Falling back into the dream felt more like slipping, rather than being dragged, like it did last time.
It's definitely odd, to have enough recollection about a dream to remember how it happened last time, it's even more so, when you consider the fact that I've never dreamt before in this life.
I used to dream, a lot back then, I think at least, I remember having a lot of dreams, but the dreams themselves feel more like memories of memories at this point.
And as I think this, my mind finds itself, not waking up on a bed, as it was last time, but instead, falling.
Falling from that same fracture filled sky, down to that same, London like place below, Yharnam, I think Red called it?
I remember something about that, the word rings something like a bell in my head, but no one came to the door to answer.
Being caught from mid air by a pair of jaws as large as me, and being taken by it's momentum into a buildings roofing, violently.
"Back again, pal?" The voice that spoke was red's but to the side, where they should have appeared, was, not what it typically was.
Red… I don't have a particularly good imagination when it comes to the forms of the voices in my head, so they constantly shift around, sometimes jagged, other times human.
So whenever I observe them, they are pretty much always on theme with what I think they represent, but not more consistent then that.
This red before me though, wasn't changing. even when I looked away.
Even at our first meeting in this place, just last night, it felt like every time I looked away, they looked different, but now…
Now they looked like, Edward Elric?
Blonde, with brown eyes, an iconic red coat black undershirt and pants, and as short as me, his? Their? Hair was longer but still blonde, the same shade that…
Intresting tactic, asshole.
When I tried to complain the beast shaking me around began screaming loudly, and directly in my ears at that.
Defenseless and more than a little pissed, I decided 'fuck it' and stood up.
The beast tried to make me fall again but I refused, it was hard, a bone deep feeling in me was saying 'fall' and a sudden wave of exhaustion was reminding me of how comfortable stone could be to sleep on when your tired.
But I still stood.
And I did not look at them, but at the beast.
In the mind, when something screams at you, it's because something is broken.
It's been thrashing me around, reminding me of all of the embarrassing, or stupid things I've done, it's been doing the mental equivalent, of me banging my head into a wall after thinking about something embarrassing.
In my first life, I once attempted to flirt with a coworker, by operating a machine they were having trouble figuring out, then winking at them.
After I remembered that, it staggered back even as I winced in my own embarrassment at the memory.
The memory had not diminished the crimson beast in it's size, but it's effects had sort of, gotten weaker after I realized they were all just over dramatic reactions, to my own mistakes; though, like another thing in my mind I could mention it seemed to be disturbed at any mistake, not just the embarrassing things.
Taking the opportunity for what it was I looked at the beast in detail for the first time.
The beast was quadrupedal, with thick humanoid forearms and hands, attached to a frame that would have looked more accurate on a lion.
Where it's neck should have been, a mass of flesh, shaped more like a bulbous tumor extended outward, into a ravenous, gaping maw, blood flecked teeth and a gigantic humanoid tongue, the only thing on the protrusion.
It had no eyes or ears, no nose or anything, but a mouth to scream with.
From the mouth, fused with the flesh, four brass fog horns grew, like the tusks of something like an ogre.
And with the blood curdling screaming of the mouth they were attached to, the horns actually blared along.
It created an oddly harmonious, yet chaotic sound, that did more to destabilize my train of thought then realized up until then.
It's skin had a fleshy moist look to it, like the gums of a mouth.
Beyond the physical, however, this creature was still, me.
Kind of? It's not like I have an innate talent towards telling what parts of a mind are mine or not -that I know of- but this one's one of mine, in the same way red is too, I think.
Speaking of, I brought my gaze back to red, and yup, still Edward.
Raising my eyebrow at him? was as much a way to get my question out as anything out, since red can read my mind probably.
Red looked smug as shit and a bit obstinate as they? Said "what? Got something on your mind? Say it to my face, you coward!"
Scrunching up my face, I decided not to say anything.
"You used to be so verbose, where'd that go, man?" A spike of something untraceable came and went again, as he finished speaking.
Oh. Wait, oh.
Well, damn.
Before I could finish the thought, I used my very, very rusty meditation skills to-
- - - -
By the time Shepard finished that little self narration binge she had been partaking in, she once again blocked out her inner perspective, with meditation skills she had not once used properly since coming to this world…
"Finally took a form for yourself, glad for you, Red." She said as she tried to pet the head of the Hate that was still attempting valiantly to kill her.
His eye twitched as she seemed to bring herself to an equilibrium, and there by cease her mental chatter.
"You don't seem to get it, bastard, your not in control here!" As he spoke, the Hate that she disregarded as a beast, bypassed her hand, and but down on her head.
As her form was bitten into, her form seemed to warp for a moment, before she was overwhelmed by Hate, and consumed.