of my early works she had nothing to do with). Since early this year, I've finally been able to work on it again and it's been incredibly fun removing her stuff, actually!

I think all that is a good part of why I keep randomly getting obsessed with it again, haha. It's like looking at old friends (the characters, not Kris) and being all "omg??? I HAVEN'T SEEN YOU IN FOREVER??? PLEASE TELL ME EVERYTHING YOU'VE BEEN UP TO!!!" except it's removing Kris's stuff, haha.

I think about Sun and Shadow a lot more than you might expect with how much I talk about not preferring it, haha. I love the characters! Crow and, actually, Valyarus especially. They're both super interesting characters, and I'll randomly find my brain working out scenes between characters interacting with them.

(The problem with SaS is that, as a book, it's incredibly different from my usual works. It's a small cast of Frey/Crow and technically Daleira, while most of my stories focus on larger casts. It makes for a VERY different experience, and so it's a lot harder to work on)

When someone asks the dreaded, “What do you write about,” question, what do you usually say?

Actually, I've got a ready answer for this one! Until SaS, I was dedicating my time to the Arcane Rifts and had prepared the answer:

Percy Jackson meets Lord of the Rings in a steampunk fantasy world full of ✨mysteries waiting to be uncovered✨

(I'd say the "mysteries waiting to be uncovered" part ironically/accidentally mockingly most of the time, whoops, haha. I always feel awkward advertising my works.)

It was awkward when people would get actually interested in it from there and ask more questions, haha.

To clarify: that's my tagline for the Arcane Rifts! The story has gods and demigods messing with mortals, using them as their playthings and being REALLY immature babies because they don't really face consequences for their actions like PJ. Then, it's a lot more "grounded yet fantastical" like LotR, where magic is kinda infused with reality and yet you still have issues like starving to death and whatnot.

Let’s Rotate Blorbos

Name any characters you created. Side characters, protagonists, antagonists, characters who’ve never been written, the first original abomination you ever pulled from your ass; whomever you’d like!

UHHHH THERE'S A LOT TO LIST???

Try this for a taste! These are just the guys I've gotten colors for!

Freya, Crow, Daleira, Valyarus, Grimnir, Soren, Gene, Tazin, Mislav, Adilzhan, Ludmila, Rada, Caspar, Nikolai, Gennadi, Oska, Rieka, Liesel, Carmin, Nora, Sammy, Kieva, Caron, Varik, Elazi, Riaan, Roman, and Tiberius! (Though Tib is getting a name change sooner or later)

Who’s the most unhinged?

Unhinged in which way? There's a lot of options there, haha.

I'm going to give honorary mentions to Valyarus, Gene in the later books, Tazin, Rieka, Gennadi, and Tiberius ! (Why does it not surprise me that most unhinged characters are from tAR? 🤣 Also I swear it's a coincidence most of the unhinged characters are red.)

(... Probably.)

In general, I'd say that, incredibly ironically, the Existence of Order is the most unhinged of all my characters. She's just incredible at hiding it.

(Tbf half of the Existentials probably belong on the "unhinged" list anyway but eh. They still don't compare to Order!)

Who comes the most naturally for you to write?

I'm going to give this as a tie between Gene and Sammy!

Gene has my 'tisms and just about all of my trauma, so we have a lot in common, whoops, haha. Also there's a... very specific detail about his character that makes him easier to write in general. It's just a major spoiler. 👀

Similarly and actually identically to Gene in some ways, while Sammy has a lot in common with me, he's also incredibly perceptive! (Although we don't share that fact.)

Due to the way I write, their analytical natures allow for them to spit straight facts about the worldbuilding and the people around them rather than beating around the bush, haha. Both are highly investigative, try to learn and understand everything around them, and notice small details other characters wouldn't! It makes it much easier for me to write, because uh... well here's an example of what my outlines look like.

Long story short: I include a lot of detail which I then transfer into the POV's character narration, cutting out details which they wouldn't notice or think about, haha. In Sammy's case (which that scene has Sammy as the narrator/POV character), very little information gets cut out because he's so perceptive!

(Here, as a treat--have another example!)

(In this scene, Nikolai is the narrator. Even the outline gets "filtered" to mirror the characters' way of thinking--like it's Nikolai himself seeing Caspar as "doll-like". The crossed-out stuff is details I most likely won't mention, but noted for myself, haha. I do the same thing if/when including details about the motives and thoughts of non-narrator characters.)

Do you ever cringe at them?

Gene and Sammy?

A B S O L U T E L Y .

Gene is a wreck in basically every way and desperately needs help (that he won't get until he meets Dimitry). As much as I love him, there's a lot of moments where you just can't help but wince and be all "shit, did you REALLY have to do/say that?"

Sammy on the other hand? He's a terrified, control freak manipulator who panics the moment he feels like he's losing control of a situation. It can be painful to watch, even if simultaneously fascinating.

How much control do you feel you have over your characters? AKA, do they ever “write themselves,” refuse to cooperate, or do things you didn’t expect? To what degree? Are some less cooperative than others?

I explicitly go out of my way to add backstory to and develop each and every one of my characters until they "write themselves", haha.

I want my characters to feel like real people, so I do my absolute best to make them as real as possible. (That's part of why tAR is so massive...)

Special shoutout to Dimitry here, btw. Dude COMPLETELY screwed over the planned and intended from the earliest days path of the Arcane Rifts. I've mentioned before that Gene is villain-coded, yeah? Want to know why?

Because he was MEANT to be one! Then Dimitry had to come along, be the sweetest, nicest fucking person around to Gene while he was going through the worst part of his life, and keep Gene from slipping off the deep end!

MITRY, YOU PIECE OF--

Do you enjoy people asking questions about your characters? And do you have a preferred means of receiving said questions? For example, as Asks, as replies, as reblogs, as tag notes, as comments on AO3, etc.

I absolutely love, love, love!!! people asking questions about my characters!!! 🥰

I would absolutely prefer them as Asks sent to me, and especially would prefer if separate subjects/questions were sent in separate Asks! Like, say you were going to ask me about Gene and Dimitry. I'd rather two separate Asks, one asking for whatever you wanted to know about Gene and another for whatever you wanted to know about Dimitry, haha. However, if you wanted to ask a single question about both, that obviously is fine as a single Ask!

On writeblr engagement

What makes you want to follow another Writeblr account? Do you follow ‘em as you see ‘em, or take time scoping out the blog to make sure you align with its content? Do you follow based on WIPs, or vibes?

