[ The world is quiet at last, and falling to pieces. Maybe they shouldn't find that as peaceful as they do, but that echoing silence, the absence of anything else, is a signal to rest.
They let go of the nail. If they could have closed their eyes, they would. There's nothing left but to wait, and to wake.
Perhaps they could stay here forever, if they really wanted. Held inside a dissolving dream, their existence is fragile. It reminds them of being cast away; it seems so long ago, now, that distant memory.
"Fade away, little shadow.
Fade away, and let us sleep in peace."
Grimm returns to lucidity, and as if in exchange, their own perception, sharpened to a desperate point, begins to lose focus. They feel exhausted in a way that rarely overtakes them.
They're very tired, and someone is holding them, and it's comfortable here. That's the only sort of thought that really passes through their head, as the world ends
(in the space between, there echoes an almost-silent response to a desperate question; I wouldn't mind.)
the dream crumbles like ash in the wind, the fire spent.
Waking up is sudden, though not particularly unpleasant. They feel bruised and battered, which is the most unusual part. Dream battles don't usually mirror to reality that closely, or at all, but this one seems to have made an exception.
They sit up and look down at themselves, and find that they still have two arms. That's a good thing. They pat themselves down to see if anything else is amiss, and their right hand finds a new scar where they dreamed of a left arm burned away.
It's not the clean entry-exit wound of a nail's thrust; it is jagged and rough. They examine it idly, finding it rings around their entire left arm where shoulder meets torso, like the unfinished seam left by impatient, rushed stitching.
It glows faintly red. It looks like the familiar stitching of patchwork veins and a heart that once held a radiant light. It doesn't seem to hurt at all.
Grimm is...somewhere around, they're fairly certain (they hope), so they're...content, despite the injury. They don't move, still sore and preoccupied with their new scar. ]
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They let go of the nail. If they could have closed their eyes, they would. There's nothing left but to wait, and to wake.
Perhaps they could stay here forever, if they really wanted. Held inside a dissolving dream, their existence is fragile. It reminds them of being cast away; it seems so long ago, now, that distant memory.
"Fade away, little shadow.
Fade away, and let us sleep in peace."
Grimm returns to lucidity, and as if in exchange, their own perception, sharpened to a desperate point, begins to lose focus. They feel exhausted in a way that rarely overtakes them.
They're very tired, and someone is holding them, and it's comfortable here. That's the only sort of thought that really passes through their head, as the world ends
(in the space between, there echoes an almost-silent response to a desperate question; I wouldn't mind.)
the dream crumbles like ash in the wind, the fire spent.
Waking up is sudden, though not particularly unpleasant. They feel bruised and battered, which is the most unusual part. Dream battles don't usually mirror to reality that closely, or at all, but this one seems to have made an exception.
They sit up and look down at themselves, and find that they still have two arms. That's a good thing. They pat themselves down to see if anything else is amiss, and their right hand finds a new scar where they dreamed of a left arm burned away.
It's not the clean entry-exit wound of a nail's thrust; it is jagged and rough. They examine it idly, finding it rings around their entire left arm where shoulder meets torso, like the unfinished seam left by impatient, rushed stitching.
It glows faintly red. It looks like the familiar stitching of patchwork veins and a heart that once held a radiant light. It doesn't seem to hurt at all.
Grimm is...somewhere around, they're fairly certain (they hope), so they're...content, despite the injury. They don't move, still sore and preoccupied with their new scar. ]