Django (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
heliotroping) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
paradisalogs2012-10-07 08:03 pm
heliotroping) wrote in paradisalogs2012-10-07 08:03 pm
Entry tags:
(no subject)
Who: Django, some unpleasant memory made illusions, and you
What: Nightmares derp
When: The entirety of the Nightmares plot
Where: a memory that refuses to go away
Rating: R, for blood and kinda gore
The stench is almost unbearable. Even if one were to throw up here, nothing would cover the rotten odors of blood and flesh long since rotten. It becomes apparently why it smells so bad. The ground is made up of glowing red skulls. While it has been centuries since the last living thing actually died there, the evil sentiment continues to haunt it, much like the scent.
The beast up ahead is alive, alert, and watching. Its single red eye follows any intruders, its destructive will seemingly curbed until it is time for its fury, the fury of its master, to be unleashed.
Who is its master? As if it senses the unspoken question, the beast lurches up, revealing a person, half integrated in its own flesh. At first it seems like a boy, with purple hair and piercing red eyes. A gaping, bleeding hole reveals the wall behind him where his chest ought to be. If you were to double take, another takes his place. A young brunette girl with a gentle, but haunted look, a pink haired girl who may be familiar to some in the castle, a child whose golden locks are stained with blood, an old man whose face is forever etched with weariness, and so on. No matter who it is, they all stare accusingly, even in their mad expressions.
This is all your fault. You could have stopped it. You never did. You killed me instead just like you killed the others. Murderer. Kin slayer. Puppet of the Sun.
What: Nightmares derp
When: The entirety of the Nightmares plot
Where: a memory that refuses to go away
Rating: R, for blood and kinda gore
The stench is almost unbearable. Even if one were to throw up here, nothing would cover the rotten odors of blood and flesh long since rotten. It becomes apparently why it smells so bad. The ground is made up of glowing red skulls. While it has been centuries since the last living thing actually died there, the evil sentiment continues to haunt it, much like the scent.
The beast up ahead is alive, alert, and watching. Its single red eye follows any intruders, its destructive will seemingly curbed until it is time for its fury, the fury of its master, to be unleashed.
Who is its master? As if it senses the unspoken question, the beast lurches up, revealing a person, half integrated in its own flesh. At first it seems like a boy, with purple hair and piercing red eyes. A gaping, bleeding hole reveals the wall behind him where his chest ought to be. If you were to double take, another takes his place. A young brunette girl with a gentle, but haunted look, a pink haired girl who may be familiar to some in the castle, a child whose golden locks are stained with blood, an old man whose face is forever etched with weariness, and so on. No matter who it is, they all stare accusingly, even in their mad expressions.
This is all your fault. You could have stopped it. You never did. You killed me instead just like you killed the others. Murderer. Kin slayer. Puppet of the Sun.