My Purpose: A Dream...or a Nightmare

Chapter 8: The Dreamon Hunter & The Spark

A green, hooded figure crept around, swift as a ghost. The torches didn't even flicker when the figure flitted by them.

The figure stopped by a wooded worn down door. He reached up to adjust his white smiley face mask.

The figure entered.

A man was lying on his bed, fast asleep. His snores rumbling, muffling the small footsteps of the intruder. The man was facing away from the door, his back in perfect view of the hooded figure.

The figure crept up, hand reaching for something hidden. He withdrew his hand, and in his hand was a sharp object, glinting steel in the faint candlelight.

The man shifted in his sleep, rolling over. But as he did, he yawned. And opened his eyes.

The man's eyes widened and he opened his mouth to let out a scream, but it was too late.

A flash of metal; a cloth to stifle the scream.

The figure plunged his hand down.

~~~

Dream laid across his bed, his hands behind his head. He had his eyes closed and brow furrowed.

His room was in the royal palace. A soft, huge king's size bed with grand windows adorned with sweeping curtains. The window was slightly open, letting a soft breeze in. Pretty bird songs were trickling in, and far off laughter drifted through the window.

But Dream wasn't paying attention to his surroundings. Instead, his head was a swirl of thoughts, digging him from inside out.

The last assassination attempt had been messy. The man had almost screamed. Dream had been careless.

But no, Dream thought, I shouldn't be thinking about that. I should be thinking about the fact that I killed him. He grimaced, disgusted in himself.

He hated himself. Hated himself for not feeling anything; for agreeing to The King's wishes; for lying to his friends and family about what he did everyday.

"Oh yeah, I'm just murdering people in their sleep day-in-day-out. Nothing to worry about," he muttered sarcastically. As the King's champion, he was already living in the royal palace, but there were even less interactions with his family because of his new job.

Why don't I just murder The King and his entire family? That could solve all of this. If it weren't for him and-

Dream caught himself. What was he thinking? He shook himself.

But it would be fun, A darker part of his mind whispered back. No one to boss you around...no one to answer to...And think of all the power if you were to take his positi-

Dream jerked upright on his bed, clutching his head. No, he thought firmly back to himself. What were all these dark thoughts that were stirring up in his head?

Dream gritted his teeth. But he knew. He reached up to feel his mask.

It was a new one, not like his old white bandana; but a thin, round disk-like mask with dark black straps that curled around his head, sinking into his sandy blonde hair.

It matched the one in his "hallucinations".

He didn't exactly remember or understand how he got it. All he remembered was seeing the creature in his dreams smile and reach out to him, placing the mask in his hand. But it had started to bleed dripping red, and Dream remembered screaming, but the mask had spun around, latching itself onto his face - just like in the vision - muffling his yells, and he had woken up with it on his face, but neatly and devoid of any blood, thankfully.