HOME | DD

Description
Walls of Reason.

What does it mean to dream? Is it a subject to which only those with hearts may aspire to conceptualize and verbalize, or is it an enchantment to which we can all subscribe.
I wonder if I am alone, for when I close my eyes at night, I see naught but the darkness inside my own body, where my heart once dwelt.
We, like any other human, only have meager words to bridge the endless void between our souls, but we can know nothing of what it means to be whole.
We are echoes of the dark, and will return to it.
~Vexen

The blonde scientist put the pen down as he closed the journal with a fairly final snap. Gloved fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ferret the beginnings of a headache out before they took root and drove sleep from him entirely.
It took a few minutes before he tugged his glasses away and rubbed his eyes fiercely. No wonder he had a headache, he must have been writing for hours! Slowly he unwound from his hunched pose, looming over the desk. He flexed his fingers slowly, trying to bring life back to the thin digits.
This was his domain, the deepest labs, the beakers and flasks that every mad scientist dreamed of from first cackle.
It meant nothing to him.
Slowly he stood, taking a moment to allow his numbed legs to accept his weight. Lightly he stepped into the next room. Rows upon rows stood empty, the biofluid bubbling in a parody of useful industry.
Just like them?
He took the white coat from his shoulders and tucked the glasses into the breast pocket. His fingers smoothed over the stark linen, the gloves rasping loudly in the near-total silence.
The peg by the door called. He hung the semblance of his old life away and strode out purposefully. His boots thwacked against the cold concrete in a very satisfying manner. Only his element prevented the air issuing from his mouth condensing as it left. He made a few adjustments, ignoring the external temperature.
One level up there were more sounds of life. Not hurried, but strong. He could see in his mind the careful steps of Lexaeus as he carried burdens here and there for their lord, or Vexen's rapid scurry as he sought one book after another from the seemingly endless library walls.
"Anything?"
Had he a heart, the sudden question would have made him jump in shock, squealing. As it was he felt an unpleasant twinge as he stumbled.
"Nothing."
Xaldin seemed to morph from the shadows as surely as their leader. His vivid eyes fixed him in place. Vexen found himself compelled to fix his gaze on his feet.
"Nothing?"
"Not a single thing."
Xaldin huffed slightly. The wind puff scrolled across his cheeks, and by the time he felt able to look up, Xaldin was gone again, borne away on soundless feet.
He continued on, seeing no one, hearing many. This place, this home… it too was merely an echo of former lives. Spontaneity and vitality had been replaced by routine and a dulled kind of staunchness… a single yearning wish to survive at all.
Vexen paused at a window, looking out into the void onto the heart. It shone with a taunting light, promising everything, giving nothing. He felt his hands clench quite regardless of his own thoughts.
Reason had no place here. Like the ant drawn to the smell of honey, he yearned for the blissful embrace of nothing in which he might find the heart that he had had taken from him.
In silence, Vexen pleaded with forgotten gods to give him the mercy of death, that he might know some kind of peace.
And, perchance, to dream.

Description
Walls of Reason.

What does it mean to dream? Is it a subject to which only those with hearts may aspire to conceptualize and verbalize, or is it an enchantment to which we can all subscribe.
I wonder if I am alone, for when I close my eyes at night, I see naught but the darkness inside my own body, where my heart once dwelt.
We, like any other human, only have meager words to bridge the endless void between our souls, but we can know nothing of what it means to be whole.
We are echoes of the dark, and will return to it.
~Vexen

The blonde scientist put the pen down as he closed the journal with a fairly final snap. Gloved fingers pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ferret the beginnings of a headache out before they took root and drove sleep from him entirely.
It took a few minutes before he tugged his glasses away and rubbed his eyes fiercely. No wonder he had a headache, he must have been writing for hours! Slowly he unwound from his hunched pose, looming over the desk. He flexed his fingers slowly, trying to bring life back to the thin digits.
This was his domain, the deepest labs, the beakers and flasks that every mad scientist dreamed of from first cackle.
It meant nothing to him.
Slowly he stood, taking a moment to allow his numbed legs to accept his weight. Lightly he stepped into the next room. Rows upon rows stood empty, the biofluid bubbling in a parody of useful industry.
Just like them?
He took the white coat from his shoulders and tucked the glasses into the breast pocket. His fingers smoothed over the stark linen, the gloves rasping loudly in the near-total silence.
The peg by the door called. He hung the semblance of his old life away and strode out purposefully. His boots thwacked against the cold concrete in a very satisfying manner. Only his element prevented the air issuing from his mouth condensing as it left. He made a few adjustments, ignoring the external temperature.
One level up there were more sounds of life. Not hurried, but strong. He could see in his mind the careful steps of Lexaeus as he carried burdens here and there for their lord, or Vexen's rapid scurry as he sought one book after another from the seemingly endless library walls.
"Anything?"
Had he a heart, the sudden question would have made him jump in shock, squealing. As it was he felt an unpleasant twinge as he stumbled.
"Nothing."
Xaldin seemed to morph from the shadows as surely as their leader. His vivid eyes fixed him in place. Vexen found himself compelled to fix his gaze on his feet.
"Nothing?"
"Not a single thing."
Xaldin huffed slightly. The wind puff scrolled across his cheeks, and by the time he felt able to look up, Xaldin was gone again, borne away on soundless feet.
He continued on, seeing no one, hearing many. This place, this home… it too was merely an echo of former lives. Spontaneity and vitality had been replaced by routine and a dulled kind of staunchness… a single yearning wish to survive at all.
Vexen paused at a window, looking out into the void onto the heart. It shone with a taunting light, promising everything, giving nothing. He felt his hands clench quite regardless of his own thoughts.
Reason had no place here. Like the ant drawn to the smell of honey, he yearned for the blissful embrace of nothing in which he might find the heart that he had had taken from him.
In silence, Vexen pleaded with forgotten gods to give him the mercy of death, that he might know some kind of peace.
And, perchance, to dream.