ﾟ ☼ ✧ ☾ » h o m e ( for you and me )

[Crycosmos]

[div style="max-width: 500px; text-align: justify; font-family: nyala; line-height: 13px; font-size: 10pt"][align=center]Excerpt of Apotelesma’s First Chapter

    Once upon a time, Ophiuchos Sapientia woke up to the screams and wails from what they thought were dying stars.
    Their hands gripped onto the armrest while pants slipped harshly through their clenched teeth, biting down their own cry at the burn rising through their body.
    To anyone, the sounds of tragedy found within fire would have drowned in a choir of roaring engines and their pounding heart, but to Ophiuchos, they all sounded the same.
    Ophiuchos shook their head and placed a hand against their chest. A familiar ache behind tender flesh caressed their palm, each twist brought a mocking reminder that they were still alive. They looked at the small window beside them.
    Below, there were passing mountains and valleys, and above, a black endless hole.
    Soaring through time, they stared at what was a strange world, ever half consumed of beauty, ever the rest of the unknown.
    Though, seeing the sky terribly empty didn’t help put an end to their discomfort.
    They covered their face. ‘Must had been a nightmare,’ they reassured themself.
    Of course, it was. Count the days and nights Ophiuchos would have themself cradled in the darkness, only to be tormented by the terrible shapes and sounds.
    Answer: One couldn’t when their tongue would fall asleep and their mind tore apart.
Ophiuchos never knew why must sleep had to be a merciless thing to them. It would only tell and repeat them pieces of a story no one should ever face with:
    Few involved them standing among many massive white eyes (they were always being watched). Some had them falling to where it became too hot and too cold at once (reality always shattered apart).
    Most of them, they would be covered in hundreds of tiny shiny shards, watching the sun and moon died together like hopeless lovers before darkness conquered all (the stars didn't help them because they were never there—they were already dead).
    If Ophiuchos was lucky, occasionally, they would even dream of simple things, like how they just listened to the mad echo of the dying stars’ woes.
    There was yet an answer as to why did they kept having these dreadful dreams or what did any of them meant. For years upon years, they had searched for it in asking the strangest entities out there for explanations to staring at the sky during the deadliest time.
    There was silence. Nothing.
    So, despite everything, Ophiuchos couldn’t find themself tired of this strange dream tale.
    Sunlight peeked over the horizon, its harsh presence tearing across the sky. Celestial blood from violet to amber to gold spilled and crawled. Ophiuchos admired the view before they closed the window shade and leaned back in their seat.
    A voice travelled through the plane, stating they had an hour until they would arrive in Athens with a hope they enjoyed the ride.
    Ophiuchos cracked their knuckles. "At least I’m almost there," they muttered.
    Their fingers twitched at the thought of their dream journal. They had nothing to watch on TV, and he was disinterested with the games on their phone, so they may as well take the time they had now to write what they dreamt of.
    They placed the thick book onto their tray table and translated the noises of affliction to words, written to be seen as terror as hearing their sounds.
    After all, either in ink or mind, nightmares were never beautiful.
    I think this dream was telling me that I killed the stars.