Healing a Nightmare ((For darkpiety))

[grantuseyes]

So much of the ordeal blurred together. The time spent speaking with the likes of Faris, April, Tina and others at a party was a lifetime ago. Did it even happen at all? What if this is him truly waking up now? What if everything before was another reality, another Dream, one that's broken under the strain of frenzy and now he, having gone through the grueling process of adaptation once again, has surfaced someplace entirely new? What if it was all a figment entirely, one crafted by a consciousness untethered from the physical body, lost and searching, alone in the darkness and desperate for stimulation, for sense?

The realest thing to him right now are the sensations of his searing blood, the culmination of it reaching its crescendo marked by forming into a stone-like spear and punching up through his skin. Piercing him with the unusual properties of the godsblood he still holds in his frail and human veins when meeting mind-melting truths of thought.

His blood sings and flows stronger now, stabilizing Micolash's punished body. The Old Blood injected into him, once, twice, thrice, working its near-magic on keeping the man living and breathing.

Our thirst for blood satiates us, soothes our fears...

There are memories of fleeting moments, visions. The young man from the Nexus, the dreamwalker, speaking his name. A woman grasping his hand in hers. Messengers crowding around his body. The seated Amygdala statue presiding over his torment.

Red and black. Black and red. Beams of orange streaked over it all. Swallowing it all.

Wet. Always dripping wet. The floor, the stone, his body. An unpleasant stickiness in the rare opportunity it was allowed to dry. Under his nails, filling his mouth, flooding his nostrils, streaming down his face from the eyes.

The pain. The pain. The tearing, the shredding, the piercing, the burning, the cutting, the screaming.

He remembers screaming. He remembers screaming until his throat tore itself raw and then he screamed again. And again. And again.

He remembers pain most vividly and at first Micolash cannot be certain if now it is just the deep-seated, close-by memory burning bright against his skin. Or if it is the one thing he carried with him wholly through the end of the Nightmare.

Micolash cannot stir. There is no way to move himself under his own power. He hangs limply in Abysa's arms and whimpers. He is awake in the barest sense of the word and he wishes dearly that he was not.

It hurts.
It hurts.
It hurts.

Comments

[grantuseyes]

Considering the multitude of problems the light in Micolash's eyes has caused, surely no one would fault Abysa for being unsettled by it. Even those without eyes can see that whatever this energy is, it's of a wicked, rotten sort. The hand covering his eyes makes the scholar frown in confusion before realizing that, yes, his eyes are open. He'd not even noticed he'd done so, especially because there is no change or transition in his sight. It remains the same black either way. Not even a faint haze or glint of light is getting through his tortured eyes and the fresh realization of his situation makes Micolash whimper again.

And then the kiss is placed against his lips. It's brief and warm, such a mundane and simple gesture. And while the human has yet to feel anything beyond the usual application of Abysa's calming aura, the shiver the demon makes is felt. Hard not to, since Micolash is gathered up in his lap like he is.

"Is this going to cause you to sicken? What a ghastly thing to be responsible for, were it so." Harming so high a Kin just for his own gratification or self-aggrandizing? Terribly morbid and profane.

[darkpiety]

"I will not be sick, but my limits in terms of the amount of magic I use and how fast I will naturally replenish it will be less. This can be remedied with medicine! In fact, I have an order of supplies on its way, directly from Hell." Abysa seems pleased with himself. Such a statement might be cause for worry from anyone else.

"In the meantime, of course... aha!" Abysa says as a long strip of cloth floats into Micolash's room. It appears to be a sash made with luxuriously soft and exotic fabric, dyed a deep teal-blue. Not that Micolash will see it, but Abysa promptly grabs it from the air as it floats close, and it loses its flying qualities.

"Feel this. This is one of my blindfolds, I made sure to call one that was of a very gentle material. And,though you cannot see, I expect it to be quite fetching on you." Abysa places the cloth on one of Micolash's hands. Go on! Feel how soft, yet a little silky, yet durable this 100% Hell-Made accessory is.

