• Lucid Dreaming - Dream Views

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    1. #187. Trinkets

      by , 02-24-2011 at 05:08 AM (Things to Run Away From Really Fast)

      Door after door leading to white hallway after white hallway. "You must remember the way," he says, "For you will return alone."

      The next room is an airy loft, warm lights illuminating hardwood floors and brick walls, black leather furniture and red accents. Light streams in from the windows, but I don't look outside. My focus is on the jewelry box which sits on the black coffee table.

      Dark stained oak, cheap brass clasp. Approximately six inches across, four inches tall, five inches deep. I flick open the cheap brass clasp. Red velvet? Darker. Not black, too repetitive. Inside the box is an onyx pendant, oval-shaped, set in silver.

      My mind filters the details automatically, but I'm focused on the brief spark of red energy, invisible threads latching onto my energy reserves and trailing through another level of the dream-world. A horcrux, then.

      Dark. Underground. Cavernous. Walls drip with slime and... blood, yes. No smell, no sensory input other than sight. Area is large, but confining. Can feel the thing trapped here, straining against its bonds.

      Sharp movement. Living, shapeless mass of flesh and grinding bone. Something claws its way from inside, tears the creature open from the inside. A humanoid figure steps out of the bloody, writhing thing. This is the monster.

      "Run," I say to the other man. "You need to get as far away from me–"

      Too late. The room goes pure white in an instant, powered by the horcrux's parasitic bond. A cloaked figure unfurls itself across the room, stands up straight and I make a sharp gesture with my ebony wand, shouting and pulling on the emotions that I need to fuel the spell.


      White noise is deafening and the room gets brighter than should be possible and - nothing.

      He sits poised on the far end of the couch, staring disapprovingly at his cup of tea. Earl Grey in delicate white china, set in a saucer that he holds in his left hand. I'm on the other end of the couch, looking straight at him. I probably have a cup of tea, or maybe it's sitting on the coffee table.

      "So," I say casually, "From one dark wizard to another..."

      He smirks at that. "A dark wizard, Harry? You?"

      "This time around, it's different." I say with a scowl, "What was the first curse I cast at you, again?"

      "As I recall," he says, taking a sip of the tea, "You attempted to cast the killing curse."


      "You lack the hatred required to fuel the spell." He explains, and he meets my eyes. "This version of you does not love, Harry. All you have is apathy."

      Trinkets. Scare Factor: 3.