I definitely scope out before I follow, yes.

I choose based primarily on the personality of the person behind the blog, but the WIPs/vibes can also have an influence on my decision, haha. I'd rather follow people with kind/supportive personalities, and I'll eventually start liking their stories even if they're not initially my thing!

What makes you decide against following?

Bigotry. Moment I see it, I'm on the lookout for even the slightest hint of more and, if I see it, I'm OUT!

(That includes things like: homophobia, transphobia, TERFs, ableism, racism, xenophobia, etc.)

Also, while I include angst in my stories, the people who are big on "I have nothing but bad stuff in my writing and I'm proud" are, uh... not on my "follow" list. While they can write what they want and enjoy it, grimdark is not my thing. Angst is best in moderation and I very purposely control the amount of it in my life.

(Also Kris's--my ex writing partner's--obsession with "grimdark-ness" is a good part of why I'm so ecstatic to remove her stuff from my writing. Yes, I've tried it. For years. I hated it. Please and thank you. Also note that I proudly call myself an evil writer, so it's not like I don't love angst, it's just--moderation. Seriously.)

Do you interact with non-mutuals often?

Yes! I think a good 50-30% of my interactions are with non-moots, haha. I go out of my way to try to support my moots, but I'll definitely share support with anything that catches my attention, no matter who it's from!

To be fair, though, I think a majority of non-moots I interact with are on my mental "probably going to follow soon" list. I can be slow to make decisions, haha. It doesn't help that I try being active with my moots, so I'm trying to avoid growing that list too quickly!

Do your mutuals’ characters occupy space in your noodle?

Haha, depends what you mean by that? My brain is definitely too full of my own characters to have any space for anyone else's, but I definitely do think of others' characters at times! There's plenty of y'alls characters I really like, haha.

Just... omg, my hyperfixated AuDHD brain refuses to focus on anything except for the Hyperfixation of the Moment™.

This was a huge one! Hopefully I'm not screaming into the void with this one, or you guys enjoy finding out more about me and my WIPs.

If you're curious about the reason this is labeled Writer Questionnaire 2... well guess what!

Tagging (gently! This is a lot, haha): @honeybewrites @yourpenpaldee @paeliae-occasionally @mysticstarlightduck @illarian-rambling @.darkandstormydolls (tagged you earlier in the post haha) + open tags!

Divider from @cafekitsune!

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wouldntyou-liketoknow · 1 month ago

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Talking in Your Sleep

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on LeviathanPat, go here. For more information on Sylph, go here. And for more information on Sol, go here. Meanwhile, Sam Ryder belongs to my very good friend, @sammys-magical-au !)

(Not only is this story finally, FINALLY DONE, it's also a continuation/epilogue to one of Sammy’s recent works. Go here to read it for clarification. Plus, their story is based on elements from one of mine. So, if you’d like even more context, go here.)

(One more thing: if you’d like to use distorted fonts like the ones you’ll be seeing in this story, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: nightmares/dreams, body horror, slight blood/gore, slight violence, talk of death/dying. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

How did these things happen?

One minute you knew exactly where you were. And the next you were completely turned around for seemingly no reason other than maybe the universe just didn’t like the way you blinked.

That was why Sam had veered away from the sidewalk, had climbed the staircase attached to one side of one building that was almost as large as The Abnormal Orchard. Granted, they weren’t entirely sure why this place needed public access to its roof, but their phone just couldn’t seem to stop lagging and freezing for the past few minutes. It just wouldn’t cooperate with them long enough to load up a map of this unfamiliar city.

Up here, they could see pretty much everything. All the lights that glinted through faraway windows.

Signs that glowed and blinked in specific patterns.

The streetlamps that loomed over sections of the sidewalk every ten-or-so feet, all warm-tinted, bathing anything under them in scarlet beams. When Sam had still been down there, those things had made it look like they’d truly dyed their locks rather than just naturally having golden-blonde somehow seep into blood-orange.

The whole display really got close competing with the moon’s cold, silvery rays.

Sam squinted, bracing their hands against the concrete safety-railing as they leaned forward.

That place off to the east, just at the edge of this downtown environment…that was the hotel, right? There was no way it couldn’t be—Sam recognized the abstract graffiti that had been left on the building’s far-wall, probably right in the blindspot of whatever cameras were hidden around the main entrance.

When you had to go on last-minute assignments as often as Sam did, you learned to memorize even the smallest details of wherever you ended up staying.

And that…made Sam give pause.

Because as they stepped back, idly pacing along the roof’s barrier, not taking their eyes off the city below, they realized that they couldn’t see The Abnormal Orchard anymore.

That should’ve been impossible: the museum had been built with such an imposing, tower-eqsue shape. There was no doubting how it was the tallest structure around here.

Not to mention the establishment’s sign, adorned by a network of wires that all glowed with neon shades of violet and blue, all working together to form the image of a pomegranate with a cluster of eyeballs in the place of its seeds.

A shudder ran through Sam’s shoulders. As a vegetarian, they’d be lying if they said that sign hadn’t reminded them of nightmares they’d had in the past. And they supposed that was the whole point. Something as creepy as that would definitely get the attention of passersby, make them curious enough to wander in and pay to look at the grotesquely-intriguing collections.

Yet, no matter what direction they turned or how they craned their neck, Sam just couldn’t find it anymore.

Well, they’d already heard stories about plenty of businesses that were infamous for just…not staying in one place, fading in and out of certain locations for whatever reason. Sometimes a hollow space was left in the wake until the building decided to reappear, other times it was replaced by something else. Whether or not the people living near the place were aware of the change was a different kettle of fish.

Sam hadn’t gotten that vibe when they’d visited the museum, but they’d been wrong before.

They chewed their lip, stuffing their hands into their jacket pockets as they headed back to the top of that staircase.

Come to think of it…even with all the artificial light everywhere, Sam hadn’t seen a single car on the streets.

Hell, they hadn’t even seen a single other pedestrian down on the sidewalks

That didn’t make any damn sense. You couldn’t have a city like this without some level of nighttime activity from the locals.

Where was everybody?

Something with jagged edges began to fester in their stomach.

It didn’t help that the stairs ever-so-slightly shook and rattled with each step. They were metallic, seeming fairly new. They weren’t even too steep for the sudden quickness in Sam’s pace to cause any problems. But all the noise they made eventually sparked their anxiety.

