Post by Deraj on May 2, 2013 19:53:20 GMT -5
Weary eyes slowly open.
A cool breeze wafted lightly through waving curtains. Outside he heard the gentle sound of ocean waves. It was still in the early hours, but the sun would rise soon enough. He rose from his place of rest: a small bed near the window in the workshop of the Kirk. Looking in the corner, he saw his platemail armor through the dim light, and pondered in silence the strange irony. Perhaps I ought to wear it to bed, he mused. He was still weary from a shortage of sleep, but no matter what he did, no matter how late he stayed up or what time of day he slept, the Lady in White would be there. The last dream had been.... intense. Deraj had always striven to resist the temptations of the flesh, and the will of seductress', but this was a situation he was unable to fight. Like a patron in a tavern, or a man merely passing by, he was the captive audience to the melody of the bard playing within. His dreams, an image being played by dark influence before his eyes. Sometimes he watched himself in his dreams. Other times, he watched from his own perspective. His actions were not his own, yet they felt like his own. Even when the dreamy veil was lifted and the dream exposed as a concoction of the mind, the feeling of its intensity lingered into reality where the mind is conscious and certain of the world around it.
There was something about her that he tried to describe in his own mind. He could think of no flaw in her look, yet something was... off. It was as if looking at a painting, and somehow seeing a flaw without being able to point to it, or even describe it. The lust and the desire felt so real; her touch so gratifying, but as they became closer a nagging sense of dread whispered silently in the back of his own mind. Soon it became screaming madness, uttering insane obsceneties and warnings to turn back!.... don't go!.... leave this place!... LEAVE NOW!.... but he would stay. It was only a dream, of course, so Deraj had no choice in the matter... or did he? As time wore on, he wondered more and more if he did in fact have a choice to stay, or resist, and more and more, he felt as if he was choosing to stay.
Yet.... something was off. As they laid together in bed, Deraj would look at her beautiful face. But he did not feel as if a beautiful face looked back.
He hated her. There were few things in the world he allowed himself to hate. Most of his foes were his enemy by circumstance, not worth the burn of hatred, but only dispassionate conviction. But the Lady in White... he hated her intensely. He hated her deceptively flawless perfection. He hated the stink of evil in her sultry voice. He hated her 'simple request'. He hated the power she had over him. He hated that he could not don his armor to protect himself; that she was able to pierce through his shell to find only a man, who was weak, exposed, and vulnerable. He hated that his defenses were eroding, and he hated that on some level, he wanted it.
Most of all, he hated himself.
Still sitting in his bed, Deraj leaned forward, and placing both hands on his temples, he gently massaged his head. It was no longer enough to simply say, "It's just a dream, and she's just a demon." There was something else afoot. Deraj had learned long ago that there is a little darkness in everyone, and she was speaking to it. As if watching himself in a dream, he felt as if he were watching himself slowly crumble away. The cracks in his armor were growing.
A cool breeze wafted lightly through waving curtains. Outside he heard the gentle sound of ocean waves. It was still in the early hours, but the sun would rise soon enough. He rose from his place of rest: a small bed near the window in the workshop of the Kirk. Looking in the corner, he saw his platemail armor through the dim light, and pondered in silence the strange irony. Perhaps I ought to wear it to bed, he mused. He was still weary from a shortage of sleep, but no matter what he did, no matter how late he stayed up or what time of day he slept, the Lady in White would be there. The last dream had been.... intense. Deraj had always striven to resist the temptations of the flesh, and the will of seductress', but this was a situation he was unable to fight. Like a patron in a tavern, or a man merely passing by, he was the captive audience to the melody of the bard playing within. His dreams, an image being played by dark influence before his eyes. Sometimes he watched himself in his dreams. Other times, he watched from his own perspective. His actions were not his own, yet they felt like his own. Even when the dreamy veil was lifted and the dream exposed as a concoction of the mind, the feeling of its intensity lingered into reality where the mind is conscious and certain of the world around it.
There was something about her that he tried to describe in his own mind. He could think of no flaw in her look, yet something was... off. It was as if looking at a painting, and somehow seeing a flaw without being able to point to it, or even describe it. The lust and the desire felt so real; her touch so gratifying, but as they became closer a nagging sense of dread whispered silently in the back of his own mind. Soon it became screaming madness, uttering insane obsceneties and warnings to turn back!.... don't go!.... leave this place!... LEAVE NOW!.... but he would stay. It was only a dream, of course, so Deraj had no choice in the matter... or did he? As time wore on, he wondered more and more if he did in fact have a choice to stay, or resist, and more and more, he felt as if he was choosing to stay.
Yet.... something was off. As they laid together in bed, Deraj would look at her beautiful face. But he did not feel as if a beautiful face looked back.
He hated her. There were few things in the world he allowed himself to hate. Most of his foes were his enemy by circumstance, not worth the burn of hatred, but only dispassionate conviction. But the Lady in White... he hated her intensely. He hated her deceptively flawless perfection. He hated the stink of evil in her sultry voice. He hated her 'simple request'. He hated the power she had over him. He hated that he could not don his armor to protect himself; that she was able to pierce through his shell to find only a man, who was weak, exposed, and vulnerable. He hated that his defenses were eroding, and he hated that on some level, he wanted it.
Most of all, he hated himself.
Still sitting in his bed, Deraj leaned forward, and placing both hands on his temples, he gently massaged his head. It was no longer enough to simply say, "It's just a dream, and she's just a demon." There was something else afoot. Deraj had learned long ago that there is a little darkness in everyone, and she was speaking to it. As if watching himself in a dream, he felt as if he were watching himself slowly crumble away. The cracks in his armor were growing.