A Fever Dream | Dima Kovachev

[Frawlic 1602]

 

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

For the first of many nights, Dima had herded herself to her room in Kovgrad. Her sheepish gaze lifted to the lofted bed in the room, noting that her sister, Liya, was still awake. She bid her no greeting, their gazes meeting enough of a reminder. The young Kovachev struggled out of her furs, scarves, and other abundance of layers. Once satisfied, or she found her nightgown did not protect her from the chill that crept through the open windows, Dima clambered into her floor-level bed. In her sheets, only her nose, eyes, and bony fingers resided out of her cocooning. A soft muttering filled the room, from Liya and her nonsense of the moon, and from Dima as she tried to count sheep.

 

It didn't seem to work, a tingle at the tip of her nose as it ran. Sitting upright, she brought the blankets about herself, scared her warmth might leave the mattress behind her. She bleated under her breath, hoping her words might echo to her sister across the room.

 

“Liya… Liya, ea can't sleep.”

 

A silence met her and as misty eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stared at the empty loft. The towers in Kovgrad where they resided creaked in the wind and she sat there a long while, waiting. The caw of a crow echoed beyond the walls, and with that, she fell from her bed and made for the open hallway. Across the way was Varon’s room, and hurriedly she knocked on his door. Or at least attempt to, white knuckles connecting with the wood before it fell away. As she entered the boy's room, familiar whispers and laughter, sinister in nature, rang in her ears.

 

“Varon.. Varon, are vy awake?”

 

When no response came from her wavering voice, she approached his bed. A sharp cry escaped her as her eyes took hold of his mangled limbs, ones she had seen before. The laughter grew louder, haunting her memory as she limped forward in quick succession to help him. A trip over the hardwood and suddenly she was on her back, damp grass poking into her nightgown.
 

Dima eased herself upwards, gaze darting about the well-lit sky. She could have sworn the stars were bigger than the moon. A woman of flaxen hair stood in the distance and the child eased in her direction.

 

“Mamej…”

 

“Have no fear at heart..”

 

Her mother uttered such before setting a cat in her grasp. Then, she walked away, and her daughter simply watched her leave. Turning her head over her shoulder, Celia’nor resided upon its perch. A barefooted journey began and as she eventually found herself climbing a cobbled path, no matter how long she walked for the elven kingdom never grew any closer. Dima stopped a moment, closing her eyes as she panted. A cold sensation echoed upon her lower legs and when she opened her eyes she stood there in the mud, a hooded woman across from her.

 

She wished she did not know her, but exaggeratedly long fangs protruded from her, reflecting in the night. The girl had nothing upon her for defense this time, only she and her cat were present. Once more the vampyre’s movements were swift and as red dripped along her right sleeve, Dima's left reached for the stars. The light from the sky cascaded down and berated the vampyre. This time Dima would not run for the trees and as she scooped up the immobile cat, the two of them toppled into the nearby river.
 

Like a portal, the water came endless and only when the young girl drew a sharp breath did something fill the void. Her gaze herded to the stream's bank as she resided in the shallow water on her knees. It studied a red boy covered in feathers, and herself, though younger. She watched as the two children, consumed by their innocence, dug for worms in the mud. Perhaps this had become a resting place in her mind, her fingers running through the damp fur of the feline upon her lap. When her attention lifted back to the duo, a flash of light entered her vision. Her first, her elder brother swung his blade upright into the air, preparing to strike. Though, Reinhard stared ahead at her, unwavering in his notice as that unassuming smile was given to her. She watched as her younger self was struck down in protection of the cursed boy, and as red sprayed, her vision went black.

A gentle purring sound filled her ears, and upright did she find herself in the clinic of Valdev. Her mother sat with a saddened look on her face, and once again she handed something to the girl. A cross necklace was managed around her neck and Dima stared as her mother repeated.

“Have no fear at heart.”

Then, the woman rounded the bed divider and as her daughter clambered to follow, she saw nothing but an empty clinic. Her pace came slow as exhaustion reaped her, and almost habitually she made for the barracks. A crowd murmured, obviously glum in the events of whatever occurred in front of them. Squeezing through as she received odd looks from blurred faces, skeletal fingers clawing along skirts and pant legs to see what was happening, she froze upon the sight. A gasp echoed from those behind her as her father raised a bloodied blade in victory. Dima recalled a time prior when the man was to duel for his trial, though she was unsure who he seemed to have felled. She felt her heart plummet in her chest as her attention fell to the lifeless mass on the ground. The lifeless eyes of Joakim stared back. Sickness rose in her throat and as she thought she might vomit, blackened feathers spilled out of her mouth. The items her mother had gifted her grew heavy in her hold.

She choked until her mouth was free of the texture and crumpled to the ground to catch her breath. Her cat darted away with a shrill hiss and as she lay there, the cawing of crows neared. The feathers upon the ground swept up in the wind and the thumping of wings fell upon her. Assuming her to be some dead creature, the crows began to pluck away at her, and as she had cried so many times, they ripped at her eyes until once more darkness consumed her.