Halfway back down to the street below, they began to reach out, intent on locking the banister in a white-knuckled grip.

They never got the chance.

Instead, they got to feel a strange, foreign weight suddenly wrap around their ankle in a way that would’ve made the average blood-pressure cuff seem like a toy.

Before they could even look down, Sam was yanked off-balance, and while their hands did fly up by instinct, it still didn’t do much to break their fall. They slid the rest of the way down the stairs, creating even more of a cacophony (though it was better than being reduced to a human slinky).

It was over in seconds; they crumpled onto the sidewalk, but thanks to all their training, they didn’t linger. And as Sam picked themself up, they were just in time to see a clutch of oily-looking digits retract back through one gap in-between the stairs.

Shock and fury never failed to make such an interesting cocktail in one’s head.

With one hand now fishing through their jacket for a weapon, Sam stormed over to look up at the underside of the staircase.

Despite all their experience, part of them still sort of wished that they hadn’t.

A vaguely humanoid figure was standing upside-down right beneath the spot where they’d fallen.

Not hanging. Not clinging.

Standing.

As though his personal gravity had reversed its polarity and standing under the stairs was the only thing keeping him from floating up into the sky.

At first, Sam’s brain struggled to categorize this figure as even being a solid entity; his form was even darker than the night sky above. It just had some kind of odd…rippling effect to it, like thick clouds of smoke or a deep shadow.

And yet, as Sam got closer, the figure seemed to become more compact. His head swiveled with a loud snap, his neck turning at a very uncomfortable angle to scrutinize them with a pair of eyes that blazed with sickly paleness.

Sam ground their jaw; it wasn’t the first time they’d had to deal with a monster, and it wouldn’t be the last, either. Besides, this guy just tripped them down a flight of stairs. While not even really TRYING to hide.

“Hey!” Sam barked, The Lion’s Breath sliding out from the sheath they kept hidden in their jacket. “What the hell is your damage?!”

“...£µññ¥,” the creature spat, his lips peeling back far too long, revealing sets of glinting teeth. So many teeth, in fact, that Sam couldn’t even see a speck of gums in his mouth. They were all packed in like sardines, thin and long and sharp. “Ì ¢ðµlÐ å§k ¥ÖÚ †hê §åmê †hïñg.”

The creature then let his arms hang, his torso stretching with a chorus of pops and cracks until his hands touched the ground. He craned his chest for his head to finally be rightside-up, just barely shifting his shoulders, and then his face was suddenly a single inch away from Sam. The air seemed to vibrate around his head, which had proportionally grown to accommodate eyes that were now about the size of bicycle tires.

Sam ducked away, backing up a couple paces, raising the arm with The Lion’s Breath to guarantee at least a little more personal space.

“Whå†'§ †hê må††êr, §åm?” The creature inquired, his voice crackling like a fire. A dull thud from behind caught Sam’s attention, leading them to realize that the creature’s feet had finally dropped away from the stairs. They got to watch as his legs fused together, making his lower-half into some kind of thick, sinuous tail.

The creature’s arms grew almost as long, allowing him to keep himself upright—to keep looming over his new conversation partner—rather than crawling on his belly.

“Whêrê'§ åll †hå† ßråvåÐð Ì §åw êårlïêr?” He continued, tilting his head to the side. “Ì mêåñ, ¥ðµ rêåll¥ ÐïÐ jµ§† wål†z ïñ†ð M¥ †µr£ lïkê ¥ðµ ðwñêÐ ï†.”

Sam paused. They knew they’d never seen something quite like this before—

Seen.

But as the hideous, unfamiliar voice lingered the in air far longer than it should have, they realized they still somehow recognized it.

“...Pat?” Sam asked, readjusting their grip around their weapon’s hilt.

The creature snorted. He rolled his primary eyes, which seemed to encourage a few extras to sprout beneath them. “†hå†'§ þår† ð£ m¥ ñåmê. Ððñ'† wêår ï† ðµ†.”

Sam’s brow furrowed, only making a slight dent in their pokerface. Yes, they had years of experience with the supernatural and then some. Yes, being bonded to the Ancient Ones meant they could comprehend a little more than the average mortal could.

Still, that kind of stuff came in varying levels.

Things like Pat were a very strange example; they were equal-yet-opposites to the Ancient Ones. Sure, the latter could definitely hold more power at times, but outer abominations were just so…raw. So impossible.

They were living proof that something always had and always would be wrong with the universe…as well as evidence on how that was just the way things needed to be.

Sam lightly shook their head before lifting their chin, gazing up, up, up and directly into the monstrosity’s eyes.

Pat, in turn, made the slightest move to lower his head, pinprick pupils shrinking even more, spinning, seemingly buzzing as he glared.

“Well, maybe you’re one to talk,” Sam announced, finally remembering that there was a question for them to answer. “I was warned to wear a mask around you—so, where’s the reason for that, huh? Where’s all the mind-breaking horror that’s supposed to waft off of you guys at all times? I’m looking right at you, and nothing’s happening. It really doesn’t feel like I even need to shield my brain.”

“Ððñ'† £lå††êr ¥ðµr§êl£.” Pat arched his back, similar to how a cobra might flare its hood. “ñêï†hêr ð£ µ§ årê ïñ †hê §åmê þlå¢ê å§ ßê£ðrê. Rµlê§ åñÐ ¢ðñ§êqµêñ¢ê§ jµ§† wðrk Ðï££êrêñ†l¥ hêrê.”

He continued his slow circling; Sam kept moving as well, kept The Lion’s Breath trained on him.

“†rµ§† mê: ï£ ¥ðµ wêrê rêåll¥ lððkïñg å† mê wï†hðµ† å ßårrïêr…¥ÖÚ'Ð ÐRÖþ †Ö ¥ÖÚR KñÈÈ§ ÄñÐ §†ÄR† þÖÚñÐÌñG MÖR§È ÇÖÐÈ Ìñ†Ö †HÈ GRÖÚñÐ WÌ†H ¥ÖÚR HÈÄÐ.”

Nearby, a new chorus started up: an awful, rubbery, stretching-and-splintering din. Sam glanced over to see how Pat’s “tail” was now splitting apart once again. Only this time, it divided into more than just two limbs. In a matter of seconds, it was a mass of writhing tendrils, like the flesh of an octopus had been grafted into the roots of a tree.

