((OOC Note: The following is inspired by - and continued from - Illumination.))
The maze is relentless, a maze of mirrors. Everywhere he looks, he sees the same thing, reflected a hundred times.
Himself.
A dark, shadowy figure he can't quite make out, but that he can instinctively sense is malevolent.
And her.
The assassin, continues following her, stalking her, allowing himself to be lured in - but just as she seems to be within his grasp, she slips away.
In his dreams, he hears her whisper...strange messages, intoxicating rhymes. At times, she is whispering in his ear, so close he can feel her breath tickling the delicate cilia lining the auditory canal.
At other times, the whisper comes from a distance, so faint that it's a whisper of a whisper...and yet he never has trouble making out what she says.
That voice, those eyes, the way she walks, her unique features of face, hair and body, her scent like morning dew and rain...all combine to provide him with a lure that he finds himself unable to resist.
Despite being an assassin, despite being averse and even, for the most part, immune to the calls and pleas of those who seek aid, he finds himself not only enticed by her...but concerned for her plight, as well.
Even as he chases after her in the dream, he asks himself why' Why chase"
And finally, he corners her. He sees her at the end of the maze, standing there, beckoning, urging him to come closer.
He dashes to catch her, only to have his fingers meet the cold, smooth surface of mirrored glass.
He is grasping at a reflection.
And that is when the glass shatters, a million glistening shards of broken mirror raining apart as he hears her whisper a final message, the tantalizing touch of her lips against his ear.
"Sweet Dreams. Remedy."
He sits up, bathed in sweat, in his own bed, the sheets falling away from him to reveal him, bare-chested, to the first rays of the day.
The first thing that registers is the scent of her. Lingering, here, in the room. He immediately looks around the room, dark eyes scanning the shadows.
But she is not there, and could not have been. Everything, as far as he can see, is the way he left it. No alarms have been tripped - he would have heard those straight away.
He sits up on the edge of the bed, the sheet now only covering him from groin to mid-thigh, the cold air of the morning against his sweat-drenched skin driving the edge of sleep from his mind.
Why should he be dreaming of her" She is nothing to him, another face in the hundreds, thousands he has seen, with the same look, the same needs, the same problems.
He is no one's savior.
He is no one's knight in shining armor.
He is an assassin...an agent of death.
He is a killer.
He rests his head in his hands.
If that is true, why does he feel so compelled to find her"
The maze is relentless, a maze of mirrors. Everywhere he looks, he sees the same thing, reflected a hundred times.
Himself.
A dark, shadowy figure he can't quite make out, but that he can instinctively sense is malevolent.
And her.
The assassin, continues following her, stalking her, allowing himself to be lured in - but just as she seems to be within his grasp, she slips away.
In his dreams, he hears her whisper...strange messages, intoxicating rhymes. At times, she is whispering in his ear, so close he can feel her breath tickling the delicate cilia lining the auditory canal.
At other times, the whisper comes from a distance, so faint that it's a whisper of a whisper...and yet he never has trouble making out what she says.
That voice, those eyes, the way she walks, her unique features of face, hair and body, her scent like morning dew and rain...all combine to provide him with a lure that he finds himself unable to resist.
Despite being an assassin, despite being averse and even, for the most part, immune to the calls and pleas of those who seek aid, he finds himself not only enticed by her...but concerned for her plight, as well.
Even as he chases after her in the dream, he asks himself why' Why chase"
And finally, he corners her. He sees her at the end of the maze, standing there, beckoning, urging him to come closer.
He dashes to catch her, only to have his fingers meet the cold, smooth surface of mirrored glass.
He is grasping at a reflection.
And that is when the glass shatters, a million glistening shards of broken mirror raining apart as he hears her whisper a final message, the tantalizing touch of her lips against his ear.
"Sweet Dreams. Remedy."
He sits up, bathed in sweat, in his own bed, the sheets falling away from him to reveal him, bare-chested, to the first rays of the day.
The first thing that registers is the scent of her. Lingering, here, in the room. He immediately looks around the room, dark eyes scanning the shadows.
But she is not there, and could not have been. Everything, as far as he can see, is the way he left it. No alarms have been tripped - he would have heard those straight away.
He sits up on the edge of the bed, the sheet now only covering him from groin to mid-thigh, the cold air of the morning against his sweat-drenched skin driving the edge of sleep from his mind.
Why should he be dreaming of her" She is nothing to him, another face in the hundreds, thousands he has seen, with the same look, the same needs, the same problems.
He is no one's savior.
He is no one's knight in shining armor.
He is an assassin...an agent of death.
He is a killer.
He rests his head in his hands.
If that is true, why does he feel so compelled to find her"