 

Stirring awake, the young Kovachev’s eyes ripped open and she stared at the ceiling in her Kovgrad room. Beams of light crept across her vision and she panted while sweat stuck her bangs to her forehead. In the fit of a newfound fever, her mind plagued her with such awful and vivid nightmares. Dima pulled herself out of bed, weary. She would will herself to proceed with her day.

 

Spoiler

This post is not public knowledge, it is just a child's nightmare, please do not meta-game. Though, feel free to post any form of reply :)

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

The young devil-boy drifted down the corridor of his Celia'nor home. Passing by the dining room, his jagged pupils set upon the servantry that were finishing for the evening. Working.

Advancing, his soft steps plodded up the stairs to the room of his mother - and his mother alone, for his father spent time elsewhere all too often. 

Cautiously, a gloved, padded hand raised to knock. Then, it hoevered still in the air. Slowly, it slumped down before he opted to press his large, battish ear to the wood instead. Soft sobbing. He waited there, listening, before his brows furrowed. Steadily, he peeled himself away from the door before heading to his own room, his long, thin tail merely draped low as his feathers pulled along the ground, tearing at the soft edges.

Soon enough, he curled himself into bed - with none to wish goodnight to, and wished goodnight from none. By his bed were curled, scruffed feathers: soft things, lonesome things. His jagged, lizardly gaze swept the ceiling in reluctance to sleep, and, yet, he did.
 

---
 

Coming to consciousness, the boy stood in the Celia'norian streets: lonely and barren. With a reluctance, his feet picked up to explore the familiar wasteland as, all the while, a bubbling, frothing anxiousness churned his gut. Nothing but dust. That is, until he saw Dima and Ersze at the end of the drawbridge beyond the gate. He passed the gate himself, into a world outside - one of uncertainty and death. His pace picked up: faster and faster did his feet bumble fourth, one after another, thunking with great, wooden clatters - but never were they any closer. As his hand outstretched - Dima's small form turned away; Ersze's watched him fall. And silently, unnoticed by all but the plummeting devil, the the bridge gave way.
 

He tumbled down, and down, and down until he was painlessly stilled in the darkness. Caution fluttered his heart as he stood - but the umbra parted like great, formidable waves to a glowering, pale eye - and then a thousand, thousand of those same eyes opened. They each twitched and writhed in all directions, upon a thing the slithered unseen. Statue-like, he stared - his tail lofting to settle between his hands as he brushed the feathers, comfortingly. Upon them, the drivelled, crimson markings did shift: they blinked. He dropped it. Then, he ran. Never could he escape those agonised eyes, until all at once, they snapped upon him.
 

"Choose." A myriad of familiar voices rang. They were sweet, at first. The cooed in high tones, until they echoed again with a deeper, cavernous layer below that high; all-encompassing: "Choose!"
 

His foot finally fell upon nothing, found stability on nothing and that enormous creature easily came to stoop before him. Each yellow eyed, each needle-like pupil was centered on him with an intense revulsion which permeated the very space of that lost place. Unhinging, gaping impossibly wide, its jaw fell. Within, the Cursed: Yuko, Elora, Leoni, Zara, Lucy. Each of them stood, headless - he knew them anyway. A thick running of sable oozed in trickles and spurts from their necks: a vivid image he knew too well. It lunged - and darkness swallowed him. 
 

A mountain, Reinhard found himself upon - hands wrapped tightly to his own arms, in a closed silence. A thick blizzard blew, though the cold did not bite as the boy expected it to. Only two stood upon that mount: him, and Villorik. Nausea overtook his stomach at the sight of the man. His name had been hope, once. That winged helmet creaked in a measured, arduous turn. His left hand raised, a chain grasped within.
 

"Your time will come."
 

The devil-boy's eyes suddenly stung as the wind raised, and grew its fangs. Scanning the mountain peak, the boy looked for another he expected - for anyone, if only to not be left with the jailor. And yet, when he turned he found many, but none but one he wished: great, oozing stone men; Mother Valerie with equal parts a blade though her chest, and one drawn; a nameless man adorned in white-clothed armour and lorraine crosses; Marius III, his face riddled with hidden disgust; Houri, baring the smashed, fatal edge of a bottle; Joakim, and Dima at his side; and a faceless crowd, though his  mind screamed that he knew each of them. Silence was shared for a moment, between predator, and prey. But to none of them did Reinhard look, except to the young Kovachev: she stood idle as she gripped Joakim's hand. And then, they descended.

---

The pale, green gaze of Reinhard shot open - jagged, needle-like pupils staring out. He lurched up with shuddered breaths in the dark - the dark. Raising his hand to his now-feathered cheeks, he grasped and tore at those soft, mutated marrings of his features. The torn few fluttered down to the pile. Raising that night in hapless anxiety, he hurriedly lit a light and sat in silence by it in what comfort he could manifest for himself. As he sat and studied the flittering of the candle-light, the rare words of his mother rang in his ears: a melody in the dark. The young boy penned a letter.

 

Spoiler

It felt fitting to reply with his own narrative terrors. :) You wrote a nice piece!