[grantuseyes]

He is at least mindful once again to close his eyes and keep them that way. When he feels the offered cloth against his hand, Micolash gropes for it a few times before he manages to get it properly into his palm so he can rub his fingers at it. He looks troubled still with this entire situation but doesn't want to be rude either. "It feels. Wonderful. Thank you, Kin. And will this...protect them? My eyes?" Not to mention protect others FROM them.

[darkpiety]

"Yes, of course! And I will only give you ones that will give you a handsome look as well. Why not try it now? Here, lean back a little. You will find it is quite comfortable and stays on well. Eyeless demons wear all sorts of masks, blindfolds and hoods, a traditional item you could say." Abysa puts his hand on Micolash's gently, holding it for a moment before he takes the sash back.

He straightens it out to its full length, and if allowed, he will begin to wind the cloth around Micolash's head. Abysa might have a little trouble with Micolash's hair, but eventually figure it out.

[grantuseyes]

Micolash does as he's told, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes closed. Again, his brow wrinkles with worry at the fact he can feel the cloth winding around his face, but his field of vision remains black. His hands worry and grip at Abysa's robes again, needing something to occupy them in his anxiety.

He stays still for the process and, once it's complete, reaches up and touches the cloth where it's now snug over his eyes. His frown only deepens.

"...The Healing Church did this. Their blood-drunk hunters hid their eyes behind bandages. The Choir, behind their caps. Said to be done in homage of Master Willem. But only a mockery. A complete and total mockery..."

[darkpiety]

"You speak ill of this Healing Church, and I do believe you, but these are not bandages. This is finely woven cloth from one of Lord Beauty's divine ateliers! Made specifically for being handsome." And he just wrapped it around the head of a detestable little mortal, didn't he? Though, Abysa's free gifting of treasures seems a little subdued after vowing part of his soul to heal that same mortal man.

"It is symbolic, yes. Eyeless demons are especially reviled and hated amongst the many-eyed Heavenly Ones, and our adornments enrage their sensibilities, for covering our faces does not obstruct our vision. There are no eyes to blind. It is a pointless act of binding, spitting in the face of their manifold shackles and chains, said to keep them pure and close to the Creator's ideals." Abysa follows up with the softest little hum of laughter.

"I find their willing bondage just as pointless."

[grantuseyes]

Micolash listens, feeling as if he's wasting this opportunity to learn more about Abysa's amazing world, the cosmology and pious meaning that has formed there. This fantastical war going on between two factions of higher beings. But all he feels aware of now is the increase of his heart rate and the sound of it echoing in his ears, muffling the demon's words. His hands that had been worrying at Abysa's robes stop, pulling close to himself instead to pick at his knuckles and fingers.

The dread is growing, forming into a dark pit in his stomach. Abysa is a being that lacks eyes. Reviles eyes. They're the symbol of the faction he is opposed to. And they are the symbol of his research. Of Bergynwerth's legacy, of the Great Ones, the answer to humanity's salvation from their own fatal idiocy.

Micolash lacks his now. And he has put his hope of repairing them in a being that has just spoken at length at how eyes are the trait of his enemies...

He feels sick and his face pales visibly.

[darkpiety]

"Oh, you seem to be going pale again." Abysa says with slight concern, unaware of the implications of his words. He places his fingertips gently under Micolash's chin, hoping to urge him to look up. His mouth is a thin line as he observes the scholar, regardless.

"Perhaps, you require a meal? I could prepare some liquid nourishment, be it broth or sweet. Hmm, or, perhaps you require more rest? You do not feel feverish; if anything you are still rather cold." As if looking for something to do in the present, he wraps the blanket hanging off Micolash farther around him. Then he adjusts the human's curling hair around the blindfold here and there. Then makes sure the blindfold is secure and tied correctly. Just aimless fussing as he decides what might be best.

[grantuseyes]

"O-Oh. Forgive me. I was...lost in thought. That is all." Not that Micolash stops looking worried or terribly pale. Perhaps he did accept this agreement with Abysa far too readily.

He'd let himself grow lax in his conviction. He'd let his research falter. He was letting this Kin, though it be Kin, influence him too heavily. His path was one that was absolute; he knew exactly what to do to get to where he needed to be. He should have been focused this whole while on regaining his revelation lost in the Nightmare. Instead, he is letting this demon convince him that the body is just as vital as the mind, that it carries the value he knows it does not.

