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A Dream of Commingling
Jun. 26th, 2025 01:00 amThe very night after the 3rd Correspondence class, and as expected, the Nightmares came to torment (or enlighten) them.
A swarm of bees, wings aflame, producing a low drone ever-present at all stages of the dream. "Huz" they seem to chant, in a plainsong. Every now and then one will fly in front of the view, as if a cloud of them surrounded the dreamer.
Skittering and chittering, discernible even above the drone. Seeing from the perspective of an eight-eyed kaleidoscope (not unfamiliar even to the waking dreamer), perceiving trails of scent, feeling the hidden vibrations of the world through eight legs... But most importantly, having the compulsion of knowing what path lies ahead towards your destiny, even if you don't know what awaits at the end.
Following that path leads to a dormitory, then next to a bed. Then close to a peacefully asleep face. A face well known. That's the Anachronistic Tailor, the Soft-Hearted Maven, the Morbid Socialite, the Portentous Pawn, the the Lied Piper, the Undistinguished Pupil, the Soft-Eyed Mycologist, the Idiosyncratic Mechanic, the Star-Collared Scientist... It seems the face changes at every second (the Brash Devil and Ex-Disgraced Academic conspicuously absent) but everyone suffers the same fate.
The dreamer approaches, chitinous palps in the ready, attracted by the fiery light shining deep within the sleeping victim's eyes. Borrowing under their eyelids, clasping around their eyeballs, pulling until the eye goes out, cutting the optic nerve with sharp chelicera.
The experience causes the sleeping victim to weep in sorrow, tears the surrounding bees happily drink, turning the ever-present droning into a voice. Repeating a maddening mix between rememberes sentences spoken by them and pained screams, begs and pleads to stop. Their faces remain serene and asleep, though.
Once all eyes have been gathered the scene changes. The burning eyes swollen and black, the movement inside indicating they're about to hatch... And hatch they do. A swarm of sorrow-spiders circling the dreamer, then slowly approaching, as the Council is formed. Chitin merging with chiting, flesh joined with flesh, eyes sharing their views, minds thinking as one, emotions fading as none. The feelings of ecstasy revoltingly irreconciliable with the gruesome act. But the heights at which perception and understanding reach together are very well beyond what could be aspired to alone. Such a mind hungers for even more...
Then a final image, of some kind of half-Curator half-human hybrid, laying dead and dessicated while their chest bursts open letting a very big frost-moth free to fly at will, its wings full of grids bearing countless minute Correspondence sigils writ in violant, swiftly surrounded by the swarm of bees pleading, begging and screaming in agony, while many conjoined palps loom...
That's the part when the Chimeric Professor wakes up definitely, after an uncertain amount of little sleep-wake moments of trying to escape the Nightmare in vain. It is the morning already, and they have no wish at all to incur in Correspondence study nor meet with their classmates, not now. But for maybe one.
[An occurrence! The Chimeric Professor is now Having Recurring Dreams: The Chitinous Conclave]
A swarm of bees, wings aflame, producing a low drone ever-present at all stages of the dream. "Huz" they seem to chant, in a plainsong. Every now and then one will fly in front of the view, as if a cloud of them surrounded the dreamer.
Skittering and chittering, discernible even above the drone. Seeing from the perspective of an eight-eyed kaleidoscope (not unfamiliar even to the waking dreamer), perceiving trails of scent, feeling the hidden vibrations of the world through eight legs... But most importantly, having the compulsion of knowing what path lies ahead towards your destiny, even if you don't know what awaits at the end.
Following that path leads to a dormitory, then next to a bed. Then close to a peacefully asleep face. A face well known. That's the Anachronistic Tailor, the Soft-Hearted Maven, the Morbid Socialite, the Portentous Pawn, the the Lied Piper, the Undistinguished Pupil, the Soft-Eyed Mycologist, the Idiosyncratic Mechanic, the Star-Collared Scientist... It seems the face changes at every second (the Brash Devil and Ex-Disgraced Academic conspicuously absent) but everyone suffers the same fate.
The dreamer approaches, chitinous palps in the ready, attracted by the fiery light shining deep within the sleeping victim's eyes. Borrowing under their eyelids, clasping around their eyeballs, pulling until the eye goes out, cutting the optic nerve with sharp chelicera.
The experience causes the sleeping victim to weep in sorrow, tears the surrounding bees happily drink, turning the ever-present droning into a voice. Repeating a maddening mix between rememberes sentences spoken by them and pained screams, begs and pleads to stop. Their faces remain serene and asleep, though.
Once all eyes have been gathered the scene changes. The burning eyes swollen and black, the movement inside indicating they're about to hatch... And hatch they do. A swarm of sorrow-spiders circling the dreamer, then slowly approaching, as the Council is formed. Chitin merging with chiting, flesh joined with flesh, eyes sharing their views, minds thinking as one, emotions fading as none. The feelings of ecstasy revoltingly irreconciliable with the gruesome act. But the heights at which perception and understanding reach together are very well beyond what could be aspired to alone. Such a mind hungers for even more...
Then a final image, of some kind of half-Curator half-human hybrid, laying dead and dessicated while their chest bursts open letting a very big frost-moth free to fly at will, its wings full of grids bearing countless minute Correspondence sigils writ in violant, swiftly surrounded by the swarm of bees pleading, begging and screaming in agony, while many conjoined palps loom...
That's the part when the Chimeric Professor wakes up definitely, after an uncertain amount of little sleep-wake moments of trying to escape the Nightmare in vain. It is the morning already, and they have no wish at all to incur in Correspondence study nor meet with their classmates, not now. But for maybe one.
[An occurrence! The Chimeric Professor is now Having Recurring Dreams: The Chitinous Conclave]
