93rd of Zi'Da 720
The dreamscape of Lars was whatever it was in that moment. Let his imagination describe it, and let him frolic and play and revel in his own dream-like playground.
But at some moment, he began hearing a most enchanting sound. The humming. Like the distant murmurs, a memory or echo of a time when he was just a babe in a mother's arm, being lulled to sleep further. He would feel a sense of drowsiness come over him in that moment, even in the dream. If at any chance he glanced to look upward, he would see the Veil beckoning him upward, toward the deeper realm of imagination, into the Untold itself.
However this entrance was perhaps different than he was used to. While his vergences into the veil might've appeared as something else, this was a flower, in the shape of a half disintegrated flower. Pink with flecks of emerald and orange on it. Beautiful, regardless of however he felt about those colors.
With every utterance and echo of that distant lullaby, he would feel drawn upward ever more, as if drawn up into the arms of a maternal figure. She wanted him, she loved him! Only him!
She would have him, and now!
The lullaby continued unabated as he drew closer to lucidity. He was drawn upward with every exhalation of the songstress. In only moments, he would find himself through the veil, and into the Untold.
He need only accept the love and adoration promised to him in that wordless lullaby.
The dreamscape of Lars was whatever it was in that moment. Let his imagination describe it, and let him frolic and play and revel in his own dream-like playground.
But at some moment, he began hearing a most enchanting sound. The humming. Like the distant murmurs, a memory or echo of a time when he was just a babe in a mother's arm, being lulled to sleep further. He would feel a sense of drowsiness come over him in that moment, even in the dream. If at any chance he glanced to look upward, he would see the Veil beckoning him upward, toward the deeper realm of imagination, into the Untold itself.
However this entrance was perhaps different than he was used to. While his vergences into the veil might've appeared as something else, this was a flower, in the shape of a half disintegrated flower. Pink with flecks of emerald and orange on it. Beautiful, regardless of however he felt about those colors.
With every utterance and echo of that distant lullaby, he would feel drawn upward ever more, as if drawn up into the arms of a maternal figure. She wanted him, she loved him! Only him!
She would have him, and now!
The lullaby continued unabated as he drew closer to lucidity. He was drawn upward with every exhalation of the songstress. In only moments, he would find himself through the veil, and into the Untold.
He need only accept the love and adoration promised to him in that wordless lullaby.