Passive Hatred

A Dream?

"Not again, I don't need this after what I just went through."

Alex found himself (once again) standing in the haunting dreamscape. The massive tree loomed before him, its once-vibrant branches now brittle and blackened, like the remnants of a forgotten fire. The apples on its limbs hung precariously, their golden and violet hues dulled as though drained of life. A cold wind whispered through the cracked earth beneath his feet, carrying faint whispers he still couldn't understand.

As he stepped closer to the tree, (an act he never did before, but soul said other wise) he felt the ground shift beneath him, pulling his gaze downward. The barren soil seemed to breathe, tiny cracks forming shapes that led his eyes forward—toward something that hadn't been there before. A figure.

It was a statue, stark and unmoving, yet it seemed alive in its emptiness . The figure was carved with an unsettling precision. Its hollow eye sockets seemed to bore into Alex, black voids that carried an air of sorrow and menace. The statue's hand was outstretched, as if begging for something—or warning him to stay away. Wrapped around its shoulders was a cape.

"What... is this place?" Alex whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the wind. And yet it was if he Knew what this place was but he refused to remember it.

As he stepped closer, a hum grew louder, almost deafening now that he was closer, and he felt a sharp pang in his chest. His own tendrils, which he had come to see as an extra part of himself, began to stir involuntarily, slipping out and reaching toward the statue as if drawn to it by some unseen force.

Anxiety crept down Alex's spine. The longer he looked at the statue, the more something inside him stirred. His chest felt tight, and before he could even process the sensation, his tendrils began to unfurl, slipping free of him most likely drawn out from his growing panic.

"No... not now," Alex muttered, clutching his chest as if willing the tendrils to stop. But they didn't. They moved on their own, stretching out toward the statue, their movements slow and deliberate, almost gentle?

"Stop," Alex hissed, but his tendrils ignored him entirely. They snaked through the air, the tips trembling as they reached the cold, stone surface of the statue. The moment they made contact, a sharp jolt ran through Alex's body, and he gasped.

His vision blurred, and a flood of emotions surged into him, emotions that weren't his own. Loneliness so deep it felt like drowning. Rage so red it burned hotter than any fire. Grief so heavy it felt as if the world itself was falling. Alex fell to his knees, clutching his head, trying to make sense of the storm raging in is own head.

The statue remained unmoving, its hollow eyes seemingly staring into him now. The tendrils coiled tightly around its form, gripping it as if it were a lifeline—or perhaps as if it were feeding it  something. Alex couldn't tell.

"Why... why are you doing this?" he whispered, his voice trembling. His tendrils pulsed as if alive, the dark lengths twitching and tightening around the statue.

The oppressive silence of the dreamscape deepened, and for a fleeting moment, Alex thought he heard something—a whisper, faint and fragmented, like a voice from the depths of a memory long forgotten.

"This isn't right," Alex thought, panic rising in his chest. He tried to pull his tendrils back, but they didn't respond. They were locked in place, gripping the statue with a desperate intensity.

A faint golden tear seemed to form in one of the statue's hollow eyes, trailing down its stone face. Alex's who didn't notice this, breath caught as a wave of sorrow washed over him, sharper and more painful than before.

Suddenly, the connection broke. The tendrils released their grip and recoiled back away from it  as though snapped by  force. He fell backward, gasping for air, the weight in his chest lifting slightly but leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest.

The statue remained silent,  but its presence was much more noticeable now now, as though he had become aware of it—or perhaps it always had been that way. Alex stared at it, his mind racing.

 What was this place?

 Why had my tendrils acted on their own?

  what was this statue trying to tell me?

Whatever the answers were, Alex knew one thing for certain: this dream wasn't just a dream.

...........That or he was crazy like Alphys said he was.

The hollow sockets of the statue seemed to glow faintly, another golden tear slipping from one of its eyes. Alex felt as though it was watching him, crying to him, though it said nothing. The whispers around him grew louder, more distinct, as if voices were trying to reach him.

"Who... who are you?" Alex gasped, his voice cracking under the weight of the emotions coursing through him.

The statue didn't answer. Instead, For a moment, he felt a strange connection, as if the statue was trying to tell him something—something important—but the meaning was just out of reach.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the connection broke. The tendrils retracted, and Alex fell to his knees, panting and clutching his chest. The statue remained as it was, silent and still, though the golden tear glistened faintly in the dim light.

"Why can things never be simple, Why do i have to be the one in These situations.

With that final sentence his vision went dark.

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