Dreams Apart

Drawings

Previously on "Your world"

Marcus ♧

Her coffee-colored brown eyes stayed hidden behind her arms; she sat on the grass with her head to her knees, whimpering and silently hoping for her dreams to stay silent.

She was from another world, a world slipped open by Lucas, and yet I still questioned why the metal had led me to her.

I needed answers, not a girl who would be responsible for the frail part of my heart.

I was fixated, and I needed answers. It didn't take much to figure out that her world hid answers to many of my mysteries, and yet I could not cross a single path to get there.

She wasn't of any use. She'd forget every encounter and yet fight me for being a possible threat. She cried and called me a dream, an illusion. The sleep on her skin told me she had been dragged there through her sleep.

My investigations were visited by vivid images of gore and agony. I grasped enough from each illusion, and I was reminded of a boy, a boy who had gifted me with the metal.

I began drawing, designing the boy on each and every sheet, along with every other image I was struck with. My room was full of obsession and desperation, which led to concern among workers about the media.

"The deranged king with a gift of blood-curdling art." Articles read.

Some of the images were of my parents; gore and agony were printed on all of them. They were a path away from me, alongside the boy who had given me the metal.

My efforts to pass through the path were put to waste when the metal stumbled to the floor as I bled heavily from the back of my head.

I came to the conclusion it didn't have enough power, often asking myself what really happened to the other half of the metal until my yearns were loud enough. I could sometimes hear voices of events in the air as I stood in the path, voices that turned to figures.

It barely took a second for me to realize that I was watching her world through a slightly opened portal. I consciously celebrated, but soon my bliss was shadowed by rage.

Angela's weeps in her dreams were no different than the cries of her reality. The infuriating sight of watching her suffer brought me to the longing urge to pull her out of her reality.

"The metal flower really is nothing; it's the determination of the possessor that has all the power." An odd spiritual man uttered behind me as I made my way through the locals.

"Excuse me?" I glared.

"It's the honesty and the good of the possessor that really behold power, power that makes the metal really grant them the impossible."

I was used to hearing heating locals rant on about the possibilities of the metal, but something about his words chose to stick to the back of my mind.

Soon enough, I could drag Angela out of her reality without her being in bed, although she'd pass out a lot, which I slowly began to worry about.