hypnagothic | [The City] IC Contact

He would wish you to stay to recover.

[ sounding utterly confident in that, handing her his phone. ]

If you are certain. ...Thank you.

[ While still nervous, she doesn't really want to leave Morpheus, so she'll have to trust that he knows his friend well enough to speak for him on this.

Once accepting the phone, she'll gently tug her other hand free so she send her message quickly without sacrificing intent.

Heine, this is Vanessa writing to you now.

I am safe with Lord Morpheus for the time being, so you need not worry. I will write you once more when I am able to find my telephone. Please keep my gratitude close to heart until we speak again.

It takes barely any time at all before she will offer it back with another polite thank you. At least she has acknowledged that she will be staying here for the moment. ]

[ he takes it back and tucks it away without even looking at it, his attention fixed on her. ]

That completed, I believe any other obligations can hold for a small while.

[ Mutely, she'll nod and stand back up. Enough of the dress is unbuttoned so that she can tug it off and toss it away, followed by the corset cover. If they tear, there is no matter, she is unable to keep any reminders of the last few days. Her earrings are just as quick to be tossed onto the growing pile of what once was clothing.

She needs no help with the corset or anything else, despite the state of her that has become more visible once the dress and petticoat are gone. The pallid color of her skin may be more obvious now, for having had no food, water, or sleep for two days. Her calves are covered in bruises and her wrists are wrapped in gauze—the cleanest thing she wears.

While she realizes she ought to remove the bandaging for her bath, she is reluctant to. After all, she had only just wrapped them up and nobody wants to see such things. ]

[ he's silent while she undresses, remaining seated rather than standing to help her, sensing her need to do this herself. when she pauses at removing the gauze, that's when he finally moves, extending his hand to her, inviting her to step into the water. ]

[ With her not being at her most graceful right now, Vanessa won't turn away the assistance, though there is a moments hesitation.

She hasn't been held in a bathtub since her time at the Banning Clinic. Including her trauma and mild injury, this is still infinitely more pleasant. Not being shoved under may have something to do with it, as well as the mild temperature. The water there had often been like ice, except for the times it felt near boiling. Just enough to make her scream and never anything in-between.

Her gaze avoids the showerhead while stepping into the tub, gripping his hand and the side until she's settled. ]

Thank you.

[ Her vocabulary seems to be limited at the moment. She can do better. ]

You don't need to do all if this, you know. I can manage alone. I have through far worse than this.

[ A light roll of her shoulder follows the memory of how she recovered from her branding. ]

Edited (missing very relevant words) 2023-12-07 07:37 (UTC)

I do not, no. And perhaps you have.

[ he shifts a bit on the tub's edge to face her, still dressed but unafraid of the water getting into his clothes (should it dare to). ]

But you are not alone in this moment.

[ No. In fact, she's unused to so many seeming to care, those who she still needs to go and help however she can. But it is nice to relax in warm water for a minute, even if she feels awkward like this. Not for the lack of clothing, of course, but for her sorry state. It's beginning to feel that he's seen her at her worst more than he's seen her at her best.

Hugging her knees, she blinks up at him. Still slightly blurry at moments. ]

You are always helping me. And when will I be able to help you, I wonder?

[ He had been the one to suggest it for her inspiration on their first night together, and she had treasured it, but she has done little for him since. Now she is depending on him just as she did before. The feeling of helplessness has grown over some months, and now it has overwhelmed. ]

Likely when I least expect it.

[ he turns away briefly, but only to reach for a soap bar and washcloth, dipping both into the water before beginning to rub them together. ]

[ The sight nearly brings a smile, never having thought she'd see him act as a nurse. One of the nicer ones. ]

Do you remember the story that you told me during our night together in the mall?

Of course.

I would like to know how it ends.

[ She had fallen asleep so early on, and until now she hadn't wanted to hear the rest of it. ]

Do you wish to hear the story now? Or perhaps later this evening as you lay to sleep?

[ he dips one hand back into the water to rinse the soap off, then offers it up to Vanessa, intending to hold her hand while he rubs the soapy washcloth over her extended arm. ]

[ She'll slowly begin to reach for him before realizing that this is going to be a hindrance if the bandages get wet. They would then need to be changed, anyway, so first she'll unwrap one of her wrists as carefully as she can.

It isn't as bad as it could be, by Vanessa's standards, but it isn't a sight she would be eager to show off, and the pain is notable despite her ability to hide it. The skin has been rubbed raw from her restraints, with open sores fresh enough for it to burn when she needs to peel the gauze away. Some of the blood has already dried, so that makes it more unpleasant to unwrap where it sticks. ]

I don't know. [ Hm, making decisions? Now? Silent, invisible panic. ] What of...a poem this time?

[ he watches quietly as she unwraps the gauze, his expression not betraying any kind of reaction, no shock or dismay, barely a blink. he merely takes her hand in his once she's finished, and gently, ever so gently begins to wash her arm. he starts with the dried blood first, dabbing the area to wet it before he actually starts to lightly scrub. the open sores he treats even more softly, though there is still some pain with it, he tries to keep it as light as possible. about halfway through the first wrist, he briefly turns away to reach for the sink, rinsing out the washcloth there rather than in her bath water. ]

I would share whichever you wished to hear, my lady.

I don't know.

