[sock]

When the light is running low
And the shadows start to grow
And the places that you know
Cut away the afterglow,
There's a light inside your soul
Slowly shrinking in the cold
from the truth deep down you know
And yet darker we will go
Can't you see?
Your world's a fantasy!


＊˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩ ̩͙*˚＊


Quiet. Too quiet. It's swallowing him whole. No fun, no escape. Stuck. Lost. AVELINE? No, she's gone. Left him, imprisoned him, betrayed him. Rage, now. Sadness drip-drops and fades away, replaced with practiced ease by indescribable anger. Her fault, yes, her fault. He has no physical form, so imaginary fists clench because being able to do that would make him feel just a little bit better. Her fault, her fault, her fault, her fault, it screams in the place he thinks his head should be, and he welcomes the distraction. He shrieks into the void, shrieks and wails and other synonyms for screams, but remember there is no sound, and he does until the overwhelming weight of anger and sadness is all out of him.

Now he is silent again, and the cycle repeats. Like clockwork, it pounds against his very being, crushing him in its embrace, and he wonders how long he must put up with it. How long has it been since it wasn't hard to think? When he existed, truly existed, truly really actually did, and then he's unsure of himself because remember it's hard to think now. Aveline? NO, he screams at himself but no sound comes out, because he is not real. He is stuck, he is silent, he is lost, all because of HER, but there is a rare moment of clarity and he stops. No, he did this already. How long ago, he can't quite remember. Seconds, hours, years, centuries, they are all the same now.

For the first time in what he could only guess to be a while, he remembers. He thinks he does, at least. Or is this just another figment of his imagination? He is not sane anymore, if he ever was. His clarity has passed, and now he is floating again. Fury, again. Why is it so hard? Why why why why whywhywhywhywhy is it so hard to be, to do, to want, to think, to anything? Because he is not. No, Aveline, is why. Her fault, the mantra repeats. And then he wanders away again. If he is not, how can he be a He? This amuses him, and he thinks for a moment because for some reason he can focus now. Clarity, again. If these thoughts and emotions can swirl around and weigh him down and make him want to shriek into the void (he did that, and it's nice that he remembers) then he must be.

A name, he muses, the nothing not pressing down on him as it had done just before. To be, he needed a name. Did he have one, when he was? When Aveline? He floats thoughtfully. What even was a name? What made a name so? There is more silence, and he vaguely wonders if that was a good name. Wondering is funny, he decides. He gets distracted from the names. Why is he wondering now? What happened that made this moment different? Suddenly he can think, and it's frightening for a moment but then he gets the hang of it.

His mind is suddenly not so scrambled, not so fuzzy, and he feels more complex. More real. He giggles, and there is sound now. He is not imagining it, and he likes it. He giggles again. He looks at the nothing that surrounds him, because he can look now, and even if not at much, it intrigues him. And then there is noise, but not from him. He turns to look, and this is when he realizes he is physical. Again? Yes, because he remembers now. Aveline. He is Realm. Right, the noise. Realm (His name! He knew he had one!) looks, and he likes using that word to describe it because it's a fun word.

Somebody.

A being, a person, a living breathing Real Boy. Well, no, wrong word. Not boy, this person is older. But this person is scared, Realm can feel it, because the person isn't exactly trying to hide it, or maybe it is and it's just not very good at it. Realm let it be for a moment, examining it. Chestnut-brown hair, shimmering green eyes filled with confusion, and quite handsome, too. Realm has never seen one, though, so its appearance strikes him as quite odd. Its fear, however, is amusing. It has been so long since he's had somebody to play with, to toy with, to entertain him, because he's been stuck and lost and sad and so very very angry for so long.

Then the person is moving, and Realm suddenly remembers that yes, people can do that. He can move too, he realizes, so he does. Closercloserclosercloser to it and as the person's anxious stare turns and lands on him, Realm, its eyes widen so he thinks they may pop out of their sockets and its mouth opens in a gesture of shock. Realm has no mouth, but his single eye cracks in an expression that very much resembles a Chesire grin, and then for the first time in centuries, he speaks.

"Hello."