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Post by WOOLA! on Jun 28, 2015 13:08:47 GMT
Dreams are a window into the self, not just the self of one but the self of many. In the secret parts of our minds is a truth no more true than that we know in waking yet one that is quite unto itself, different. In dreams it can find escape through the transience of mind into thought and we can dream those dreams. Some think that the self ends only where the edges of our secret perception does, yet there are those who can see and hear far beyond eyes, ears and conventional thought. If there are ways to escape beyond that, who is to say that dreams are our own. Influenced not just by the world we all inhabit and our shared experience, but by a shared existence. There is much we do not know and can not yet prove, yet we all know not everything can be explained.
~ Do Mystics Dream of Psychic Sheep?
A sullen silence on a cold stone floor. A black marble, catching light from an unseen moon glittered almost as if stars. High above a cavernous arched ceiling crowded with petrified stone ravens. Their sharp beaks seemingly unblunted by the passage of time and their eyes catching candle light from above with an ominous glint. They oversaw a church, pews upon pews spaced along the black stone, pillars erupting between them towards the ceiling, casting their own long shadows. They cast themselves onto walls that rippled, not with water but the soft movements of gigantic silk hangings in deep blood red. Swaying silently from every wall in such number that it appeared a great sea had been parted, that shadows seemed to be alive in those red depths, moving below the surface.
Stained glass windows depicted battles, heroes and deaths, on close inspection they seem not entirely solid, nor stationary. Casting no coloured light onto the floor yet they allowed no airflow, untouchable. At the distant head of the church was the altar and pulpit, a great eagle with its wings spread, each the size of a person. On its back was the good book, just as huge and golden, its pages periodically turning themselves. A great stone sarcophagus lay further back, surrounded by innumerous tall candles, their wax having melted into mountains that ran past the iron railings around it. Still it was silent, the pages, the silks, the shadows, no sound at all, either from within or the formless void without.
There was a singular sign of life however, though it too was silent. Dressed in red a figure moved between the pews with a stack of prayer books, placing them each in turn on the shelf in front of each seat. Her figure was hidden behind a billowing but plain red robe of the same silks as the hangings. Covering her wrists to her red shoed feet only those and her face remained visible. A red band wrapped around her forehead, a red veil covering her hair down to her back. The face was young, freckled with deep green eyes. If not for the silks one might say she was a novice of the church, yet this was no church that seemed capable of existing in the real world, with its thousands of seats and cavernous halls.
Finishing the row and collecting another pile of books she moved in the same muteness the rest of the room did, not seeming at all surprised in her effortless glide. That was until the sound of a metal lock turning on a grand wooden door at the entrance. Huge hinges squawked as in inched open, bringing the sound, the wind and a faint glow from antechamber. Yet the nun in red did not react to this, merely kept on struggling with an overstacked pile of books as she once again started to place them for what might be an invisible congregation.
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Dec 14, 2016 21:26:03 GMT
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Post by The D.J. C.J. on Jun 30, 2015 8:43:43 GMT
The sound of cicadas buzzing. An indistinguishable light – as solid as the darkness. Footsteps echoing throughout the blood. The shell walks in three steps. One, two, three. One, two, three. Who calls me? The doors slammed shut behind him. Edwin’s eyes went wide with a sudden jolt. “W-what…?” he stuttered, looking around wildly.
What was this place? He hadn’t been here a few moments ago…had he? He shut his eyes, took a breath, and tried to make some sense of where this place was supposed to be. Grand, luxurious. There were so many seats, for example. So many people were meant to be here – that was probably what creeped Edwin out the most, the fact that there was nobody at all here. But more than anything else, this place felt…ethereal. Like something he could see in real life, but at the same time like nothing he’d ever see again. The air itself seemed to shimmer and haze, and even though Edwin was sure he was looking clearly at things it felt like if he looked for more than a few seconds at a time everything would blur. “What…is this…?” he muttered to himself, the words echoing throughout the choice. “And more importantly, why am I asking this when I already know the damn answer?”
Edwin rubbed his forehead. He couldn’t get his head quite straight in this place. He turned around to leave, but found himself staring straight at a set of closed wooden doors. He banged his fist against them, but the wooden thud echoed back at him, almost as if it was laughing at him. Edwin looked around, desperately, reaching for his firearm but he already knew that it wasn’t there, no matter how desperately he felt for it. “What the hell is going on?!” he shouted, the grand room shouting it back at him, knowing no more than he did. Edwin looked again, trying to stop his arm from shaking, and suddenly realised - he thought he’d been alone, but there was one other person in this madhouse – the woman in red, red robes, red veils, like a red phantom. What had that movie he’d watched once said - ‘Follow the woman in the red dress’? It wasn’t a dress, but it was close enough and seemed like the only way he was going to get any answers. “Hey!” he shouted towards the strange woman. “Lady! Where is this?”
The walls echoed his questions back at him. Edwin tried his best not to let it show just how much this place bothered him to his very soul...now if only his damn arm would stop shaking.
