The figures are close now, feet pressed against the edge of the mattress, and crowded all around so that they can lean in to stare at Shrieky, faces still obscured by shadows that couldn't possibly have been cast by anything. From behind Benji, they usher her forward, trying to force her to close the circle around him, to lean down and stare with them. To absorb her into their ranks.
The thought she sends does reach Shrieky, under the darkness and the crawl of tiny feet across his teeth and tongue, and normally he would eventually draw this same conclusion himself. Some stray thought would break through the strangeness that was befalling him, and he would realize that what was happening could not have been real. Now though, with Benji standing over him, talking as though she was awake and with the strange figment of his nightmares for these many months talking back? He finally understands that dreams too, are reality. This isn't something that will dissipate and leave when he wakes up, but rather something that will squat inside of him, waiting for his return each night. A prison from which waking is a brief parole rather than a release.
"Names..." The thing hisses, "...How human, to think that all things have names, and how naieve to think I know yours not, after we've lived together for so many weeks now."
Shrieky's chest heaves, and he retches, and a glut of flies rise from his throat, like a huge, writhing droplet of some viscous liquid falling into the air.
"Some things go by descriptors, functions, and identifiers, but as you like, you shall have mine: I am Hypha. As you are Dreamwalker. As he is Shrieky."
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The thought she sends does reach Shrieky, under the darkness and the crawl of tiny feet across his teeth and tongue, and normally he would eventually draw this same conclusion himself. Some stray thought would break through the strangeness that was befalling him, and he would realize that what was happening could not have been real. Now though, with Benji standing over him, talking as though she was awake and with the strange figment of his nightmares for these many months talking back? He finally understands that dreams too, are reality. This isn't something that will dissipate and leave when he wakes up, but rather something that will squat inside of him, waiting for his return each night. A prison from which waking is a brief parole rather than a release.
"Names..." The thing hisses, "...How human, to think that all things have names, and how naieve to think I know yours not, after we've lived together for so many weeks now."
Shrieky's chest heaves, and he retches, and a glut of flies rise from his throat, like a huge, writhing droplet of some viscous liquid falling into the air.
"Some things go by descriptors, functions, and identifiers, but as you like, you shall have mine: I am Hypha. As you are Dreamwalker. As he is Shrieky."