The Loved and the Lies and the Lost (Salvia and Yasmin X Reader)

Chapter 1

(A/N: This story includes a reader character who struggles with mental health. If that triggers you, perhaps read a different story. I am also unsure what all TP stories I will spoil. At the beginning of each chapter, I'll say which one(s) I'm spoiling in said chapter. This chapter spoilers none.)

When you fell asleep the night before Time Princess would release the second chapter of Saga of Viera, you were not alone. Heart-wise, you were, no friends or lovers, but there was another presence that was not friendly.

At first, you dreamt bright, glowing butterflies danced and pale blue crystals glittered on mirror-like black ground in a haze of shimmering, swirling smoke. You stood in the center of the scene, gazing at it all, taking it in.

But then a bright, white figure with angry blue eyes narrowed in on you from the distance. Its form was vaguely humanoid. And something about it seemed... hostile. Perhaps it was the sharp edges the form pulsed between, or how its white light was painfully intense. The figure rushed to your person and yanked your arm, its touch sending sharp painful sparks up your body. It dragged you away from the butterflies, toward the hollow, gray nothing on the outskirts of the scene, your heels dragging painfully on the ground. With the great pain it crackled into you, you could hardly fight against the figure. You smelled acrid tar. You pulled, and yanked, and drove your feet into the ground as hard as you could, your heels bleeding. The figure's grip slackened.

It had to pause to adjust its grip with all your squirming. You yanked your arm harder. The figure's grip tightened, but your arm was in a different, looser position. You fought against the pain and wrenched your arm free.

The world spinning, you turned and raced toward the butterflies. But the figure was not done with you. It burst in your direction in bright, jerky movements. Quickly. The figure's close grazes sent pain crackling through your body. You tried to shout for help, but bore no voice. You ran as fast as you could.

When the figure latched onto your wrist again, you were close. But its touch sent electrical shots through you, more painful this time, more debilitating. Desperation took hold, trying to push away the pain. You punched the figure in the face, and a sensation burst in your hand like you had just rammed it into a hundred knives. The figure let go.

You ran toward the butterflies.

The dream faded.

Your mind went through several memories in your sleep.

The first was more abstract. You smelled the polleny scent of the bright pink blooms in front of your house that made your nose scrunch. Then, you felt, speeding past your fingertips, the rough, faux brick walls, white and lumpy, of the high school you'd gone to. Then stars glittered above—you'd always loved stars. They spread and multiplied and grew and grew until the world was white with glistening.

The next scene was more concrete, something that had occurred earlier that day. Your mean coworker's face swelled red at the front of the line inside your favorite fast food place. People stared with curious looks or turned away, pushing their kids toward their aluminum tables.

"Sir, I'm so sorry, but your card declined," the cashier was telling your coworker. The cashier had a bright smile on her copper-toned face.

"I'll pay for it," you said, stepping forward on the brown tiles. It was the right thing to do.

Your coworker's face cooled slightly, but his gaze was still narrowed and accusing.

The next dream was from earlier than that.