Vanitas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
forgingoblivion) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
onepassingnight2012-05-02 09:07 pm
forgingoblivion) wrote in onepassingnight2012-05-02 09:07 pm
Entry tags:
001 ◘ Void
[There's nothing here.
Nothing. No sound, no shapes, no movement. A void. Were it not for how frighteningly aware you are of a lack of substance is in this place, it would be easy to believe that you weren't dreaming at all.
Until enough time passes, and the darkness begins to close in.
It's not the sort of darkness associated with emptiness - it's a real thing, where before there had been nothing at all. The kind of darkness that grows and expands, covering, choking all that stands in it's way. Except nothing is there. Nothing but you, of course. No matter how much you run, or try to push it aside, there is no end to it. No light.
But the darkness does recede, eventually. There is no more feeling of being covered, or surrounded, though there is still nothing to illuminate the world around you. Instead the darkness is a force that lingers, surrounds this place, but those who are wise will realize that it's far from benign. It holds back power that can only spell destruction.
It, or him.
Because there is a boy there, among other things. A boy with glowing yellow eyes, who seems to belong in this darkness. Who may even be part of it, or at least know what it hides.
The are sounds, now, too, to fill the void, somewhere off in the distance. The sound of blades, clashing during a fight. The sound of the wind blowing over a vast wasteland.
The even fainter sound of waves.
And the sound of a voice as the boy finally speaks, because he knows that he isn't alone.]
You should leave.
[It's a threat, one that he sounds all too happy to back up.]
Nothing. No sound, no shapes, no movement. A void. Were it not for how frighteningly aware you are of a lack of substance is in this place, it would be easy to believe that you weren't dreaming at all.
Until enough time passes, and the darkness begins to close in.
It's not the sort of darkness associated with emptiness - it's a real thing, where before there had been nothing at all. The kind of darkness that grows and expands, covering, choking all that stands in it's way. Except nothing is there. Nothing but you, of course. No matter how much you run, or try to push it aside, there is no end to it. No light.
But the darkness does recede, eventually. There is no more feeling of being covered, or surrounded, though there is still nothing to illuminate the world around you. Instead the darkness is a force that lingers, surrounds this place, but those who are wise will realize that it's far from benign. It holds back power that can only spell destruction.
It, or him.
Because there is a boy there, among other things. A boy with glowing yellow eyes, who seems to belong in this darkness. Who may even be part of it, or at least know what it hides.
The are sounds, now, too, to fill the void, somewhere off in the distance. The sound of blades, clashing during a fight. The sound of the wind blowing over a vast wasteland.
The even fainter sound of waves.
And the sound of a voice as the boy finally speaks, because he knows that he isn't alone.]
You should leave.
[It's a threat, one that he sounds all too happy to back up.]
no subject
And, somewhere in the middle of the poem, the boy summons his Keyblade, pointing it at the man. Obviously, he isn't interested in listening.]
I'm not a fan of poetry.
[Though he does suspect that you're asking for a fight.]
no subject
[Kuja looks at the Keyblade, still smiling, unimpressed. Yet he makes no offensive move of his own. In life, nothing had harmed him but what he carried within him, but he's not interested in fighting anymore.
He does take on a faint, pale glow, however.]
What are you, child?
no subject
[Poetry, books, stories - none of them ever helped Vanitas. They weren't the key to getting what he wanted. They wouldn't make him stronger, they wouldn't bring him closer to his goal...
They were nothing but a waste of time.
As for the question-]
What am I?
I'm the only one who belongs here.
[It was the best answer he was going to give. It was even mostly true.]
no subject
[He shrugs. Those who can't appreciate poetics and aesthetics--well, he doesn't have time to waste convincing them of their own ignorance and foolishness.]
Are you? And why is that?
I myself belong wherever I am. [Nowhere: that's where he belongs and where he is, appearances notwithstanding.]