𝖮𝗁 𝗇𝗈! Hobie Brown

Session 02: SATURN&SON

SESSION 02: SATURN&SON

What is the rage of Saturn? I ask myself.

In a dimly lit chamber, a solitary figure sat alone at a grand dining table. The air was heavy with an unspoken unease, as if the very room itself held its breath in anticipation. At the head of the table, a peculiar painting hung, its macabre scene illuminated by a solitary flickering candle.

The artwork depicted Saturn, the titan of time, consumed by an unsettling frenzy. His monstrous maw stretched wide, devouring his own offspring – a ghastly act frozen in oil and canvas. The nameless guest's gaze remained locked upon the painting, tracing the contorted limbs and anguished expressions frozen in perpetual torment.

As the minutes stretched into hours, the guest's mind became a tempest of conflicting emotions. Confusion gnawed at the edges of reason, its tendrils of uncertainty coiling tighter with each passing second. How could such horror be captured so vividly? What madness had driven the artist's brush to immortalize such gruesome chaos?

A haunting unease settled within the guest's chest, an inner turmoil that mirrored the turmoil of the painted scene. The boundaries between reality and the canvas began to blur, and the room itself seemed to shift and warp, as if reality itself were succumbing to the same madness that plagued the painting.

Was the guest truly alone in that room, or were unseen eyes watching from the shadows? The guest's thoughts teetered on the precipice of madness, each question a step closer to the abyss of incomprehensibility. Time itself seemed to warp, just like Saturn's monstrous form, devouring reason and leaving only a sense of impending doom.

In the midst of this internal chaos, the guest's own reflection in the dimly lit windowpane became a grotesque distortion, mirroring the disarray within. The boundary between observer and observed had dissolved, and the guest's identity seemed to fragment, like shattered glass.

As the candle flickered and danced, its feeble light casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls, the guest's inner turmoil escalated. A how of wind comes from nowhere, ghastly and cold. Reality and art merged into an unsettling fusion, and the guest's mind threatened to splinter entirely. The painting of Saturn's savage banquet had become a mirror to the guest's own descent into madness, a descent that echoed the titan's insatiable hunger for destruction.

And so, the nameless and faceless character remained, trapped in a nightmarish tableau of their own making. The boundaries between art and existence had crumbled, leaving only confusion, impending madness, and the haunting image of Saturn's consuming frenzy.

Longer, unfixed minutes stretched into an eternity, the faceless figure's expression began to shift, mirroring the darkness that permeated the painting before them. The once-curious eyes now held a glint of something unsettling – a reflection of the anger that Saturn himself seemed to embody. It was as though the titan's fury had seeped through the canvas and woven its way into the very fabric of the observer's being.

The realization dawned with a chilling clarity: they had gazed upon this grotesque masterpiece for far too long. The malevolent energy that radiated from the painting had taken root within them, tainting their thoughts and emotions. A sensation of unease crawled under their skin, a maddening itch that begged for release.

As they continued to stare, transfixed by the scene of paternal brutality, the edges of their perception began to fray. The room's dimensions wavered, the boundaries of reality blurring and twisting, mimicking the chaotic scene depicted in the painting. Their grip on sanity grew ever more fragile, and an irrational anger welled up from within, matching the titan's fury stroke for stroke. Nails scratch at the red felt across the table.

Amidst this spiraling descent, a quiet figure materialized in the kitchen doorway, a presence both familiar and beloved. But the faceless observer's consciousness was consumed by the tempest of inner turmoil, and they paid the figure no heed. The room's atmosphere had grown thick with tension, like a storm waiting to break, and their thoughts were engulfed in the raging currents of anger.

The once-muted emotions surged forth, amplified by the maddening influence of the artwork. The faceless observer felt their heart race, their breath quicken, and an irrational rage clawing at their insides. It was as though Saturn's wrath had been channeled directly into their veins, a poison that coursed through them unabated.

With a sudden surge of determination, the faceless guest pushed back from the dining table, their chair scraping against the floor in a discordant protest. As they rose, their movements were both deliberate and erratic, fueled by the anger and confusion that had taken root within. The painting of Saturn's consuming frenzy seemed to leer at them from the wall.

Turning towards the kitchen doorway, their eyes met the form of the silent figure that stood there, still faceless, yet holding an air of familiarity that once provided solace. But now, that familiarity was tinged with mistrust, fractured by the all-encompassing anger that churned within them. The swirling depths of their gaze were a storm of white and black, otherworldly in their intensity, as if the very essence of their rage had consumed them.

They locked eyes with the faceless figure, and in that moment, a sense of impending doom hung heavy in the air. The guest's lips curled into a snarl, a silent declaration of defiance and challenge. The connection that had once existed between them had shattered, replaced by a seething resentment that whispered of betrayal and abandonment.

The faceless figure in the doorway remained still, a silent sentinel to the tempestuous emotions that radiated from the guest. They were no longer a source of comfort, but rather a reflection of the guest's own fractured psyche. The trust that had once bound them had withered away, leaving only bitterness in its wake.

As the two figures stood locked in a tense tableau, the flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows that danced across the walls, a prelude to the darkness that loomed on the horizon. The confrontation between them felt inevitable, a clash of wills and emotions that could only lead to one outcome – a cataclysmic battle fueled by anger and confusion, where the boundaries between reality and madness would blur beyond recognition.

The faceless figure in the doorway remained a silent enigma, their true intentions hidden behind the veil of their featureless facade. And as the guest's eyes continued to swirl with rage, the foreshadowing of a fatal fight between the two became an inescapable truth, a collision of broken trust and irreparable wounds that would shatter their world and plunge them into a darkness deeper than any painted nightmare.

Glowing eyes blink, looking for nothing but the confirmation drifting in that enraged mind.

I was supposed to be Saturn in this story.

"Are you feeling okay, Y/N?"