This whole ordeal was a terrible wake-up call.

Only now does Micolash realize he's been silent and looking haunted, sickly a worryingly long while. The scholar works his mouth, struggles to find words, trying to feign gratitude. Normalcy. His guts are churning like a pit of snakes. His eyes ache.

As he focuses on just trying to find his tongue again, to act as though he is not having a moment of horrific doubt, he doesn't feel or notice that there are two dark blotches forming on his newly applied blindfold. Tears of red seeping through the cloth.

[darkpiety]

"Oh dear, you may need the bandages after all. Worry not, I will make sure to have fresh cloth on hand for your poor eyes. It is troubling, you just now leak blood as though other fluids have been replaced. I hope my ministration was not incorrect..." Abysa sighs worriedly.

"Either way, your body shall mend. I will see to it, both consciously and not. We are joined through our bond, through our spirits! Your being shall regenerate and be nourished at a quicker rate than before... I suppose I should make sure i have enough medicine for myself. Or perhaps, I should prepare a ritual for a special blessing?" The priest snaps out of his thoughts as the blood continues to stain Micolash's blindfold.

"Listen not to my rambling, dear Micolash. All will be well. Let me prepare some extra coverings for your ailing eyes! I will return shortly." He leans down to place one more peck on Micolash's head before gently moving the human from his lap to lay back down. He then lifts off of the bed to float on out.

"And where is that feline... I swear, one little scare and he does this..." The priest can be heard muttering as he exits.

[grantuseyes]

Micolash remains silent as his fingers continue to fret at the other hand, cracked nails picking at the lines of his palms and rubbing against the spaces between his knuckles. Once he's back lying on the bed, the scholar spends far too much time simply trying to roll over. The pain doesn't bother him, it's just so much of his body is damaged or not responding as it should. It's frustrating. Once he IS on his side, Micolash pulls his legs up as best his torn muscles can allow, folds his arms in to rest against his chest. Making himself small. Suddenly so disgustingly aware of his body because it is so insistent on remaining in pain, as well as the fact he cannot take stock of it any longer by sight. (What little he ever did before, anyway.) He can only know by the sensation of it, which feels as uncomfortable and distasteful to him as being forced to blindly plunge your arm into sewage.

His fidgeting hands soon clasp together not only to still them, but to begin quietly praying. Softly saying the words that had become his mantra in the Nightmare of Mensis. She did not answer him there, but maybe she will here...

"Kos, some say Kosm, do you hear our prayers? As you once did for the Vacuous Rom, grant us eyes. Grant us eyes. Plant eyes on our brains to cleanse our beastly idiocy..."

Micolash repeats it again and again in a whisper.

[darkpiety]

Abysa takes a bit of time deciding which Nice Sashes get to be blindfolds for the bloody-eyed patient, opting for ones that come in varying shades of blue and grey. He decides to avoid reds, oranges, any sort of warm colour, partially from superstitious worry that it will foster negativity. Unfortunate then, that he does not yet sense the doubt in his charge's heart and mind. He also opts to take some plain bandages from his supply of medicinal materials, knowing they might be better suited to these early days of recovery.

Henry does return to Micolash's room eventually, padding in with his tail tilting low and keeping a distance from the man curled up in his bed. That scream must have really spooked him! Or perhaps it was that lingering frenzy in his injured eyes? Cats are quite Insightful, after all. Rather than jump on the bed, he makes an audible trill and decides the desk is a good spot instead. He is loafing and watching Micolash with round green eyes when Abysa finally returns.

"I return! I have some nice blindfolds picked out for you, as well as some bandages. It seems like it is a better idea to bandage first, after all... But I can always wind a nice colourful blindfold over them! That should minimize blood loss and staining. And of course, I will clean any that are dirtied regardless. Micolash?"

As Abysa finishes storing the blindfolds in a drawer (that Micolash himself cannot open, for his own safety of course), he looks about for the scholar. He floats on over to the bed and spots his curled up shape at last, and sighs with relief. Micolash might feel a slight shift in the mattress as Abysa lands on the bed next to him, back to sitting and looking over him. He reaches out to run his fingers through Micolash's hair, affectionate and gentle.

