a trove of worldy things.

He lives, He dies. She wakes, She sleeps.

Stop it, Dream stop it, don't come any closer, STOP IT STOP IT STO-

Thud.

Fuck.

Shit.

No no no no no no NONONONONONONONONONONONONO, THIS WASN'T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN.

Crimson, dripping down his forehead, leaving a somber stain.

He's dead.

He actually killed him.

This was a mistake.

He hastily grabbed a book, binded by symbols and the image of a totem.

Suo et seminat in sanguinem influit, ligant in carne sanare ictu. Morte relinquam ab illa coelestis gradus, et vivificet eum qui cecidit ei mansit.

Sand was falling.

Time was wasting.

He wasn't waking up.

Crap.

He raised his hands, tugging at his hair.

He was meant to live.

He wasn't meant to let his anger get the best of him.

Tommy was dead.

And here he was, alive mere seconds ago.

Prime was going to kill him.

He was in for hell.

꧁꧂

Tommy woke up.

He was in a room, void of colour, pitch black.

Distantly he could hear a woman crying.

"Hello?"

The crying was now closer.

So close yet so far.

No one was nearby.

"Who's there?"

Slowly yet steadily, a woman shrouded in elegant indigo, liquid dripping from under her veil.

"My precious son, my child." She sharply inhaled, raising a hand to Tommy's cheek.

Tommy's head slightly tilted to the side in confusion.

"Who are you?" Tommy asked.

The woman exhaled, lifting her veil slightly to reveal a beautiful figure with inky hair.

Tommy's eyes widened.

"I remember you." He gasped.

She smiled, engulfing the boy in a hug.

"I'm your mother, Tommy. I missed you so much." She revealed.

Tommy's eyes grew tears, his cheeks moist.

"Why are you crying?" Tommy replied, amnesia creeping up.

The woman, his mother, let loose of her grasp, releasing Tommy from her hug.

"You've passed. You're at the inbetween." She said with a somber smile.

Tommy's eyes widened.

Memories flooded him.

The prison.

Dream.

His death.

The cold walls, welcoming him once again.