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Dathomiri Dreaming 12/5/2021
Hadaza — 12/05/2021
(OOC: These are dreams that happen while Hadaza is under sedation in the medlab and everyone else is in the meeting)
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There’s red. Everything is bathed in it - the sky, the trees, the land before her. She can hear something moving.. She also hears women talking, laughing, going about their daily lives. Only women. She can’t see anyone, only hear their voices … muffled, garbled. A phrase whispers over and over in the distance,“Lær disse ordene og lær dem godt, for det er de…”
There’s a river nearby. She can smell it, hear its purling and the creatures wallowing in its eddys. There’s a loud splash. Something heavy has entered the river. Then nothing. Nothing. All has gone silent. Even the whispers.
Turning this way and that to find the source of both the noise and the silence, she finds bodies - still, writhing, broken, posed, holey, and holy. They, like everything else, are red … some with blood, some without.
There’s still no sound, but she knows she’s not alone.
She kneels over one of the bodies. It’s a child, a girl child. The slack face is lined with neither worry or woad. There is a homespun doll in the tiny hands; the mouth is open as if caught mid-scream. The little body isn’t yet cold. The dress has mud on it. A heartbeat passes. A second. A third. The throat pulsates from within, as though trying to cantillate. No sound comes forth.
There is a tug in the back of her mind ... “RUN!”
The ruddy landscape is both familiar and alien. Everything is where it should be, but skewwhiff, as though the world had been tipped over. Trees grow parallel to the sky, which is beside the ground, not above it. Reliquiae float by; desiccated faces pull tears from her heart, but no names. A whisper harkens “... for at du ikke skal bli fortært av det.”
‘As these were consumed’, she thinks. A thrum in her blood spurs her to motion. All at once, she blasts over root and rock, the scuttling behind her keeping pace. She can feel it craving its prey as her lungs crave breath. She can’t outrun it. She needs to outmaneuver it. Turn here. Dodge there. Distance and obstacles. She knows this place. It doesn’t.
But it does, and better than she. Each tree trunk, a doorway. Each doorway leads to vast emptiness and fading hope. Hull integrity breached. Do not enter. The forest offers no solace. She turns to the river where once there was sound. Blood in the water. Blood on her hands. Hers and theirs. They are all dead. It’s her fault.
"We see you"
Hadaza — 12/07/2021
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There’s black. Pinpricks of distant fires dot the emptiness around her; silence, her sole companion. Ghosts and twisted metal hang suspended before her. And then voices, men and women … broken, garbled. Romeo. Gadget. Hungry. A refrain, “Drag me down, underwater. I can't breathe. No one saves me. Drag me down, into sorrow. Take my hand …” skims her mind behind the voices.
Detonations leave husks. The pressure is building. More explosions are imminent. For now, there is only the flicker of letters and flesh ... and those pinpricks that promise hopes unfulfilled, providing no answers.
She can’t scream. There’s not enough air or time. She needs to think, not feel. A breath. Two. Breath, like time, is limited, so no more just now. She slows as she hurries to pray into the darkness to unseen gods.
Now she waits … and watches.
Chaos has 4 arms, many voices, brown hair and the sting of lancination. no.no.no.no.no. Panic is rising, help isn’t coming, and she can’t fall asleep. She knows all will fail if she does. “De som lider av følelser vil aldri nyte fred”.
It’s too late.
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She groans softly. In her mouth, she tastes sweetness and something mineral. Phantoms in her head ache. And she’s ravenous. Above her, beside her, behind her, inside her is a woman, or what might have once been. It speaks.
“Foul”
She feels her gut clench as the creature gives voice, though no sound issues from its phizog. She groans again, half expecting a rejoinder. One eye opens. The umbra hides a visage of terra and taille Gehenna. She recoils, discounting any physical sensation as less than the malediction hovering in her ears.
Taking off at a sprint, each footfall driving agony cells through her , she races off, though to where she knows not. The ship is too big, too cavernous, too perforated to make sense
In the hush of the medlab, there is a rustle ...
Hadaza — 12/16/2021
/end
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