Chapter Text
It had gone by many names. Some lost to history, some whispered as myth, but no matter, it always had to grasp at a new one when it was time to move on.
Currently, this thing was going by the name of Dream. And wow, wasn’t Dream something?
He was respected by some. Feared by others. Hated even. And oh, wasn’t that something?
Because this had to have been one of its most complex acts yet! Because it had felt that mortal flare, doing everything it could while under this one name!
It smiled slowly, laying broken and shattered on the harsh obsidian ground, lava bubbling and burning its surroundings. Oh, but despite the bloody mess it looked, skin seemingly burnt by the heat, what could be described as choked sobs erupting from its mouth, and limbs mangled, it felt almost nothing.
It was brilliant! It knew how to play as a mortal thing, and wasn’t it incredible at it? Prideful, ah that’s what it was. Yes. It was quite proud of itself.
Slowly, it let itself snap together, the slightest hiss easing through nothingness, and that was strange.
It shook its head and Dream sat up, it was only acting it reminded itself. It grunted and Dream carefully made his way along to the water basin, dipping shaking hands into the water to try and wipe away the blood.
It sighed and shook its head, shifting its mask out of the way to glance at the stolen face below before pausing.
Gingerly, Dream rubbed at his face, “Heh, you look like shit.” Black eyes crinkled in a cheap mimicry of amusement, baring broken teeth at itself before ruffling its dirty blond hair, which was matted and coated with its own blood.
It grimaced before grumbling to itself, “I can’t wait to get out of here.”
It nodded mildly and Dream grimaced as it lowered itself back to the ground, closing its eyes and detaching itself from the shell it had built itself this time.
Dream went limp, relaxing. The pain was fake, the panic was fake, this life was nothing but fake.
It nodded softly and Dream closed his eyes as he adjusted the mask back into place. It was jarring againist his form he figured, the way the mask stayed brillant and undamaged, no matter how many times others tried to shatter it or break it. Honestly the amount of times it caused Quackity rage alone was delightful.
It found those incidents amusing honestly. The pretender laughed weakly before it’s lungs burned and jerked it back. Hell, it wiped at its mouth and glanced at the murky blood that came away, and if it felt lonely and nervous and uncertain, it reminded itself that it was nothing. Dream was a fake, and the pretender was just that, an act.
But didn’t it feel so real, it mused fearfully to itself.