darkmasque
Slowly, the words came sputtering out of her. She didn't know why she was so nervous, it was only a game after all. But then again, it wasn't really. And her subconscious had finally begun to realize that as she continuously stared into his calculating, frozen seeming eyes. She suddenly realized that they were suspended in a muted time. In actuality, it was a separate dimension of time, one where she could say or do whatever she wanted, but would still undoubtedly affect herself in her normal dimension of time. Just like he had done. Cautiously, she began trying to predict what words would save her from becoming the next him, finally deciding on "Your eyes, give me your eyes."
Up on the rooftop, she dreamt of escaped realities, of those wishes she could never fulfill. It was only up there that she felt truly alone, safe to think, feel, and wonder about what could’ve been.
They wouldn't dare mention it. Or so she thought. After years of hiding it, they finally went up to her and told her, affirming every fear that had been haunting her mind for years.
And with more trust than she's ever allowed herself, she followed him into the crestfallen building. What she didn't know then is that it wasn't just a normal building, it was were an institution of time travelers and space morphers met, exchanging stories while they swiftly travelled through.
Is it possible to measure how much you'll get attached to someone before getting hurt by them?
Art yearns for what cannot be real. For that which is not only hidden but forbidden in the world of "real". Reality craves art.
If you only listen to her words, you won't hear her chest's roar
Their failure to achieve that imagined ideal self version would always cause them to shun themselves, or at least their true selves.
Dissatisfaction eats them.