[ It starts with a nightmare, like it usually does. However, this one is darker, less visible. Alois would find himself in the garden of the Trancy manor, among the rose bushes. These roses however, are all red. Ox blood red. Carmine. Not the gentle ruby red that glistens with dew in the morning sun. None of that. Almost as if these were once white roses dyed with blood.
It's nighttime in this rose garden and a mist has settled around him. The mist would grow deeper with each step he'd take. Almost to the point where he wouldn't be able to see a thing. Should he stumble about blindly, he would start to notice things around him.
Voices. Like those men Lord Trancy used to call over. Voices. The other boys sick with the plague around him before he was called forth. Smells. A fire. A deep roaring fire. Wood and grass and people burning. Smells. Blood. Sounds. Luka screaming.
And should he continue to stumble on through the fog in his mad, frantic dash for solace he will find himself suddenly running straight into a spider's web. The silk would first get in his eyes, further clouding his vision. Then it would get to his wrists and ankles, pulling him down to the ground spread eagled and vulnerable. Around him, the smells of fire, of blood, of roses would get stronger. So would the voices, the screaming...
And then it stops.
Though should he open his eyes, he will find he can't. Perhaps it's the spider silk woven around them, a makeshift sticky impenetrable blindfold. Should he attempt to move, he'll find himself bound as he was in his nightmares: spread eagled and exposed, secured by thick webbing around his ankles and wrists which would cut into his tender flesh should he struggle so. But unlike his nightmares, there are no sounds save for the crickets in the night air.
There are no smells save for a candle being lit and the distinct cologne a certain demon wears. ]
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It's nighttime in this rose garden and a mist has settled around him. The mist would grow deeper with each step he'd take. Almost to the point where he wouldn't be able to see a thing. Should he stumble about blindly, he would start to notice things around him.
Voices. Like those men Lord Trancy used to call over.
Voices. The other boys sick with the plague around him before he was called forth.
Smells. A fire. A deep roaring fire. Wood and grass and people burning.
Smells. Blood.
Sounds. Luka screaming.
And should he continue to stumble on through the fog in his mad, frantic dash for solace he will find himself suddenly running straight into a spider's web. The silk would first get in his eyes, further clouding his vision. Then it would get to his wrists and ankles, pulling him down to the ground spread eagled and vulnerable. Around him, the smells of fire, of blood, of roses would get stronger. So would the voices, the screaming...
And then it stops.
Though should he open his eyes, he will find he can't. Perhaps it's the spider silk woven around them, a makeshift sticky impenetrable blindfold. Should he attempt to move, he'll find himself bound as he was in his nightmares: spread eagled and exposed, secured by thick webbing around his ankles and wrists which would cut into his tender flesh should he struggle so. But unlike his nightmares, there are no sounds save for the crickets in the night air.
There are no smells save for a candle being lit and the distinct cologne a certain demon wears. ]