“†hðµgh, ¥ðµr ßråïñ wðµlÐ þrðßåßl¥ ßê mêl†ïñg åñÐ ¢hµrñïñg årðµñÐ ïñ ¥ðµr §kµll. §ð, Ððïñg †hå† wðµlÐ ßê å ßï† êå§ïêr †håñ jµ§† †r¥ïñg †ð †ðµgh ï† ðµ†, rïgh†?”

And before Sam had a chance to reply, one of those tendrils cracked like a whip, a blur in the air as it lunged toward them.

Muscle memory kicked in. Without even blinking, Sam swung The Lion’s Breath. It met the oncoming tendril head-on, and—

And…

And the sword phased right through it.

The metal came back in less than a second, but it was like a cloud of shimmering fog. Like evaporation in reverse.

Sam felt their eyes widen, felt their mouth drop open. They tightened their grip even further, trying to use the hilt as an anchor. They couldn’t let Pat see them shaking. They couldn’t show too much fear. Abominations like him sometimes behaved a bit like cats; seeing fear helped them decide on what (or who) could be potential prey.

To Pat’s credit, surprisingly enough, the tendril paused as well, looming in place…until it wasn’t. It swayed to one side, aiming for an opening Sam had left. Still, Sam was fast enough to block it, to try and literally cut the attack off.

But the blade just…faded in and out of sight again.

The tendril wove around to the opposite side now—a third attack, a third counterstrike, a third round of sword-warping-tomfuckery.

Pat raised his brows. He clicked his teeth together, emitting a keening noise like knives being sharpened. It took a second for Sam to realize that he was snickering; it was like the sound was something solid, something that was actively being sheared by his fangs as it rolled out of his mouth.

The monstrosity shifted in place, lying on his chest and folding his forearms in front of him, sort of like the stereotypical teenage gossip-monger at a slumber party. A third limb broke out from his side, elbow touching down on the concrete.

He raised the freshly-formed clutch of talons to his face, resting his chin on the new palm. “Ärê ¥ðµ Ððñê ¥ê†?”

“How—?!” Sam blurted, glancing back and forth between their weapon and their adversary. “This is made from Etherium! Eldritch beings can rarely even just exist within five feet of it!”

“Ððñ'† rêmïñÐ mê,” Pat hissed.

In spite of their shock, Sam snarled, storming a bit closer to the creature. “You yourself said that my presence alone was painful back at the museum! And that was just when this was only a bracelet! What the hell did you do to it?!”

Pat scoffed, rolling his shoulders. “Ì'm ñð† Ððïñg åñ¥†hïñg †ð ï†...¥ðµ årê.”

Sam felt their heart skip a beat.

The seconds dragged by, watching as a smirk spread across Pat’s features, practically splitting his face in half.

“Älrïgh†, ålrïgh†. Ì†'§ ñð† jµ§† ¥ðµ,” he finally admitted, once he’d apparently gotten his fill of shock from them. “Mðrê lïkê...†hê wå¥ ¥ðµ'rê þrð¢ê§§ïñg †hï§ þlå¢ê, åñÐ vï¢ê-vêr§å. Ì†'§ ñð† ¢ðñ§¢ïðµ§ å† åll.”

“‘This place?’” Sam echoed. “What do you mean, ‘this place?’”

Instead of answering, Pat moved again, one of his arms lunging forward to swipe at Sam’s stomach.

And this time, Sam didn’t move quickly enough. A short scream ripped its way through Sam’s lungs, one arm flying up to shield their face. They waited to fall back, waited for the searing sensation of blood oozing through a fresh wound, waited for some kind of supernatural disease to start mummifying them from the inside-out…

But none of that ever happened.

They kept their balance, didn’t feel any pain.

Sure, they still felt the impact of the strike; it reminded them of a clump of dry ice.

Cold and hazy and raw.

But not painful. Not exactly, at least.

Against their better judgment, Sam lowered their arm and looked back down.

Pat’s claws were still there, still pushing against their abdomen in a way that absolutely should have punctured through clothes and skin like a clutch of knives.

Instead, those horrific digits simply hovered there, now seemingly severed where they should have made contact with Sam. They were each covered in that strange veil of gleaming, metallic smoke. Just like what had happened to The Lion’s Breath…

“§êê †hå†?” Pat wondered aloud. He pulled his arm away from Sam, and his talons immediately phased back, good as new. He idly wriggled them, examining them like he’d just gotten a manicure. He then nodded over toward the staircase.

“†hïñk: £ðr mð§† hµmåñ§, £ållïñg Ððwñ å §ê† ð£ §†åïr§ lïkê ¥ðµ jµ§† ÐïÐ wðµlÐ mêåñ ßrðkêñ ßðñê§, ðr å ¢ðñ¢µ§ïðñ, ðr êvêñ Ðêå†h. ÄñÐ ¥ê†…” He trailed off, making a vague gesture in Sam’s direction.

Sam nodded without meaning to. They glanced down at their arms and legs, carefully stretching the muscles in their back and shifting their neck.

The monster was right: even if Sam was a certified Tough Cookie, they should’ve been injured. There should’ve been deep, bleeding scrapes in the skin of their palms. Their ribs and knees and ankles should’ve been flaring with nearly white-hot pain.

But none of that was here. No cuts, no bumps or bruises, no blood…

“This isn’t real,” Sam murmured, realization crashed through their head like a tidal wave. Relief would’ve been included, but considering Pat’s presence, it was staying firmly hidden. “You’re not actually here. And neither am I.”

“†hêrê wê gð!” Pat purred, his unearthly voice now dripping with sarcasm and a smidge of condescension.

Sam glared at him. They shifted The Lion’s Breath in their grasp, now holding it close.

Pat eyed them. “¥ðµ ¢åñ þµ† †hå† åwå¥. ñð† lïkê êï†hêr ð£ µ§ ¢åñ †r¥ åñ¥†hïñg å† †hê mðmêñ†.”

“Maybe,” Sam hummed, carefully sliding their thumb against the center of the blade. It felt so solid. So real. Just like it usually did. “But I don’t think I will.”

Pat shrugged, clicking his tongue…which, of course, led to it flicking in and out of his mouth like a party favor.

“This can’t be an out-of-body experience,” Sam mentioned. “If it was, then I’d be able to see my real self. And it can’t be astral projection either—I’ve done that before, and I can’t remember trying to set anything up before this happened.”