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Post by WOOLA! on Jun 30, 2015 21:17:53 GMT
It was hazy, placing the books seems so important for some reason when she first, when did she first come here? She couldn't say, it didn't seem to matter eve now, it was just where and when she was. As for anything else, she hadn't given it any thought and just like the space inside his church, it was empty of answers. The man that was calling to her messy hair and dressed somewhat suspect, he seemed rather perturbed. To be flouncing into a church in such a way, one would think he would know better. Still logic was not applicable in a place such as this, at least in the conventional way. What should be lines was a nest of knots, writhing and wriggling together. Impossible to see what cause would lead to the effect, up being down, books, books needing to be placed. Struggling under the weight she persisted in placing them out rather than looking at him, at least at first. It still seemed more important, her head felt like it wasn't entirely here. Yet this still felt entirely natural, not odd or strange, the way things were under a dark sky. Finally with several of the books laid to rest she looked up to him the picture of serenity and spoke softly and quietly. It should not have been loud enough to carry across the distance it did, not did it come across as natural. What she heard herself say and what was sent were two different, things.
".have you come to seek ?sanctuarY"
It just seemed like the right thing to say, as much as the right thing was to keep laying down the books in their places. Of his questions they seemed ever more distant when her answer came, though she knew not were she knew it from.
".a place between ,placeS"
Her focus was drifting away from him the more time past, as if he was part of the background more and more. Her steps still made no sound, nor did the placing of the books, dressed as she was she seemed a part of this place. The only sound was still that of her distorted voice, and the breathing of the man. His footsteps as loud as if his boots were plate mail, carrying an otherness that cut him away from this place. Even his look, while full of reds and the flickers of flame the girl, the room, seemed muted as the sounds it made. There was grandeur, an imposing essence but the view seemed flat, as if she and all the world existed in a painting rather than reality. The depth seemed false as real as it was. Yet he, he was as real as real seemed, in true colours and presence. Not that she really noticed, it was not something she was looking for, it didn't feel important. Nothing really felt important, just to keep on with her duty.
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Post by The D.J. C.J. on Jul 5, 2015 2:28:14 GMT
So hard to focus. Wait for me. I (don’t?) want to come too.
The lady in red turned like a flowing river of blood and Edwin realised that he was remembering something that he knew he didn’t want to know. The books in her hands had almost melted into their appropriate places in the bookshelf – they were full and he was sure they had been empty beforehand. She was a custodian of knowledge, and Edwin felt like the longer he stayed in this place, the longer it could read him down to his very soul, and it was something that made him uncomfortable. He was starting to recognise a fear that went down to his very bones, and it was hard to stop shaking.
He looked straight into the face that had turned towards him – messy red hair, glasses not unlike his, except perhaps more modern. Deep green eyes kind accusation and a gentle smile. If there was anything in this place that felt real, it was her. She was the one clear image among the haze – perhaps that was why Edwin felt she was both the most beautiful and the most frightening thing in this place. Edwin was feeling more and more discomforted, even as he felt himself move closer and closer – for the sake of curiosity? To continue the story he found himself walking through, to find the end that eluded him?
She spoke, but the words twisted and vanished as they came towards him – sanctuary? Between? What was she saying? He wondered if the words he was saying were getting across to her any better. But more than that, he was wondering how he was supposed to leave. The more he tried to keep himself real, the less real anything else in the entire room seemed, and the less it was possible to get a grasp on anything except him and the flowing lady of red.
“Say something.” Edwin mentally screamed at himself. “Anything.” He wanted to yell at her, he nearly wanted to just attack her in the vague hopes that something would move forward, that there could be some kind of sanctuary away from this mad…sanctuary?
Instead, he found himself whispering, as though a confession - “Why can’t I leave?”
A church bell boomed, and the echo bounced and warped off the unreal walls. Why can’t I leave why can’t I leave why won’t I leave why can’t we leave why would we leave why let you leave why, why, why, why…
Edwin had to resist the urge to scream, forcing himself to stand upright even as the pressure of his sins tried to force him to his knees.
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Post by WOOLA! on Jul 5, 2015 22:14:34 GMT
Flow she did, like oil on water, a wisp with form. Placing the last of her current stack on the pews she turned to him once again. He seemed to react oddly, yet she could not put her finger on it., to her the bell seemed just that, it said nothing other than its regular chime. To him it seemed to cause pain, or was he scared? The girl didn't seem to process this, merely looking at him rather puzzled, her answer as quiet as his roaring whisper, ".do you want ?tO" She was entirely powerless in this place, deep inside she at least knew it was nothing to do with her. It seemed to her that this place, given out of place he was, was his. The convoluted warp of logic seemed sensible to her at least, yet it was enough to cause her to abandon her duty for a moment, ebbing like a tide of silk towards him down the aisle.
With a realization she came to an abrupt stop. There was no bell, or at least she had never heard one. Her world here so far had been silent until he arrived, yes. He had brought noise with his actions, and only he had made them, that is until the bell tolled. He had also coaxed words from her with little effort, was the bell the same as her? If there had been no sound though, why did she think it was normal at first? Surely she must have, she couldn't remember that far, she couldn't remember anything. How odd, it seemed that it did not matter before, did it matter now? There were some questions now, caused by this intruder. Who was he, why was he and why was she, who was she? Did she want to leave this place?
If he had not come would she have ever noticed? Was she even real if she hadn't noticed these things, did that matter either? She felt real, or did she? What did that feel like? Why was she sure that he had choices where she did not? Why did she know anything at all with no memories? Standing a few meters away from him now she waited with her hands in her lap, looking still confused more than concerned or annoyed. It was clearer again that he was different from this place, the more she looked at him the more out of it he seemed. Compared to the spotless perfection here, he was real. The slight glint of his skin in the light, the way his eyes winced, the way he breathed. Everything was imperfect in its own way, the more shallow this hallow place in all its grandeur seemed to be.
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