| [Dreams can be bright and cheerful, sometimes. Full of candy and soda and other happy objects and playful scenarios. But some times, they're barren and empty, desolate landscapes with nowhere to go in any direction, no oases in sight no matter how far you walk and no relief from the oppressive atmosphere. And it's this the atmosphere that makes up Sora's dream.
Hard, cracked earth stretches for miles and miles in all directions, a singular, barren tree the only landmark in sight. Beneath it, a single bush of belladonna in full bloom, and next to it, choked by its roots, a single, wilting lily. And there, standing beneath the tree, curled in on himself is Sora. Except, perhaps, to everyone else, he doesn't seem to exactly be there. His shape to others is indistinct, almost like he's half-formed illusion.
But he's there, and the oppressiveness of the atmosphere seems to be taking its toll on him.] |
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