"Do you need anything else? A pillow, or a blanket? Worry not about bleeding on anything, I made sure the beddings were suited exactly for your sort of situation. Maybe, when you are more awake, we can take a bath."

[grantuseyes]

Micolash's prayers stop when he hears the demon entering once again, though Henry got to hear plenty repetitions of the litany to Kos(m). Laying there silently and in the dark of his own dread and pain. Left to stew in his worries instead now. When the mattress shifts with the demon taking a seat near him, the scholar holds his breath and he doesn't know why. And it's released either way in a soft rush when he feels those fingers going through his curls. It's a nice feeling.

"Perhaps you should...enchant me asleep again. I am. Worried. I am very, very worried. I do not...want to think on how damaged I am. At this time..." A coward's way out. Slipping into that human-limited facsimile of the Dream. Looking at it through a fogged glass, hundreds of miles away from actually being there. But anything must be better than this dread. Than this fear. Than this doubt.

[darkpiety]

"Of course. Everything you have been through has been a painful and terrible ordeal... Rest will help you recuperate, and Henry and I will watch over you." Micolash will feel Abysa's weight on the bed shifting, until eventually, he would feel the demon laying down beside him. Abysa puts one arm over the sickly human and leans in close, to give him a kiss on the cheek. Abysa knows for certain that closeness and affection enhances his calming aura, and what better way to lull Micolash to sleep than to comfort him as the enchantment takes hold?

"The future must seem bleak now, but it will get better, and you will heal. This I have promised you, along with a part of me. I hope that comforts you as you drift off." Micolash's dread is achingly obvious once they are touching, and it saddens Abysa to see him in such a way. What could possibly outweigh the promise of a High Priest?

He channels the spell once more, the dark glimmering dust manifesting and then fading once it flows gently onto the ailing scholar, like melting snow. Abysa resumes petting his hair in the meanwhile, as well. He emits a small, soft sigh.

[grantuseyes]

Despite the misgivings he's presently and secretly harbouring, Abysa's closeness is comforting. Micolash's limbs and posture loosen from where he'd been trying to hold them close and curled. The demon is so warm and gentle, so endlessly kind to him.

He shouldn't be doubting. He shouldn't feel uncertain.

But just thinking it doesn't dispel it. Micolash cannot forget the mockery Abysa spoke of these other beings festooned with eyes, the open disdain he has for them. Has Abysa been making fun of him this whole while? Was he cringing or laughing behind his back to listen to the Mensis scholar go on at length as to the importance and urgency of more eyes? Was Abysa hoping to lure him away from that line of study and make him lose his way?

Feeling greedy and dishonest, to be thinking these things even as the demon comforts and heals him, Micolash still cannot stop from wanting to lean back into him. To feel that warmth and soft cloth (that he'd wept blood all over) pressed to his back. Even as the spell begins to lull him to slumber, Micolash asks quietly, "Stay with me...Please..."

Selfish. Greedy. Doubter.

[darkpiety]

"I will stay, do not worry." Abysa says calmly, hoping to soothe him as he falls asleep. Adding onto that, he is pleased to see him relax as well, as the demon has mistakenly thought the man is cold (something a bit of bodyheat can fix easily!).

Abysa is content to lie with him as he drifts off, with no matters needing his immediate attention, other than Micolash himself. Henry, being quite busy (cats always have important matters to attend to), comes and goes from the room often while his master sleeps. The clock in the room makes no sound, while its hands slowly move as time goes forward. The priest counts a little more than twelves hours when he feels his human bedbuddy stirring back into consciousness.

"Micolash?" He asks gently, to see if he is awake enough to respond. That, and to just remind him that he is close.

[grantuseyes]

Micolash squirms and groans, or at least tries to. Moving isn't easily done when he's waking up still so sore and now stiff as well. Feeling the demon still behind him and the warmth between the two being so substantial, a clue that he'd laid with him this whole time. Or at least has been here for longer than just this moment as he stirs awake.

