The past always haunted Erik. All the events, small and large, stacked upon each other to make a man who he is. Erik's past was full of darkness and fear and all the impotence of a child unable to stop the horrors of the world. While Erik could acknowledge (if only to himself) that he could never overcome his past, he knew he could use it to propel him into the future. Since that day in Cuba, Erik thought more of the future than of the past. Even his unconscious mind abandoned focus on the unchangeable past to the more malleable future.

It was a different world in Erik's sleeping mind. It was the world he longed for, a world where mutants were not only safe, but on the rise. A world where he, Magneto, was looked to as the leader of mutant-kind. In his dream, there was a homeland for them in the island nation of Genosha. There, the rights of mutants were valued above all others. In his dreams a full world sprung to life with a detailed history to support it. A past full of conspiracy against mutant-kind, uncovered and stopped by Erik himself.

Sure, it was grandiose and, yes, it put Erik in a position of power, but more importantly, it lifted him and all those like him from under the ruthless boot of baseline humans. In his imagination, they had a home free from the scrutiny, the fear, and the violence of humans. Genosha was a safe and prosperous nation on-par with any other first-world country. Its influence was growing and, much to Erik's pleasure, its population as well. To him, it made up for the unchanging past. To him, Erik was finally able to save his people from the horrors of the world.

A dream without Charles is a rare thing, but she has his essence with him. She's stretched out on the lawn, his cat curled up next to her stomach and purring loudly. As she looks up in the sky, the clouds form the distinct shape of people she's known. The dark clouds are Charles' mother and step-father. Her own parents. Everyone she's always been afraid has ever wanted to hurt her or Erik. But then the skies lighten and she can see the good people, too. She can see the professors who all thought Charles was a little odd, but who recognized his brilliance, she can see the young man who always asks her for a cup of coffee when she picks up the newspaper. They're all there for her to see.

Soon, the clouds are changing into other people and things. She watches as a purple dragon chases a blue butterfly through the clouds. They slide in and out of the other clouds and she's sure she even hears the dragon roar, though she could be mistaken by that. She must be mistaken by that. She must also be mistaken when the dragon begins to look a lot more like Cain than any animal. She curls her hand a little in the kitten's fur when the dragon starts flying lower and lower and closer to her. Does he mean to eat her? Is that to be her punishment for abandoning him in favor of Charles? The clouds start to darken again and the wind begins to howl. Lightning cracks against the sky and her hand tightens even more.

And then, just like that, the dragon/Cain catches the butterfly and swishes away again. Her hand eases as the skies turn back to normal. When she finally lets go, she's shocked out of her reverie by the kitten pouncing on her stomach. Before she can do anything about it, the kitten runs off.

She gets up after a minute and follows in the direction of the kitten, calling after her. "Blueberry. Blueberry!" She's not sure what she'll do if the kitten's run off somewhere, especially since it's her fault for hurting the poor thing. Relief floods her when she sees the kitten sitting by the door as if she was just waiting for someone to let her in. She's licking down the spots of fur she can reach that are still sticking up from Raven's tight grip. It takes her a moment to realize that Blueberry is not alone.

"Oh, hello."

Tick tick tick.

The walls of his shop are lined with clocks and books, the two things which consumed his life before Chandra found him. Clocks were his focus. Books were his escape. Time spent between them was frightening and lonely. Trying to hold conversations with clients, with strangers, with his mother. Trying to sleep. Trying, a few hours later, to get out of bed. He eventually did, because he had to run the shop. He went home in the evening because he had a book to finish. That was all there was, and that is all there is here.

It would be comforting to Sylar, but it isn't.

Tick tick tick.

The ticking isn't right. Every clock is slightly out of sync with the others. One clock reads 2:25, while another reads 10:52, and another 7:03. What time is it really? Which clock is right? He spots his father's clock, the only one he left in Virginia's apartment when he abandoned them. He takes it down from the wall and pulls on his glasses, popping open the back.

He pauses.

Tick tick tick.

There are no gears.

( Warning: Gore. )

A droplet of water, then another, another, another, soon it's a steady noise, constant as the ticking of a clock. The sound echos faster, picking up like a heartbeat against the darkness. Small sparks of white dot the sky lighting up like fireworks but remaining suspended against the false navy backdrop-- pinpricks glittering against a void. He can't focus on them for more than a rare few seconds, because his legs are moving under him, treading water. Running as fast and as hard as he can, to keep himself above-- he just needs to get to safety-- the tips of his toes and the pads of his feet dipping centemeters below the surface. Struggling desperately to keep above the mirror relfection in the water. It's becoming thicker, heavier, clinging to his ankles, pulling him down, cloying with it's grip. 

No no no--

He gasped, arms outstretched, grasping at anything and everything-- but he can see nothing other than the water seeping into his clothes, grabbing at him, the father it dragged him down the darker the mirror turned; the surface no longer shimmering clear water but brilliant red blood. Transforming with his every reisistance, turning thick and heavy like quicksand; pulling and straining and pleading as his gaze shoots back up--help help, Raven, Raven, where are you?-- and just within his grasp is a hand. He reaches for it, for salivation in this faceless man. His fingertips curling against another's, a desperate cry tries to break free but this one is allowed no release; the quicksand already crawling up his sides, down his throat, he's suffocating even before he goes under. 

He pulls at the hand again, please--

The fingers spread apart, letting his own sift through and he slips under, down into the blood, and then deeper, deeper, till it's no longer even blood-- it's just an inky blackness. There's no air for him only a burn in his chest; he's choking, fading, but just before true darkness takes him in he's breaking surface again. The whole world turned on his head as he drops from the water-- the rustling sounds that began in the darkness still echoing in his sudden freedom. His back hits the ground and he's shocked by the sudden spark of light and life.

An expanse of grass is laid out before any visitor, spreading into the distance as far as the eye can see. Checkered light and dark, but no less lush in either color. A flatland so expanse it's blatantly unnatural, only curving as if from the standing point below Charles one might be able to see the curvature of the earth. Dotted along the map are what appear to be giant blueberries, each smooth on one side and scaled on the other, ridges akin to fish scales defined across the surface closest to the sun on each. Every third berry has a stem protruding from  the top, long curling barked wood spiraling in figures more natural to smoke than wood, speckled with illuminecent leaves. The dozens of green, gold and bronze leaves are all finely crafted glass, chiming gently in a breeze that couldn't be felt against skin. 

Charles looks lost, recovering from the spiraling nature of his dreams, still dressed in his pyjamas. A soft cottony white, perhaps a size too big, striped with baby blue and lined in that same deep hue. His feet are warmed by a pair of black house slippers with two points on each in the shape of feline ears. His hair is skewed to one side more than the other, looking much like he was rustled out of his bed and into this strange dreamland without warning. 

[OOC: Hello all! This is Charles' first venture into the joint dreamland. If I was unclear or if there's any questions or if I've done something wrong feel free to let me know! It's late at night so I always feel a little iffy about making posts, but I was overexcited so I did it anyway. Anyway, look forward to threading with you all. :) ]