“¥ðµ wêrêñ'†,” Pat agreed, drumming his claws against the ground.

“So I must be asleep right now. I must be having a dream—or a nightmare.” Sam paused, then raised an eyebrow at Pat. “And I guess that means…you are, too.”

Pat’s eyes narrowed. A few of the ones lower on his face even began to melt in their sockets, popping and hissing.

“†hå†'§ rïgh†…” He pronounced through rows of gritted razor-teeth, his voice laced with bitter venom and warping like rusted metal, much lower than before.

“What? Why’re you getting all huffy?” Sam took a step back, holding up a hand. “Things like you usually don’t even need to sleep.”

Another arm, fresh like a moth from its cocoon, sprouted from Pat’s other side. It wove past Sam and slammed against the wall behind them. His claws left deep, dark gashes in the bricks as he slowly raked them downward.

“Ì §HÖÚLÐñ'† ßê §lêêþïñg!” The abomination snapped. “Ì ÇÄñ'† Ä££ÖRÐ †ð §lêêþ! ¥ðµ håvê åñ¥ ïÐêå whå† §lêêþïñg ¢ðµlÐ lêåvê mê å† rï§k †ð?!”

Sam flinched at the new volume in his voice; it rattled through their head like some kind of broken bell that also happened to be full of acid. They had no doubt that, had this occurred in the real world, their ears would've started bleeding a bit.

Still, they didn’t let themself falter any further.

This was just a dream. Nothing could hurt them.

And if shit somehow did end up hitting the fan, they could find a way to wake themself. But for now…

Pat heaved an exasperated sigh, begrudgingly pulling his claws away from the wall.

“Ä† lêå§† §ðl ï§ wïllïñg †ð kêêþ wå†¢h,” he muttered.

“Well, excuse me for asking,” Sam deadpanned. “If that’s really how you feel about it, then why are you sleeping now?”

Pat’s eyes rolled around in his head, sort of like those bubbles in a jar of oil, quite literally looking Sam up and down. “ßê¢åµ§ê Ì wåñ†êÐ †ð gê† å ßê††êr rêåÐ ðñ ¥ðµ.”

“Ah, yes. Not creepy at all.”

“ÐïÐñ'† håvê mµ¢h ð£ å ¢håñ¢ê êårlïêr. ¥'kñðw, ¢ðñ§ïÐêrïñg †hå† †rïñkê† ð£ ¥ðµr§ £êl† lïkê åñ ï¢ê þï¢k §lðwl¥ ßêïñg þµ§hêÐ ïñ†ð m¥ †êmþlê.”

“Why do you even need a read on me at all? I didn’t come here as a threat to you.” Sam felt a pit open up in their stomach, felt bile threaten to start rising in their throat. “What, have you suddenly changed your mind about—”

“ñÖ, Ì håvêñ'†.” Pat cut them off with a groan, dragging a hand down his face and subsequently tearing a few ribbons of abyssal flesh between his fingers. “Èvêñ ï£ †hï§ þår†ï¢µlår wðrlÐ ï§ þrïmï†ïvê, ï† §†ïll hå§ ï†§ mêrï†§, åñÐ Ì'm ¢ðñ†êñ† wï†h †hê lï††lê ¢ðrñêr Ì'vê måÐê ïñ ï†. §ðmê þðïñ†lê§§ wår ßê†wêêñ †hê þlåñê§ wðµlÐ rµïñ åll m¥ hårÐ wðrk. Ì †hðµgh† Ì måÐê †hå† ¢lêår.”

Though their lungs still felt a bit tight, Sam chewed their lip and nodded.

Yeah, there could be a chance that Pat was lying…but then, if a creature like him wanted to cause chaos, he’d be all too invested with it by now.

Shifting on their feet, Sam cleared their throat and continued, “You still haven’t really answered my question.”

Pat shuffled his arms as he thought. He tilted his head to the side—in fact, he kept on tilting it until it was upside-down. Surprisingly enough, this elicited no cracks or pops or snaps from whatever nightmare-fuel bones he had in his neck. Instead, his noggin seemed to just slide in place with no issue. And without his eyes ever leaving Sam.

“Ì kñðw †hå† wê'll mêê† ågåïñ,” he finally replied. “§ðmêÐå¥ ¥ðµ'll ¢ðmê ßå¢k †ð †hê mµ§êµm. Ì'vê §êêñ ï†.”

Sam blinked at this. “...Why? How?”

“Ì'm ñð† §µrê. §ðmê†ïmê§ ¢êr†åïñ Ðê†åïl§ êï†hêr †åkê lðñgêr †ð £ïll ïñ ðr jµ§† Ððñ'† ¢ðmê ålðñg å† åll.” Pat paused, his head remaining perfectly still while the rest of his body sprawled like that of a cat. “ÄñÐ êvêñ ï£ ï† †hå† wå§ñ'† hðw ï† wðrkêÐ, ¥ðµ rêåll¥ †hïñk Ì'Ð jµ§† gïvê µþ †hå† kïñÐ ð£ ïñ£ðrmå†ïðñ £ðr £rêê?”

He threw his head back(?) and barked a mirthless laugh.

Sam couldn’t help but put their free hand on their hip, frowning and rolling their eyes at the display.

Pat continued: “Èï†hêr wå¥, Ì £ïgµrêÐ Ì mïgh† å§ wêll †r¥ †ð ßê rêåÐ¥. Jµ§† §ð ¥ðµ Ððñ'† gïvê mê åñð†hêr mïgråïñê-wï†hïñ-å-mïgråïñê.”

“...Alright then?” Sam responded. They definitely would’ve been able to tell if he wanted to plant some kind of trap for them…but then again, if anyone knew about the side-effects of Etherium, it was them. “Is that it?”

Pat paused, thinking. “...Ì gµê§§ ï† hêlþ§ †hå† §ðl wå§ ïñ†rïgµêÐ ß¥ §ðmê ð£ †hê †hïñg§ ¥ðµ §åïÐ.” He then narrowed his eyes, tongue flicking as his teeth actively lengthened and curled. “ñð† §µrê wh¥, whå† wï†h hðw ¥ðµ †ålkêÐ Ððwñ †ð †hêm †hrðµghðµ† ¥ðµr vï§ï†.”

Sam pursed their lips. “I didn’t mean to come off as patronizing.”

