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Private  - on the nature of daylight

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Played by Offline Rae [PM] Posts: 47 — Threads: 8
Signos: 500
Day Court Merchant
Male [He/His] // 4 [Year 501 Spring] // 15 hh // Hth: 8 — Atk: 12 — Exp: 12 // Active Magic: Dream Walking // Bonded: N/A


- ☾ -

season of change had begun in Dune. He thinks it all started if not the moment he met Sereia, around that period in time. Even in hindsight, it is hard to pinpoint exactly when these things happened.

How many dreamers had there been since her? Dozens? Hundreds? They had all begun to blur together, their faces and names and landscapes coalescing in the sticky, hazy, wonderful-- and sometimes terrifying-- thing he began to call, simply the Dreaming.

From this nebulous, collective landscape unknowingly shared, and contributed to, by every dreamer, a few key individuals touched the boy in particular. Some dreamers had Dune spellbound, and for whatever reason (being dreams, the reasons were rarely reasonable) they latched fiercely to his memories. Be it the warmth of a circlet pressed like a kiss to his forehead, or the clawing claustrophobia of a maze known with too much familiarity… or  the golden eyes of a girl with an unbearable secret hidden behind her lips.

Why was she so sad?

He did not expect to ever see her again. The problem with Dune’s magic is that it is-- at the moment-- almost entirely out of his control. It was possible to end up in the same dream twice, but highly unlikely. On more occasions than he cared to admit, Dune had tried to choose the dream. It was never to any success. So when he first opens his eyes to a world that seems vaguely familiar, he tries his best to ignore the rush of hope that tickles behind the ribcage.

The landscape itself is new to him. He stands on a beach that spans as far as the eye can see. The sun is just barely kissing the edge of the sea, and the sky above it is lit up in shades of gold and orange that fade at their edges to a deep, rich darkness. Against the shore the waves rush in almost eerily quiet. The sand glitters strangely in the waxing daylight-- when he takes a closer look he realizes it is not sand as he knows it but diamonds and pearl ground very finely.

And when he looks up she is there, standing in the waves with her eyes bright and warm as flames. His heart beats a little faster as he says in disbelief- “Sereia?” He takes a step towards her and the ocean at his ankles is warm as blood and beating, beating, beating...

Do you remember me?” The dreamers often did not, and even if she did, surely there’s something different about him now. Would she notice the confident draw of his head, the assurance behind his voice? Last time, he spent so much time hiding behind a looking glass, showing her the desert on bird’s wings instead of his face, his voice, the strange little nuances of his heart.

It doesn’t matter if she remembers. It didn’t matter if Warset remembered, or Elena, or Orestes, or any of his dreamers-- not that a small, defiant part of him would ever stop hoping. “Wait, I have something for you.” It takes a bit of dream magic that he’s been practicing. He could not yet bend the fabric of the dream to make matter where there was none, but he could change his own form and had learned to use this for a clever (if painful) workaround.

Dune shifts so that his right side is facing away from her, for the feat was quite gruesome, and from the flesh of his shoulder he grows a crystal. It is small, no bigger than a walnut, but the effort draws sweat from his brow. The hardest part is separating it from his skin, which he does in one quick, fluid motion with a soft gasp of pain.

A moment later, in the space between Dune and the dreamer floats a desert rose, named for the bladelike crystals that formed a shape somewhat like a flower. He had found this particular rose one day in the canyons, and had studied it very closely so that he might one day be able to replicate it in the dreaming. It was not a perfect recreation of the one he had found, but he was proud of himself nonetheless. “It, uh, made me think of you.” He feels suddenly bashful as he meets her golden gaze on the other side of the floating crystal, but where the Dune of last time would have looked away this Dune takes another step forward, and he shyly smiles.

And what on earth are dreams if not our only way of speaking?
« r » | @Sereia
Another dream for you! posted in Terminus Sea because I imagine him sleeping by the ocean, listening to it as he dreams <3


Played by Offline Obsidian [PM] Posts: 35 — Threads: 6
Signos: 90
Dawn Court Merchant
Female [She/her/hers] // 5 [Year 500 Winter] // 15 hh // Hth: 10 — Atk: 10 — Exp: 19 // Active Magic: N/A // Bonded: N/A


 The sand had crunched as she walked. Its fine granules of crushed diamonds and pearls glitter strangely in the light. They sound beneath her feet like crushed bones between her teeth. Then there is the sea she stands in. It is warm like blood and thick like it too. It rolls more silently than it should and the air is filled less with salt than the smell of metal and ichor. Though the waters are blue, the setting sun paints it gold. Which god did she bleed in her dream?

