Chapter Text
They came when they heard the scream.
The sound that should have been impossible to make without a voice, but still, it bounced around their skull, lodging in their very soul, and clinging. Nothing had ever been able to touch them like this, to surpass the physical and reach deep into the mess that made them up. Nothing had ever felt familiar like that, either.
“Please -”
It was one word never spoken, and yet they heard it just the same. They wished they could remember why they didn’t hesitate, why - when in the middle of getting paid for their latest job - they froze, cocked their head to the side, and shook with that need. They ran out of the tavern - leaving behind their earnings - into the crowded street, and towards the sound.
They don’t remember if they’d ever walked the Wasteland before, but they crossed it just the same. The corpses of others, the twisted, limp bodies that were forever batted about by the wind were their guides. They too were pushed forward, propelled by the gale towards the unknown. There was a warning at Town’s Edge that if you got caught, you would be sucked away into a nightmare, pulled from the very world of the living, and into the hell these people had tried and failed to escape.
They didn’t feel like they’d ever had a strong grip on the world of the living anyway.
They forced their way forward and eventually came upon a wall of rugged cliffs. There were small monsters here, nothing they couldn’t handle with their nail, thankfully. After slashing down one vengefly, they wondered if they were walking into a trap. It wouldn’t be the first time, and their skill mostly comes from their resistance to death than any actual training. Had they ever been trained? They couldn’t remember . . .
They paused their climbing, porcelain pail fingers standing out against the dour, black stone. They’d already come this far, but - they shook their head and kept climbing. They had already come this far, and they had nothing to go back to anyway.
They heaved themselves over the top, the wind tugging them forward. This looked like people lived here once; the upended cobblestone road, the dilapidated houses, the stubbornly shining streetlamps. They stood up, their cloak billowing forward, and walked.
Something about this . . . not this place exactly, but something a little farther forward echoed within them, stirring up the shadows under their skin. In the distance was darkness and light - a sickly, blistering light - and they stood at the edge of a great cliff, the mist obscuring their view. Just barely, could they make out the lights of a town.
So familiar, and yet they couldn’t remember if they’d ever been here before. And that voice - that bone deep feeling of anxiety - was near. They could feel it; something was pulsating in the distance, a broken heartbeat, a chest heaving with sobs.
A land of nightmares or a land of dreams?
They took the plunge, welcoming it all.