“Wêll, ï† §µrê £êl† lïkê ¥ðµ wêrê,” Pat huffed. “§ðl'§ ßêêñ wðrkïñg £ðr mê §ïñ¢ê ßê£ðrê †hê mµ§êµm rê-ðþêñêÐ. Ì'vê §êêñ þlêñ†¥ ð£ †hê ¢råþ †hå† rêgµlår þå†rðñ§ þµ† †hêm †hrðµgh.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath through their teeth. Okay, yeah, they could definitely see how museum work, despite seeming so cushy from the outside, could potentially be just as much of a nightmare as more typical retail stuff.

When they looked back at Pat, however, they noticed something different. They’d been wrong before, but they were certain that an odd type of softness had manifested in his too-pale, too-wide eyes. Obviously nowhere near the romantic type, but it wasn’t the scrutiny that had been drilling into them all this time, either.

Well, Sol had said that he was a friend of theirs. Sam would be lying if they said they hadn’t had some doubts then, but now, with the vibes that the monster himself was giving off…

That train of thought promptly crashed and burned as Sam noticed how quickly Pat’s focus had shifted. He’d never really looked away from them this entire time, but right now, his eyes weren’t drilling into theirs. Instead, they were now fixed on…their teeth.

Another feeling of wrongness began to churn in their stomach. They made to say something else, but Pat beat them to it.

“Håvê ¥ðµ êvêr þµllêÐ ðµ† ¥ðµr †êê†h ïñ ¥ðµr Ðrêåm§?” For the first time since he’d revealed himself, his voice wasn’t accusatory or sarcastic. Now, it was filled with…curiosity.

That didn’t exactly help with Sam’s sinking feeling. “Sorry, what?”

“¥ðµr †êê†h,” Pat repeated, turning his head until it was rightside-up again. He leaned just a smidge closer. “Ì†'§ ¢ðmmðñ £ðr mðr†ål§ †ð Ðrêåm åßðµ† lð§ïñg †hêm. Hå§ †hå† êvêr håþþêñêÐ †ð ¥ðµ?”

“Jumping around a bit,” Sam mused, trying not to let the feeling grow too fast. “I’m not sure if I have, honestly. I can’t remember too many of my dreams, though I guess assisted stuff like this would be a different story. Why do you ask?”

And now came the first time that Pat seemed confused. “Wåï†, hðlÐ ðñ. Èvêñ wï†h åll †hê †hïñg§ ¥ðµ'vê åþþårêñ†l¥ §êêñ, ¥ðµ—¥ðµ Ððñ'† kñðw åßðµ† †hê †êê†h Rµlê§?”

The monster gaped at Sam for a few long seconds. Then he started snickering, which soon transitioned into full-blown laughter. It sounded like a horrific cross between a hyena and a mosquito. Maybe throw a few dangerously sparking electrical wires.

“What?” Sam demanded, now both paranoid and indignant. “What’s so funny?”

“Ì†'§ jµ§†—” Pat kept giggling, kept shaking his head in disbelief. “¥ðµ'vê ßêêñ wðrkïñg ðñ §†µ££ lïkê †hï§ £ðr §ð Ðåmñ lðñg! Hðw håvê ¥ðµ ñð† £ïgµrêÐ ðµ† †hå† †êê†h årê §ð þrê¢ïðµ§ ïñ †hê§ê þlå¢ê§?!”

Sam felt their temper flare. “Well, are you at least gonna tell me what I’ve apparently missed?”

His laughter finally dying down, Pat leaned back, his grin somehow even more smug than earlier.

“ñð, Ì Ððñ'† †hïñk §ð,” he hummed. He lifted himself up, bracing his hands against the alley’s walls. “Ì'vê gð† ð†hêr §†µ££ †ð Ðð. ßµ† hê¥, må¥ßê ¥ðµ'll håvê §ðmê £µñ lððkïñg £ðr †hê åñ§wêr§. Whð kñðw§?”

“Maybe I will.” Sam scowled at him, reminding themself just how effective a tool spite could truly be.

Pat clicked his teeth again, his extra arms reeling back and vanishing into his torso. He began to slither past Sam, but stopped short. “Öh, åñÐ ðñê mðrê †hïñg †ð ¢hêw ðñ…”

He whipped back around and surged forward. His talons lashed out, quickly pushing Sam back and pinning them against the wall. Sam ground their jaw, fighting the way their instincts tried to insist that the air had been knocked out of them.

There was no air. That cold, dry feeling was back, but there was no pain. This wasn’t really happening.

“Ððñ'† †hïñk †hï§ gïvê§ ¥ðµ åñ¥ §þê¢ïål þêrk§,” Pat growled, his breath now hot as dryer exhaust, a combination of sulfur and dead flowers. “Ððñ'† †r¥ †ð måkê mê §lêêþ ågåïñ, ßê¢åµ§ê Ì£ ¥ÖÚ ÐÖ—!”

“𝕿𝒽𝖊𝓎'𝓇𝖊 𝖓ℴ𝖙 𝖒𝒶𝖐𝒾𝖓ℊ 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝒹𝖔 𝖆𝓃𝖞𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓ℊ.”

Everything seemed to freeze in place.

The new voice that had interjected was…something else.

Soft yet echoing, like it was being spoken by several mouths all at once. As though there was a sound to go with the way steam curled through the air. It did seem to splinter around the edges, but it was still so…rich. Angelic and alien at the same time. Like glass shards being dipped in molten gold.

Sam slid to the ground before they even realized that the hold around them had disappeared.

Pat practically eroded away from them, finally, finally tearing his hideous eyes away.

It would’ve been impossible for Sam to not follow his gaze.

All that light they’d seen earlier on the roof…it’d been swallowed up and harnessed into a brand-new glow that was slowly-but-surely creeping its way through the walls and the ground. And the source of it…

Well, to be completely honest, it took a solid minute for Sam’s eyes to adjust.

But once they did, Sam was treated to the sight of another creature that mortal eyes probably weren’t supposed to see.

Like Pat, this one had a relatively humanoid form, seeming to take on the shape of a woman. Though she loomed over everything like he did, she still seemed a bit shorter.

The illumination was flickering around her—no, from inside of her. Almost like a jack-o-lantern.

Her skin was impossibly pale. But the longer Sam looked at it, the more they realized that the network of cells and veins inside was visible, and how those cells and those veins each seemed to give off a hint of different colors. Similar to the kaleidoscope effect of an opal.

