[His dreams are, for a lack of a better word, strange.
Ever since he left his old life behind, opened his eyes to the universe, they weren't the same; he saw its many gleaming facets, the way it twisted and existed a hundred, thousand, million, billion times over β more than that. Infinite. Fractals of color and experience and shapes and faces that he doesnβt always recognize. Friends that he does, loved ones and old enemies. Their lights shining at the corner of his mind, singing brightly. Asleep, he sees it all, almost with the same clarity of meditation. He sees time moving fluidly (the stone gleaming bright and green and nestled in the Eye, is the Eye), he moves with it, he sees the past and present and future in alien shapes and it stretches him thin and fills him fully and makes Stephen feel so very small.
And feeling small is sometimes a comfort in its own way.
Tonight is different. Tonight is a straightforward dream, but it is decidedly very specific. It doesnβt belong to him, he knows it β he can feel the threads of connection leading away from his spirit and to a different part of the house. His physical body, running on impulse and low-grade instinct, can follow that line. But his mental acuity, lost in a dream like only Stephen can have, focuses on the scene. Fondness, affection. Violence, death. A severed head landing on soft ground, and the smile of a demon that he knows.
He wakes up. A slow process, only jolting up from the worst of them, so this is like pulling himself out from beneath the sea β and eventually Stephen can breathe. And he knows that he will not be able to sleep after this.
Minutes later, and Shuten will hear his footsteps. Quiet, barefoot. Dressed in a plain shirt and pajama bottoms, a very far cry from the garb of a sorcerer. He looksβ¦. normal.
Moonlight shines in through the window.]
Oversharing is considered a character flaw.
[Dry, smooth tones slide through shadow from where he stands.]
no subject
Ever since he left his old life behind, opened his eyes to the universe, they weren't the same; he saw its many gleaming facets, the way it twisted and existed a hundred, thousand, million, billion times over β more than that. Infinite. Fractals of color and experience and shapes and faces that he doesnβt always recognize. Friends that he does, loved ones and old enemies. Their lights shining at the corner of his mind, singing brightly. Asleep, he sees it all, almost with the same clarity of meditation. He sees time moving fluidly (the stone gleaming bright and green and nestled in the Eye, is the Eye), he moves with it, he sees the past and present and future in alien shapes and it stretches him thin and fills him fully and makes Stephen feel so very small.
And feeling small is sometimes a comfort in its own way.
Tonight is different. Tonight is a straightforward dream, but it is decidedly very specific. It doesnβt belong to him, he knows it β he can feel the threads of connection leading away from his spirit and to a different part of the house. His physical body, running on impulse and low-grade instinct, can follow that line. But his mental acuity, lost in a dream like only Stephen can have, focuses on the scene. Fondness, affection. Violence, death. A severed head landing on soft ground, and the smile of a demon that he knows.
He wakes up. A slow process, only jolting up from the worst of them, so this is like pulling himself out from beneath the sea β and eventually Stephen can breathe. And he knows that he will not be able to sleep after this.
Minutes later, and Shuten will hear his footsteps. Quiet, barefoot. Dressed in a plain shirt and pajama bottoms, a very far cry from the garb of a sorcerer. He looksβ¦. normal.
Moonlight shines in through the window.]
Oversharing is considered a character flaw.
[Dry, smooth tones slide through shadow from where he stands.]