[This is clearer, now. Tangible sound, the source in front of him at last. She comes to him in the mourning black, in the Forsaken regalia: she is crowned, she is the night incarnate here in his dream.
She tuts softly, the disappointment palpable, damning. She studies him - little witchling, little shapeshifter - against the nightmarish backdrop. She considers him well, frightened little boy now, stark contrast to the thing that came into her dream to kill her gently.
Disappointing, yes.
In the blink of an eye, she lifts one hand, slender fingers snapping once to melt away the landscape, melting it all away to nothingness. The void remains, and so does Lanfear. In the next blink, she is closer. Closer still after the next one again, until she's close enough to curl one of those fingers towards him, nail against his chin, tipping his face up. ]
[ There's nothing he can do — dreams were his domain, once, then twice, when he visited Natalie to lure her out, when he visited Lanfear to never let her leave. A seven-headed wolf, an ode to him and the others driven to search and to kill; he made up his own apocalypse then, red sky and trees turned upward to reach it.
Now there's nothingness, and even that is more than he deserves in the face of the woman he killed. She comes closer in one snap, then another, her finger is under his chin and she's chastising him, not for what he did but for what he is. A pathetic young man who dared to wield his powers thrice upon a time. ]
What do you want?
[ Might as well just say it — she might as well just take it. ]
[For a long stretch, she simply looks at him. You can tell a lot about a person by the look in their eyes; she can see the summation of Dom now, of what he is, who he was, what he might be with the right push. Fear is powerful too.
What does she want? A debt. ] I think, [she says, inching in closer, nail digging into the underside of his chin, claw-like sting in its wake. ] I will call on a favour from you one day, and you will fulfill it.
[Her head tilts, just so, eyes glimmering brightly. ] This will be how you atone.
[ He grimaces softly, claw-like nail stinging on his skin, fear unrelenting in his eyes and the air around him, distorting the dream like heat rising from a road. Then her eyes glimmer, and he wonders — is it coming from her, or is she reflecting the wolf back at him?
Pathetically, he asks, ]
A favor — how?
[ What could someone like him possibly do for her? ]
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no subject
[This is clearer, now. Tangible sound, the source in front of him at last. She comes to him in the mourning black, in the Forsaken regalia: she is crowned, she is the night incarnate here in his dream.
She tuts softly, the disappointment palpable, damning. She studies him - little witchling, little shapeshifter - against the nightmarish backdrop. She considers him well, frightened little boy now, stark contrast to the thing that came into her dream to kill her gently.
Disappointing, yes.
In the blink of an eye, she lifts one hand, slender fingers snapping once to melt away the landscape, melting it all away to nothingness. The void remains, and so does Lanfear. In the next blink, she is closer. Closer still after the next one again, until she's close enough to curl one of those fingers towards him, nail against his chin, tipping his face up. ]
I expected more from you, Domingos.
no subject
Now there's nothingness, and even that is more than he deserves in the face of the woman he killed. She comes closer in one snap, then another, her finger is under his chin and she's chastising him, not for what he did but for what he is. A pathetic young man who dared to wield his powers thrice upon a time. ]
What do you want?
[ Might as well just say it — she might as well just take it. ]
no subject
What does she want? A debt. ] I think, [she says, inching in closer, nail digging into the underside of his chin, claw-like sting in its wake. ] I will call on a favour from you one day, and you will fulfill it.
[Her head tilts, just so, eyes glimmering brightly. ] This will be how you atone.
no subject
Pathetically, he asks, ]
A favor — how?
[ What could someone like him possibly do for her? ]