Letters Lost in Time - Karl Jacobs

Diary Entry.

I visited Dream in prison today.

The prison security system was far more intensive than I had thought. It sure was elaborate, and honestly rather terrifying. Sam almost feels like he's an entirely different person as the prison warden. He's thorough and intimidating, leaving no room for meaningless nonsense or delay. Despite all that, I know he only does it because he cares. He's one of the more sympathetic ones around, and I know he's only so strict to ensure that the prisoner doesn't even get a single chance at making it out of the cell.

I don't even remember half of the measures I went through. It feels like I was in some sort of trance, just floating along and listening to Sam's instructions as we went along. It only all came to a head when I finally saw that massive wall of lava.

He was just beyond there. Just beyond the wall of fiery death, just beyond the fatal obstacle of all that I had grown comfortable with was Dream himself. The man who had caused so much chaos and havoc, who had pioneered so much ruin and destruction, who had broken both objects and people like he saw no real difference between them was just sitting there on the other side. I began to wonder what he would be like, what prison had done to such a complex man. Would he be ripping at the seams, driven to insanity in the claustrophobic room of his cell? Would he be seething in anger, with poison seeping into his words and vowing vengeance with every passing day? Would he be plagued with regret, reflecting deeply on what had led him to this point in time? Would he be riddled with saudade, reminiscing of a time that had long since passed?

When I had crossed the dangerous gap on a precariously moving platform, I quickly learned he was none of those. He was silent, and had a blank look in his eyes as he stared into the obsidian walls like he was off in an entirely different world. There was nothing of note in the room itself, just the simple basic utilities needed for one's wellbeing, a clock to tell the time, and countless empty books to pass said time. He didn't even acknowledge me beyond opening the book in his lap and hovering a hand over the feather pen that came with it.

As I suspected, he didn't answer any of my questions properly. He didn't even react beyond writing that he would not speak. I don't exactly know how long I spent there, throat running dry at desperate tangents that received no answer. I am not a person of unwavering persistence nor patience, so it only made sense that I got tired eventually and moved to leave. Except just when I was about to go, Dream had pulled me back to show me just one simple little thing.

It was a piece of paper soon to be slipped into my hoodie pocket, crumpled and worn with a crudely drawn smiley face on it.

Just what was that even supposed to even mean? At the very least, it was slightly annoying. At the absolute most, it was downright maddening. It holds no meaning to me. It shouldn't. I have never seen it outside of his porcelain mask and the message he had passed to Ranboo. Except I have. I shouldn't feel so strongly over it at all, because it's just a single little smiley face. It's not. It can't hurt me. It will, it will, it will hurt me it's going to come for me it's going to find me it's going to−

.

.

.

I should think about more pressing matters. I've already established that I gained close to nothing from visiting Dream. I need to gather my thoughts, and begin to identify the what I should do next.

I don't think I can trust my memory anymore. I've been forgetting so much. Just the other day, I had almost entirely forgotten one of my travels while arranging books. I nearly put one of them in the shelves accessible to the general public because I thought it was just some other history book. It wasn't until I skimmed through the first page and saw my signature that I did realize this was a journey I had gone on. I still don't even remember what happened, I just saw the signature and quickly tucked it away.