No Better Place To Rest

Trigger Warnings for unreality/dream logic, suicidal ideation, discussion of death, violent imagery, sensual imagery, blood/gore, symbolism connecting to rape/physical abuse, and internalized guilt around sensuality.

It was only a few nights later that Florence had another dream. A substantial dream, at least, having only gotten wisps and whisperings of ones previously.

But, this time around, when Florence opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the midst of a graveyard. He stumbled back, shoe bottoms scraping against the concrete as he took in his surroundings.

It looked to be early morning, blue light shining in through the leafless trees and the smell of dew was in the air. Florence took it in with a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment; in and out. 

In the background, over the cracking and bending of branches swaying in the wind, the occasional bird call could be heard.

A crow's "caw!" echoed throughout the space, soon followed by its wing beats as it flew by overhead. Florence hugged onto himself, watching the bird's underside as its shadow kissed his face.

Florence was situated in the dead center, standing on a stone circle with crooked grooves and broken edges. The rest of the space was covered in grass and graves, with only a few of them making room for small pathways in between. Except, the grass was all brown, crinkled and leaving bare patches of dirt in its receding.

Scanning the jumbled up names etched out on the red, granite headstones, one in particular made Florence's pupils pause. It was a headstone situated just to his right, white roses placed at its base in silent remembrance. They were placed in a vase, glass and ornate, well attended judging by the fresh water at the flowers' stems. The name on the stone was all scratched out, and yet, Florence's face lit up in recognition at the sight.

Looking down at himself, his matching, dove colored dress had remained, ruby shoes, in comparison, shining out from his pale and porcelain skin. Their tops had been cleaned from the previous spillage, clear reflections showing a blur of gray standing right in front of him. Florence's chin lifted with a slow arch, allowing his toes to direct his eyes. 

There was that figure once more, all light leaving their surroundings the moment Florence's gaze fell upon him. The place was shrouded in darkness, though the man's face remained illuminated thanks to the lantern he was holding.

The flame danced peacefully within the protection of those walls, reflecting through the glass to make a prism of orange and yellow hues across the man's face. Yet, nothing could fight against the shadow his hat consistently cast, remaining contained above his nose and his eyes remained shielded from view.

Florence gripped onto his skirt, and, for a while, they both just stood as still as scarecrows.

After a moment of this staring contest, Florence not even able to tell if he had blinked or so much as flinched at his gaze, the man smiled at him.

"I feel so sorry for him. The poor dear. How could a creature that tragic ever hurt anyone?"

His head gestured towards the direction of the headstone, barely visible in the lowlight, but, the occasional glint of the vase was all Florence needed to know it was there. Though the man's expression had not shifted with that or the strained snarl Florence gave in return. Despite his gesturing, his head had remained facing forward, showing off his lips in the glow. 

 "Shut u-"

"That must be how you're feeling. After all, it is difficult to ignore one's true intentions once they're dragged into the light."

Florence jumped back as, all at once, the roses were set ablaze, bringing the headstone back into view. It wasn't a contained fire either, the dangerous kind that started with the tiniest spark at their roots and then went from there. No, it was a wildfire, consuming them whole from their thorns to their petals without pause. The flowers curled in and created a small circle, petals letting out the quietest of gasps as they melted against the glass. It reflected the flames, flashing in Florence's vision as he just stared.

Florence could just feel it, the hot liquid of the roses' sweat against his skin, vapor kissing his cheeks as it was evaporated with the heat. A heat that came from Florence's middle, rising up, up, up, until his whole body was engulfed by its embrace.

The stems and petals of the individual flowers fell against each other before melding together, twisting, folding, intertwining. The scent of roses filled the air as Florence's feet sunk into the dirt. His flats left marks as his legs shifted with the pull of their stems, thorns ever so gently tugging at his stockings, and his head pushed forward, mouth brushing against the softness of their petals. 

The visions continued, breath escaping Florence's slightly parted lips, until the roses had completely melted into ash at the bottom of the vase. The remaining water there soon took on its color, becoming murky and then vanishing into the night as the last flame was extinguished.

Florence turned back to the man, heat remaining encased in his cheeks and in his skirt, knees clasping together to collectively share in its remaining spark. He was panting, clenching his calves just to stop himself from collapsing onto the muddied ground. Though, that very mud was what was currently keeping him upright, feet stuck within and becoming completely soaked.

The man took a step forward, his whisper sounding crisp in the newfound silence. 

"You look tired, my dear. You should take a break and think it over. There's no better place to rest than a grave, after all," he said and Florence let out a pitiful laugh.

The dissociative look in Florence's eyes had completely vanished, replaced with a sharpness only hunted deer knew as he pulled his feet up from their sinkholes. This made the man frown.

"You really think I've never thought of that before? Just ending it all before another man with the perfect, silver-tongue comes along to devour what little I have left? I've heard it from me, I've heard it from my husband, I've even heard it from her. I don't need to hear it from you too!"

