Prison Visit

Chap. 1

Dream sat in his cell in ragged prison clothes, leaning against the warm wall of obsidian heated by the bubbling lava that flowed down beside the only entrance. Although it provided light and heat, the constant noise it also emitted grew irritating after a while. It reminded him of the ticking hands of the one clock in his box of torture, the one that lay broken on the floor in front of him. Small bolts and damaged pieces were scattered across the hard ground that provided no comfort, and rested beside the limited items housed in the enclosed space. He'd often do that to gain Sam's attention, to have someone to talk to as the godforsaken cell he was placed in provided no way of communication. There was, however, visiting hours which allowed him to see people who chose to visit the dirty blonde. If it was Tommy, he'd be more than happy; the broken blonde, despite having the chance to forget and move on, seemed to visit more than Dream had expected. It always brightened his day when the other did as the taller seemed to have power, both physically, emotionally and mentally, against the younger even if he had a disadvantage. However, if Quackity visited, his mood dropped. If it were any other scenario that allowed the dirty blonde to have access to free will, then he would have no problem, but that wasn't the case. The man would always come in with some sort of weapon, usually an axe regardless of it being against the rules, and strike the masked man. It was a routine that he'd grown tired of, and he scolded himself for allowing his capture. The months upon months of pain-filled suffering due to the ravenette allowed Dream to muster a plan of revenge, and plot or ploy as some described it. After he got out and into the world as he hoped he knew it to be, he'd carry out the tasks he had in mind.
For now, though, he sat helplessly on the floor while glancing between the lava in hopes someone would enter, the chest where his diaries were kept- small books in which he wrote when he was bored, the broken clock on the floor that ceased to tick, and the empty walls. It was quite boring, but there was nothing the dirty blonde could do about it. He'd gotten used to the unfavourable lifestyle, and spent most of his days waiting. Perhaps this time Sam would come to replace his clock like usual, and he'd be able to squeeze in a small conversation to divert his mind away from the grasp of insanity. Letting out a tired and helpless sigh, Dream let his head fall back and his gaze shift towards the roof. It was the same pattern as the walls and floor, it was repetitive. So he found comfort in letting his eyes slip shut and his mind wander into a world of dreams, creating a reality he'd hope to create when he broke free