Part 1 | Segment 0.6.5 | A Violent Dream

The darkness pulls me under, heavy and suffocating. It's not the peace that sleep promises. Instead, there's something crawling in my chest—a dark, gnawing presence, pressing against my ribs like it's trying to tear me apart from the inside.

Suddenly, I'm somewhere else. The air is thick with the smell of blood and sweat. The shapes around me—bodies, lifeless and twisted—are blurred, but their presence is painfully clear. The walls are smeared with dark streaks of red, and though the details are fuzzy, the emotions hit hard. Fear. Anger. Sorrow. They're not just feelings, they're a tidal wave, slamming into me over and over, making it impossible to breathe.

I want to close my eyes, to shut it all out, but I can't. I'm trapped in this horror, forced to witness it.

And then, in an instant, it all shifts. The violence fades, and something softer emerges.

Just when I think I can't take it anymore, the scene changes. The violence fades, replaced by something softer. I see a young girl standing near a shop, Leaning against the wall of the shop, it seemed to be night out, but I could tell she wasn't alone and was more than likely waiting for someone. She wore a dark red-almost pink, I couldn't quite tell due to the quality of the dream. Her long blonde-brown hair catching the light that hung on the front door to the shop. She loodks sad—no, more than sad. There's a deep hurt in her sharp, dark red eyes, a pain that makes my heart ache. I can feel it like it's my own.

A boy approaches her. He's small, no older than eight, with messy dark blue hair and he wore a coat a size too big for him and even with that he had a nose that's running. He doesn't seem to notice, though, as he offered her something—a glowing blue flower. His smile is genuine, though a bit shy, and his voice wavers as he speaks through his sniffles.

"Sniff You look really sad," he says, his voice wavering but earnest. "And I wanted to give you this. I hope you feel better. My mom says that they always make someone feel better. Sniff"

For a moment, the girl just stares at him, unmoving. Then, slowly, she reaches out and takes the flower. Her expression barely shifts, but I can see it—a flicker of something, like a crack in the ice. The boy grins, wide and proud, like he's just done the most important thing in the world. And maybe, for her, he has..

He runs off, leaving her standing there, staring down at the flower in her hand.

It's the next day. The boy is back with them at a park on a swing set, this time holding a red flower. He approaches the girl once more, his smile as genuine as before.

"This one's a Heat Flower!" he says, his voice still punctuated by sniffles. "It's warm when you look at it, but never too hot. I thought... maybe you'd like it. Sniff"

The girl takes the flower, her movements a little less hesitant this time. For a moment, everything feels... calm. The ache in her eyes lessens, and I can feel it too. A warmth spreads, soothing the raw edges left by the earlier horror. It's the first time I've felt anything like peace in this dream, and I cling to it, desperately hoping it will last.

But it doesn't. The calm is ripped away, replaced by something cold and harsh. The girl is in a dimly lit room now, and there's a man—her father—standing over her. I can't see his face clearly, but I can feel his anger, his disgust. His voice is sharp, cutting through the air like a knife.

"You're not here to play with flowers! You're here to do what you're told!" he yells, his words echoing in the room, each one like a slap. "Now go! Be useful for once and go fight! And make them pay! Use your power—it's what you were born for!"

I can see the girl's hands tighten around the flowers, her knuckles turning white. She doesn't want to do it; I can feel her resistance, her desperation to hold onto that small piece of humanity. But she's scared. I can feel that too—the fear of disobeying, the fear of what will happen if she doesn't do as she's told.

Anger bubbles up inside me, hot and fierce, burning like fire in my chest. I can't just stand here and watch. I want to reach out, to grab him and make him stop. To scream at him, to tell him that she's not just a weapon for him to wield, that she's more than this. I take a step forward, my hand trembling as I reach out—

But then, everything starts to fade.

The room dissolves, the girl blurs, and the flowers vanish. Darkness closes in, yanking me away before I can do anything.

But then, everything starts to fade. The room, the girl, the flowers—they all blur and dissolve into darkness. I'm yanked away, pulled out of the dream before I can do anything.

I wake up with a gasp, my chest heaving, my heart racing like it's trying to escape. My face is wet with tears I didn't realize I was crying.

Anger still lingers, simmering in the pit of my stomach. Anger at him—her father—for what he did to her, for how he treated her like she was nothing more than a tool.

And yet, there's a deep sadness too. A hollow ache that gnaws at me. I feel like I've lost something important, something I was meant to hold onto but couldn't.

I don't know who that girl was. I don't know why it all felt so real, like I'd been there, like her pain was my own. But I can't shake the emotions clinging to me like a heavy fog.

I lie there in the dark, the dream replaying over and over in my mind. It wasn't just a random nightmare. I know that much. It was something more.

A memory, maybe? A glimpse into a life that wasn't mine, but felt like it was?

Or was it a cry for help? From her? From me?

I just don't know. But what I do know is that I can't forget what I felt.

This was more than just a dream. It meant something. It had to.