Not only that, but her flesh billowed, flowing and rippling so gently without any wind to make that happen. Like her figure was a amalgamation of cloth sheets. Or the hood of a jellyfish, or the petals of an orchid.

Or maybe…maybe even some kind of wedding dress…

And that wasn’t even mentioning the holes.

So many, too many holes that seemed to have been bored through her flesh, some stretching to be longer or wider than others, the most prominent ones being a pair in the upper-half of her face. The one trait they all shared was the fact they were the only hints of darkness in this entity’s form. The glow they offered was different: they flickered like embers at the bottom of a firepit, seeming to float perfectly in the center—

Eyes.

Those holes were the creature’s eyes.

And almost all of them were focused on Pat…except for a few that stared at Sam, effectively forcing them to hold still in a way the former monster somehow hadn’t quite been able to manage.

“§¥lþh,” Pat breathed, somehow creating the perfect cominbation of question and statement, his voice now consumed by an emotion that Sam simply couldn’t place.

With a slight jolt, they realized that, despite the word sounding so foreign, they still recognized it.

After all, it’d been what he’d wanted them to ask Harmonia about…

“𝕷ℯ𝖛𝒾𝖆𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖓,” the new entity answered, the word nearly as difficult to process as what Pat had said.

Sam glanced back and forth between the two of them.

Pat’s eyes bulged from their sockets, his pinprick pupils actually holding still for once. The void-like skin on his forehead twitched, as though something inside his skull had stirred in its sleep. Then, like a seam being split and widened as stuffing spilled out, a third eye opened up, wider and darker than Pat’s primaries, or any of the extras he’d had before.

“Hðw—Wh¥..?” Pat trailed off. It almost sounded like his voice was on the verge of breaking. Like he was biting back something that had been bottled up for at least a few centuries.

Sylph tilted her head to the side, allowing long streams of light around her head to weave like a combination of flames and clouds and gentle snakes—her hair, Sam realized.

“𝕴 𝖙𝒽𝖎𝓃𝖐 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖈𝒶𝖓 𝖙𝒶𝖐ℯ 𝒶 ℊ𝖚ℯ𝖘𝓈,” she replied, her melodious tone dragged down by a deeper wound of her own.

Pat blinked rapidly, visibly swallowing a lump in his throat. As though he expected her to just vanish for no reason at all if he didn’t look at her long enough. He began to reach out toward her…only to stop short, his talons clearly shaking.

Sylph’s primary eyes flickered, the flesh around them rippling to form a worried expression, making a dent in her calm. She quietly glided a bit closer.

In the new silence, Sam suddenly became aware of a new sound. It was softer, much more muffled and distant than the voices of either entity.

A deep, steady rhythm. Sam’s instincts swore up and down that it was organic. Inexplicably familiar, too.

…And not just one…

Sylph get out a soft sigh. “𝖂ℯ𝖗ℯ𝖓'𝖙 𝖞ℴ𝖚 𝖔𝓃 𝓎𝖔𝓊𝖗 𝖜𝒶𝖞 𝖙ℴ 𝓌𝖆𝓀𝖎𝓃𝖌 𝖚𝓅?”

Pat sputtered, but it didn’t seem to be out of anger.

He made to say something, but Sylph cut him off with a shake of her head. “𝕮ℴ𝖒ℯ ℴ𝖓. ℐ 𝒸𝖆𝓃 ℴ𝖓𝓁𝖞 𝖘𝓉𝖆𝓎 𝒽𝖊𝓇𝖊 𝖘ℴ 𝓁𝖔𝓃𝖌 𝖒𝓎𝖘ℯ𝖑𝒻; 𝖞ℴ𝖚'𝖗ℯ 𝓃𝖔𝓉 𝓉𝖍ℯ ℴ𝖓𝓁𝖞 𝖔𝓃𝖊 𝖜𝒾𝖙𝒽 𝒶 𝒷𝖚𝓈𝖞 𝖘𝒸𝖍ℯ𝖉𝓊𝖑ℯ.”

Pat lowered his head, wringing his talons. He nodded slowly.

“𝕭ℯ𝖘𝒾𝖉ℯ𝖘,” Sylph continued. “𝕯ℴ 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝓇𝖊𝒶𝖑𝓁𝖞 𝖙𝒽𝖎𝓃𝖐 𝖓ℴ𝖜'𝖘 𝖙𝒽𝖊 𝖗𝒾𝖌𝒽𝖙 𝖙𝒾𝖒ℯ ℴ𝖗 𝖕𝓁𝖆𝒸𝖊?”

“¥ðµ §å¥ †hå† lïkê †hêrê'§ êvêr gðññå ßê å rïgh† †ïmê ðr þlå¢ê!” Pat argued, his tone a concoction of bitterness and agony, both going much, much further than just bone-deep.

Sylph flinched, her expression twisting into something that was truly unreadable. Then, pursing her lips, she drew closer.

Now it was his turn to flinch, as if he hadn’t been expecting her to move.

And then that strange, muffled drumbeat grew a bit louder, a bit faster…

Sylph looked at one of his clutches of claws, still hovering frozen in the air. She then raised her own handful of talons, pushing it forward until it rested against his wrist. With that, she carefully pushed her hand up until their palms were touching. She went still then, not budging an inch when Pat’s digits wrapped around hers, squeezing tightly.

“Hðw åm Ì §µþþð§êÐ †ð £ïñÐ ¥ðµ å£†êr †hï§?!” Pat demanded, his buzzing voice tapering down to a whisper. “Ì ¢ðµlÐ ñêvêr þrêÐï¢† ¥ðµ ßê£ðrê, §ð—!”

“𝖂ℯ 𝒸𝖆𝓃'𝓉 𝒷𝖊 𝖕𝓇𝖊𝓅𝖆𝓇𝖊𝒹 𝒻𝖔𝓇 ℯ𝖛ℯ𝖗𝓎𝖙𝒽𝖎𝓃𝖌,” Sylph announced, her voice more stern than before. “𝕾ℴ𝖒ℯ 𝓈𝖙𝓊𝖋𝒻 𝒿𝖚𝓈𝖙 𝖍𝒶𝖘 𝖙ℴ 𝓁𝖎𝓃𝖊 𝖚𝓅 𝒷𝖞 𝖎𝓉𝖘ℯ𝖑𝒻. 𝖄ℴ𝖚 𝖓ℯ𝖊𝒹 𝓉𝖔 𝖋𝒾𝖌𝓊𝖗ℯ 𝓉𝖍𝒶𝖙 𝖔𝓊𝖙 𝖊𝓋𝖊𝓃𝖙𝓊𝖆𝓁𝖑𝓎.”