"Kin?" His voice is just a croak. And thanks to such a prolonged sleep with such muddled dreams (fragments and shards and foggy sights and windows of other people's dreams other people's fears and suffering, all of it swirling around inside of HIM now, returned to the architect of the Nightmare now that it's dismantled) Micolash rolls over wondering why there's such a soft pressure around his face. Something wrapped around his upper head? Why can't his eyes-

Micolash gasps and spasms, rushing to lift a hand to where his eyes aren't working. His body is halting and clumsy, pain and damage in his muscles and tendons making limbs difficult to control. His hand bumps into his own face as if he'd overreached and he's already trying to wriggle a thumb under the wrappings. Hoping if he pulls this off, he can see again.

[darkpiety]

"I am here, Micolash. Oh, no no, do not touch under your bandages." Abysa reaches over quickly to take hold of Micolash's wrist, noticing that he is about to pull or pick at his bandages. The line between grasping Micolash's thin wrist with enough force, but not overdoing it is frightfully thin, Abysa notes. He will need more than magic, perhaps, in the coming days.

"Your eyes are still in delicate condition. They will not heal right away. You have to be patient. Do you remember where you are?" He asks, keeping a calm tone.

[grantuseyes]

"Nightmare," he gasps first, throwing his head to look up towards the ceiling. The approximation of where he believes Abysa's voice is coming from. "I'm in. In the Nightmare..."

He has to lay there and just breathe, his chest rising and falling rapidly, mind racing, fragments of Dreams fading...

"Kin? Kin, that is you? Isn't it? I'm. Nnno, that's not right. That's not. I'm. With you. The new Dream. Nexus. Yes. That is where we are." Panic just completely flung all of these facts far apart in his thoughts, the man having to piece it all together again as it comes back bit by bit with his evening breath.

"My eyes, Kin. I can't see. I can't see. Why can't I?" And with that, the panic's mounting again and makes Micolash's breathing start to speed up once more.

[darkpiety]

"Oh dear Micolash. You are no longer in the Nightmare, and have not been for days. You were asleep, perhaps dreaming of your dreadful experience there." He keeps a sure grip on Micolash's wrist, though eventually trying to get him to hold his hand, instead.

"You are home, and you are safe. Your eyes have been injured, but they will heal. They are beginning to heal, already, but you must keep them bandaged, because they are leaking that awful orange light. Ah, are you able to understand me?" Abysa speaks slow and clear, grateful for their closeness, as his calming aura will be at its strongest.

[grantuseyes]

Home.

That word coupled with Abysa's closeness and, by extention, his aura settle the scholar that much more quickly and easily. He's not breathing heavily any longer, he's not struggling to get at the bandages to pull them free. But his face does pull into an expression of distant worry... All of reality falling back into place after waking up from deep dreams...

"Oh Kin. Why did this happen?" Micolash asks sadly, sounding in danger of tears.

[darkpiety]

"Tragedies may strike without warning or discrimination, I am afraid..." He says apologetically, his other hand now reaching down so he may run his long fingers through Micolash's hair.

"But all is not lost, not while I am here. Recovery is never easy, but I will ease the process as best I can. Surviving makes one stronger, and so you must persevere."

[grantuseyes]

"Anything but my eyes. Anything but my eyes..." He whimpers pathetically, letting his arm drop limply in front of him. It's too much effort to keep it lifted where he'd been feeling at the bandages.

He smells blood. Of course he smells blood, how can he not? For what felt like ages, he was steeped in it. It was the entirety of his world and scope for the duration of the Nightmare. Unholy amounts of it poured from him, from every opening and every wound, like some macabre watering of a garden. Feeding the Nightmare with the Old Blood that dwells inside him.

It's a good thing Yharnamites have such an odd fixation with the sense of smell; he might have to rely on it in strange new ways in the coming days. But for right now, that crimson is all he can detect.

He nearly misses Abysa's kind words in this brief distraction and they do ring true. Survival abetting growth was one of the greatest lessons of the Nightmare of Mensis. Something just saw it fit for him to revisit and refresh.

"How long, Kin? How long will I be blind?"