The girl closes her eyes and thinks of the strange Solterran man whose tears were blood. Whose words cut her like a knife. What would her sisters think of her now? The land was making her soft like the petals of a flower but Sereia did not regret it.

The beach is beautiful, strange and bathed in luminous yet ebbing light. The sky is turning to a bruise, as deep as the sores upon Sereia’s heart. Her soul feels the ache of a life spent misshapen, just to fit within the body in which it was so ill-placed. Is there any part of her that feels connected to another?

It is a melancholy dream that wraps its sullen arms around her sleep addled mind. It is quiet, but for the birds that drift above like wheeling shadows. Their cries are the wail of children or maybe like sirens calling from the deep. To her kelpie the sound is arousing. It is one of innocence, danger and violence, it years for it, for an easy meal. The dream is beautiful. The dream is a nightmare, her kelpie prowling along its edges, singing in Sereia’s bones.

Her eyelashes flutter shut. They have only just closed when he speaks. Sereia. Startled, the girl looks away from her strange sea and up to where he stands. The beach was empty to start, she knows it was, yet here he is looking as if he has always been here. The boy looks like he belongs here better than she.


It is not enough to think his name. It comes tumbling from her lips, first as a tentative question and then more boldly, more filled with delight. “Dune.” Her smile comes bright and more beautiful than the dusted jewels upon the beach. She turns to him in the silent sea, she is moving to him, keen, delighted. Until she remembers how her first dream shattered, how it turned vicious and wicked at her kelpie’s call. He changed, he fled, he saw her soul deep sorrow.

She stops, disgraced, embarrassed. Blood flushes hot in her cheeks. “Of course I remember you.” The swan girl murmurs, her nape arched graceful and fine. How can i not? Sereia wants to say. You were the first person I could be close to and not want to… to kill. “I cannot forget you.”  Her confession falls like the twilight. It tumbles from her aching lungs like a wave spilling up upon the beach. The sound of her breath is louder than the surf at her feet.

Her dream makes him different this time. Bolder, brighter, the distance between them closes as he says he has something for her. She watches the way he moves, shyly, secretively. Her dream bends for him, the air bears a new smell now. It is a scent of bending, twisting, forming magic. It lies sour and sweet across her tongue. She leans in, curious, yearning, wanting.

A desert rose. 

No longer does she know if her dream is at her control, or his. Dune is more present than the first time they met. He is bolder, brighter, more solid, like flesh and blood. If she touched him, would it be like waking? And the flower. Oh this strange rose of mineral, with petals pointed and solid. It is beautiful. She tells him so, with awe dusting her lips and mineral light glimmering in her eyes. “Where did you find it?”

Its edges are rough beneath her touch, but she touches it, letting herself feel every imperfect, perfect petal. It is rough and smooth and so much like a rose and yet nothing like it at all. “Thank you.” She whispers at last, when no piece of it has been spared from her awe-struck gaze. Her smile fades until at last, with effort, she lifts her gaze from the rose. “Will you keep it? So that I might find it again. I do not want it to be lost when I wake up.”

Dune steps closer again, his body warm as the hazy sun kissing the sea. Sunset dances across his skin, capturing its reds, setting him aglow like an ember. Sereia might have noticed if she was not looking at the rose, trying to work out which parts of the rose reminded him of her - the sharp petals, like teeth? Or its rose gold colour? Or the carvings of the earth they saw when he showed her his home, hot and sweltering and so alive. She can nearly feel the dust against her salt-slick skin.

“I am glad you came back.” She says and gazes up at him beneath her lashes. Her smile is rueful and too, too wide. The salt-girl hides it beneath her hair, secreting it away with the fluttering twist of her stomach at the rose he gave her. Her nose tucks into her chest, like fingers curling into a fist, anything, anything to stop her desire to touch him again and remember what it was like to be able to touch and not rip.

@Dune <3


She was brave and strong and broken all at once
~Anna Funder


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