Florence stepped away as the tears already present in his eyes began to worsen. He brushed them off, the tears burning away with a single touch as he continued to face forward, not daring to take his eyes off the man.

The translucent gray from his constant scrubbing only served to steam up his vision, watching where he was going based on the pure sensations of the grass against his ankles, stockings ripped, and the different sounds of his shoes squelching against the ground. He couldn't help but notice his footsteps were wetter than the dried coating of brown would allow.

The man followed him, encouraging Florence to keep going in desperation to get out of this place.

"Dear, please listen to me. This is an unavoidable part of the process that you must face. If you do not, then it will creep up on you when you least expect it, and send you into a fit of terror and agony you can't begin to imagine. Is this what you want for yourself? To hurt?" the man asked, voice dragging out at his last question.

Despite the nature of his words, he didn't plead and he didn't sound all that sorrowful either, simply stating them as if they were some intrinsic fact everyone just knew, deep down.

Florence's feet began to drag before he shook his head, button nose wrinkling and showing off his teeth as he shouted.

"I don't want to hear another word from you!"

Yet, this time Florence took a step back, he tripped and stumbled. Something had been placed by his feet, behind falling on smooth marvel instead of dirt as he landed on it. When the pain had subsided enough for Florence to process, and that version of Max followed with his light, he revealed a set of steps, and then, familiar walls inside. They were indented, with stained glass windows placed between their pillars, and a stone slab in the middle of their gaze.

It was a mausoleum, white, clean, and polished from top to bottom. The man gave Florence a look, or so Florence assumed from his eyeless stare, before shutting the doors behind him. Both were made out of wood so dark they were almost pitch black, closing with a creak and a click.

"Good. The first step is always the hardest but, you'll feel much better now that you've taken it. Won't you?" he said, the corners of his lips pulling up, "And, I have a feeling I know what will make you feel even better."

He knelt down, offering to help Florence up. Florence was slow to take his hand, letting the man pull him up and staring at the door all the while. He knew what had come to pass without even looking. Besides, it wouldn't hurt if he took a moment to catch his breath, the man's hand feeling just cool enough to soothe the feverish sensation in his crying face.

"That's right, breathe it all away. One breath, two breaths, three breaths…" the man kept on this way for some time.

Florence didn't dare look at him, just studied the grain of the wood as he let it all wash away.

Once that sick feeling in his nose and the rawness of his eyes had subsided, Florence carefully stepped past the man, opening the door and peering out. Yet, nothing was there. It was just a black void, making Florence turn to him with the bite of his lip.

"W-what do you want from me, why are you trapping me here?"

His voice came out as nothing more than a whisper, sinking his hands into his chest as the man leaned in to speak against his cheeks.

"Trapped you?" the man said, tilting his head, "I've hardly trapped you. You can run off into the abyss if you so wish. Perhaps it will bring you somewhere beautiful or, perhaps not."

His head tilted more when Florence lingered there, back against the door, fingers clutching at the air in front of him as his eyes flicked down to their prize. That only made the man come closer.

"Oh? Are you afraid of the dark, dear?" he said, voice taking on a sultry tone that made Florence's mind tumble. 

 His eyes wondered, but, he forced them back to that fire, steadying his arms as he put them in just the right position.

"Dear?" the man said, his lean closer putting it right into range.

In an instant, Florence grabbed the man's lantern with both hands, gripping on to it so hard he embedded its markings into his palms. The man didn't fight it as Florence threw it out the door, watching as its illumination did little to reveal the new reality now outside. Except, were those footprints? And, why were they…red?

Florence looked down at his shoes, seeing the mud had become watery, loosened by an unknown liquid, whose color was impossible to see.

Florence's attention was brought back by the sound of glass shattering. The lantern broke upon hitting the ground, catching fire on the crimson before being snuffed out.

"So you see, I'll always be able to find you, Florence. You can't escape it, not this time," the man said before the sound of crackling stopped. 

The two were thrown into the pitch black and Florence went to sit on the floor, tears returning to stream down his face. Instead, something soft came to greet him. There were the sounds of pressure, followed by fabric rubbing against Florence's skirt, and something even softer pushed against his body to hold him.

The man sat beside him, reaching up to brush the tears from his cheeks. They became ice against Florence's skin.

"See? You wouldn't have thrown such a fit unless you were tired. You are so terribly tired that you'd like to close your eyes now," he said, and Florence felt his eyelids becoming heavy.

The man's voice echoed in the space, reminding Florence of exactly where he was.

Florence attempted to fight it, and yet, with his alleviation of that blazing, it was all too much. He smelled of something sweet as he lay Florence down, the room falling silent and making everything feel all the more potent. Florence closed his eyes upon resting against the cotton, and, before Florence knew it, he was drifting back.

"Sweet dreams."