[ If the touch hurts, she doesn't seem to notice. She has hurt her wrists worse than this from struggling against cruder restraints for longer. If there are any tears shed now while she watches with glassy eyes, it's for every other kind of pain that now has nowhere to go. ]

I don't know anymore. It no longer matters.

[ there's suddenly two hands holding hers gently, Dream having turned back from the sink and leaving the washcloth there, his grip tightening gently around her fingers. ]

You need not despair, my love. This, too, shall pass.

[ another light squeeze before he reaches back to retrieve the cloth, resuming his care for her wrist, one then the other. he speaks while he does, low and slow, letting his voice fill the air of the small washroom around them. ]

Once upon a time, only a twin brother and sister lived upon the earth. Their names were Yama and Yami, and they loved each other dearly. They roamed the earth enjoying its smells and tastes, its sounds and sights, the touches of the breezes, and the feel of the grass beneath their feet.

Where Yama and Yami lived, it was always day, and the season was always spring. The sun never set and the moon and stars lay hidden behind its bright, golden light. Time stood still and there was neither yesterday nor tomorrow. The flowers never wilted or died. Beehives overflowed with honey and it was never dry or cold. The birds never became tired of flying, and the trees were never empty of plump, ripe fruits. In this sea of the eternal, happy moment, Yama and Yami swam peacefully like twin swans.

One time, when Yami returned from a solitary walk, she found Yama lying under a tree as if he was asleep. She whispered his name, but he did not answer. She cried out his name in a loud voice, but still there was no answer. Then she shook him gently, but he did not move. She could see no sign that he was breathing and his body felt cold and still.

Yami knew suddenly that she was alone in the world. Her brother Yama was dead. Yami’s sorrow, deeper than the ocean, began to flow out of her heart and through her eyes. It emerged as tears. The river of her tears swelled and began to flood the world. Her sobbing shook the earth and sky, and her grieving heart sent forth an intense fire that started to heat everything up. The gods and goddesses of the elements became worried about the welfare of the earth and all its creatures. They were afraid that Yami’s mourning would bring about the destruction of the world.

The gods took on visible forms and went to Yami as she sat immersed in her agony. They hugged her and spoke words of comfort to her about the inevitability of death and the need to light the lamp of hope again. But Yami was too sad to listen to consolation. She kept repeating one sentence over and over; “Yama died today! Yama died today!”

The gods and goddesses left in despair. They went to a hillside and sat in silence. Then a thought occurred to them. Yami’s sorrow was perpetuated not just by her love for her brother. In her life, she had known only today. There was no yesterday and no tomorrow. For the pain of Yama’s death to become easier for her to bear, today must end and tomorrow must begin.

The gods and goddesses summoned their powers of creation. First they created the sunset. Then, slowly, a gentle blanket of night enveloped the world. Under the soothing, dark sky of the first night, Yami fell asleep, just as the birds and the animals did, for the first time. When she awoke, the sun was rising in a glorious dance of colors in the eastern sky.

Yami said to herself, “Ah, Yama died yesterday.”

The following day, the gods and goddesses heard Yami say, “Ah, Yama died the day before yesterday.”

As time went by, Yami’s grief began to lessen as the merciful hands of the night dissolved the pain of Yama’s death. Although she never forgot her dear brother, her pain lost its power to haunt her. Her sadness became less fiery, her tears dried up, and the danger her sorrow posed to the world began to fade away.

[ No yesterday, no tomorrow.

She's complacent while he continues to help bathe her and tell the story. She doesn't need the help, and some part of her should feel more ashamed for acting so pitiful, but she is too weary to think about that now.

By the time he's through, the water has chilled, and she stares (blinks) up at him. ]

She never should have stopped.

[ he's completed cleaning the sores and washing her limbs about three quarters through the story with the pace of his drawl, so he's washing her hair by the time the tale comes to its end, fingers pausing in the strands when she speaks. ]

My lady?

Only when she was a threat to others did they act. They only cared about the danger that came with her grief. She should never have stopped mourning, she could have made them all mourn with her.

[ Something about just that alone strikes a chord in a memory that she hasn't experienced yet, and she stares past him while trying to catch an image of it.

There's only smog. ]

But how could the fire in her not fade away, with nobody left to love her more than they loved the world?

You believe that she stopped mourning merely because her pain no longer ruled her?

[ he cups a hand to dip into the water, rising again to start rinsing her hair out, section by section. ]

Though if she had brought the destruction of the world, who could have mourned with her after everything and everyone was destroyed?

She mourned alone, didn't she? Their comfort was for the sake of the world, not for her.

[ Hugging her knees close with little scratches, Vanessa straightens back up and shuts her eyes. ]

At least she once had passion, but then she had to let it go.

Some would think of how she was a part of the world as well.

[ he encourages her to tip her head back a little more, rinsing out the finer hairs at her temples. ]

Though the first of those to hear that story found their focus on another matter than what you speak of.

[ One can trust Vanessa to relate to the most depressing thoughts over a story on the best of days. ]

What was that?

[ he can't really blame her in this moment for it, considering what she's gone through, whether he knows exactly what that was or not. so there's no reproach or annoyance of where her focus is with the story, continuing in that same storyteller way as he finishes rinsing out her hair. ]

They found solace through the story in the creation of night. It allowed the creation of time, allowing wounds the ability to heal and rest.

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