prelude

[singmod]

January 1st 2015

Do you remember yesterday? What is tomorrow?
How will you face this quiet apocalypse?
— Raphael van Lierop.

As the old year falls and the new year begins, the skies fill with light. An Aurora comes on the last day of December, and with it the usual signs of it: the ethereal noise, the cracks and pops in the air, the stuttering of electrics as they struggle to power on and then blare and flicker. It is, as Interlopers have come to know, business as usual — in terms of the Auroras within this world. However, something a little different happens this time.

Interlopers will fall asleep all over the town of Milton. Even the ones who fight sleep and try to stay up into the small hours of the night will find themselves drifting off for a short while — as if their eyes just feel too heavy to keep open, and their minds slip into a deep kind of quiet darkness without their realising. And at first, there is nothing — nothing but the quiet dark. Something peaceful, almost.

A dream comes.

The first thing you notice is blood in your mouth, the cold in your bones, the deafening din in your ears — as if you are caught in static and the sound of howling winds through pine trees. You are afraid. At first, you do not know why. You find yourself on your knees in the snow. The skies are filled with green light, the air is thick with smoke. And then the realisation comes:

This is the ending of all things.

You look up, to the sight before you: a huge, shapeless shadow. Towering above you, over you. A head peers down at you: a cluster of three wolf skulls, eye-sockets glowing green and terrible, and their three open maws, dripping with more green. The sound it makes is unnatural, you cannot put it into words. The darkness draws in, you are so cold, so tired.

This is the ending of all things.

It is so hungry. You are so tired. The world falls away, you cannot see the stars, the dark hiding them from view. Were they even there to begin with? Or did they go out? You have forgotten. And you know, you know—

This is the ending of all things.

The skies glimmer, licks of strange, colourful wisps curl above — a voice screams out your name, from the static and winds. Through the noise. A woman’s voice. You have heard this voice before, in the lights and noise. Do you see? What could be? What you could become?

Can you hold on? Please. A hand grips your shoulder, but as you turn — the dream ends.

For some, they snap into waking with a shout or cry. Some will shudder awake to find tears in their eyes. All over Milton, the Interlopers wake: shaken, unsure, afraid. They will awaken to the dark: the Aurora is gone — slowly fading from the night skies into an otherwise calm and clear night.

It is a new year.

Comments

[burying]

"The green kind of makes me think of... toxic chemical waste?" he suggests with a frown, thoughtful for a long moment. "Especially with skulls."

Danger. Keep away. Will cause death. Kieren's expression is sullen. It's absolutely sunshine and roses, isn't it? He absolutely loves that (he does not).

"Probably the worst person to ask. My dreams are... mostly memories of real things." he tries to smile, but he can't.

And then: "... Miasma? I don't think I've heard that before."

[goingtobeunwell]

'Toxic chemical waste' is not a phrase he knows or has any real frame of reference for, but he can tell that it's not a pleasant thing.

"Vapor," he says quietly. "Miasma. It's a heavy fog, bad air."

That's what it makes Crozier think of -- a thick, poisonous miasma, seeping out from the mouth of a beast.

"Was it speaking? It felt that way..."

[burying]

"Huh." Kieren's thoughtful for a moment, frowning slightly. ".... You're not some secret Literature Professor under those furs, are you?"

It's an honest question. 'Miasma' definitely sounds like a word some university lecturer would use, or something.

"I don't... really know. It was like—" he tries to put words to it. "More like knowing something that hearing it, if that makes sense?"

[goingtobeunwell]

Oh, oh god bless. Crozier starts to laugh loudly despite all the horrors, genuinely tickled by the assumption.

He shakes his head and smiles softly as the mirth dies down. He understands what he means; he didn't need to be told, he knew, much like any other dream.

"When we wake dreams always feel like dreams as they start to fade. This doesn't feel the same." It isn't fading.

[burying]

Yeah, alright. It did sound pretty wild in terms of an assumption. Still, you never know, right? You get all sorts here. Why not a Literature professor dressed up in furs? Kieren's head ducks a little with a smile of amusement.

"No." his smile twists into something more grim. He considers for a moment. "... my dreams are more memories than anything else. It feels like that. Only... this isn't a memory, though."

What's the opposite to a memory? Kieren winces to himself.

"Do you think maybe it's... something from the future?"