And the muffled rhythm came screeching to a halt.

It did start up again…but only after a full, agonizing moment had passed.

Sylph’s primary eyes softened a bit once again. She took a deep breath, glancing down as the air seemed to course all the way through her billowing tissues while she leaned closer to Pat. After what almost felt an hour, she looked back up at him. One of her arms was a blur as it wove behind him, reaching up along his spine.

“𝖂𝒶𝖐ℯ 𝓊𝖕,” she insisted. One of her talons tapped against the nape of his neck.

And then Pat was gone.

No smoke, no cracks splitting open in the air, no dissipating, nothing like that at all.

He’d just vanished. As though he’d truly been a hallucination cooked up by someone’s sleep-depreived, terror-addled imagination.

Sylph lowered her head; all the holes seemed to disappear into her skin–she was closing her eyes. Keeping them tightly sealed shut for a good long while as she tapped her claws against the ground.

There was only one drumbeat now, and it rang out much faster and louder than ever.

Sooner or later, all of her eyes snapped back open in a way that would’ve made the average trypophobia-sufferer faint. She then turned her head to stare at Sam, her gaze curious…yet reproachful.

Sam couldn’t stop themself from shrinking, from pressing their back against the wall, dipping their head to signal cautious respect.

“...𝖂𝒽𝖆𝓉 𝓀𝖎𝓃𝖉 𝖔𝒻 ℊ𝖆𝓂𝖊 𝖉ℴ 𝓎𝖔𝓊 𝓉𝖍𝒾𝖓𝓀 𝓎𝖔𝓊'𝓇𝖊 𝖕𝓁𝖆𝓎𝖎𝓃𝖌?” Sylph asked, her voice somehow gentle and acidic at the same time.

That was when the world around them began to flutter away. Like a person’s eyelashes twitching as tears dried up around them.

___

Scrying was a basic trick; it was one of the very first magicks Pat had taught Sol, way back when they’d started hearing his voice in their head.

It came in pretty handy when there was a guest (or perhaps an occasional intruder) who just needed to be spied on for whatever reason.

Windows, mirrors, even rain puddles were game. As long as it was reflective, it would work. You just needed to keep your focus steady.

Admittedly, it’d been somewhat difficult for Sol to stay focused on tonight’s particular task.

It was simple assignment, really: use some other tricks to track down the stranger who had come to ask those cryptic questions, keep an eye on them as they slept…as well as watch for anything that could be a threat to the same mound of living nightmare fuel she’d been working with for a long time now while he slept.

But if Pat’s views on sleep had ever been anything to go by…

Even if she knew she could trust him, Sol’s instincts told them that things just wouldn’t go too smoothly tonight.

Curled up in his nest-cocoon-hammock thing, Pat had been lightly tossing and turning ever since he’d finally managed to drift off. He’d been murmuring as he dreamed, his unconscious voice dropping to an octave that was almost too soft and too low to comprehend (then again, even if that wasn’t the case, Sol knew she still wouldn’t have been able to understand the language he was using).

Sol honestly wasn’t sure how much time had passed before Pat woke up.

…It was so strange, feeling validated and concerned and scared all at once.

After all, it wasn’t every night you got to watch your boss-and-kind-of-friend lurch up, gasping and choking like he’d been chained to the bottom of a lake.

It wasn’t every night you watched that same entity try to climb out of his nest, only to fall and hit the floor with a loud thud due to how violently he was shaking.

It wasn’t every night you could do nothing put watch your technical business partner shrink to the size of a human, then raise his clawed hands to his face…and burrow talons into flesh, effectively ripping both of his primary eyes out and throwing them across the room where they each landed against the adjacent wall with a sickening splat.

It wasn’t every night you got to see an outer abomination crumple into a heap on the floor, heaving and sobbing as veritable gallons of a viscous, oily fluid gushed out of the fresh, jagged hollows in his face.

Steeling their nerves, Sol crept past Pat, moving carefully and quietly. It took a painfully awkward amount of time for her to find both of his eyes, but she managed. Besides, he clearly wasn’t in the headspace to be judging anything right now.

Though their nightvision had long-since grown more enhanced than average, Sol still found themself squinting through the eyeholes of their protective mask. Squinting at the gorey treasures in her shaking hands.

(She’d expected his pupils to still be shaking too, the way they always did. But right now, shockingly enough, they were both still.)

Due to the hasty removal, both cavernous eyeballs were now adorned by some dents and cuts.

…Well, cauterization typically couldn’t be such an easy solution, but Sol had their ways. She set the eyes down, then fished through the pockets of her purple leather jacket. It took no time at all for her to find her trusty striker-blade, as well as the chunk of rainbow flint that came with it.

Sol chewed their lip, their thoughts wracked with worry as they listened to Pat’s cries.

Using the blade might just make the injuries worse…

With a deep breath, Sol struck at the stone, expertly coaxing out a flame, small and delicate as though it was attached to a candle wick.

They then pressed the blade’s tip to their palm. They didn’t apply enough pressure to draw blood; it was just a way to encourage the fire to abandon the metal in favor of the offered hand.

Unfortunately for the fire, Sol’s skin refused to char or melt. It did turn a deep shade of red where the flame licked at it, but that was it. It didn’t even hurt; it just felt like hot water pooling against them.

Sol stuffed her tools back into her jacket, then returned their focus to the eyes. She delicately picked one up, holding her flaming hand around it, turning it this way and that to make sure that the unnatural heat convinced the wounds to melt in on themselves and close up. The process went by faster than expected: both eyes were repaired soon enough.

They would’ve felt some well-deserved pride at that—their control was getting better, after all—but she still had a friend who needed help right now.

Sol smothered the flame, then carried the eyes over to Pat. Something cold and clammy scratched at their ribcage as they looked over him.

His sobs had tapered down into hiccups by now, and his horrific tears were already evaporating into columns of smoke, but he was clearly still in a bad way.

Without a word, Sol sat down beside him, crossing their legs and biting back the stinging sensation that was trying to settle within their own eyes.

He’d take his back when he was ready.

@inkbedou @the-matpat-ever @b-is-in-the-closet