The cheerful cackling of the cabbage fossils rolling down/up the Hill of the Absurd stirs to action further dreamers (they do not, as such, awaken, because this is a dream), who blossom and unfold into their/our full splendifurious glories.
I, Catte! Felidae! who is you when I am speaking, feels the omnipresent dream nibbling at me, and you decide that I must do something about this. But what, you cannot yet determine, and so I fish a hand into a ephemeral stream of scrolls and deer, before raising out a grand scroll embossed all over with finest icing. A dream guide, my instinct mutters indistinctly, as it unfurls dramatically, completely blank, as all writing should be.
You read it studiously, and I understand and comprehend as the scroll tells me that to prolong life one must take daily walks, build and maintain bulwarks or scapegoats to take battering in your place, and grow fat from feasting on what your dynamo hungers for. As if summoned, my dynamo grumbles and mewls hungrily. For no cattes, cute or otherwise, seem to be visible, thus calling their factual cuteness into question, a most dangerous state of affairs. You manage to console me by convincing yourself that you are a cute Catte. Probably. Cuteness is just a social construct okay. If I say I'm cute then I am. Your dynamo still grumbles.
Almost as an afterthought, the scroll whispers to you that the ambitious may try to tame the wild horse of the Primordial Dream so that it does not trample so. A fool's errand, but what am I, if not a fool?
I, Lynn, the Lady of the Swan admire my feathered appearance in the perfect picturesque Lake of Idyll. There are certainly no monstrous shadows or ill-omened currents swirling in its depths, for why would I dream up such horrors? Absurd. Speaking of Absurd, my lake borders the bottomless, topless Hill of the Absurd, and the cackling of its horrid cabbage skeletons disturb my contemplation of my own scaled perfection, and appreciation of my beautiful lake. My chest feels terribly hollow and empty, my feeble dynamo letting out small whimpers as if frightened by the masses and masses of potential all around, completely unrealized, untapped.
Tob the Amazing attempts to self-realize, a single horn piercing into triumphant existence, but withers up and is swept away by a tide of crumply flowers, completely unable to persist without a suitable dynamo. Perhaps they will return again.
We, which is to say you and they, Brink of Catastrophe Advancing from the Horizon, Jauntily, does what they and I and also you believe to be impossible, quite a common occurrence in dreams. With the urgency and and suddenness of calamitous lightning, you which is they which is us plucks up one of the merrily cackling cabbages and transposes it at the top of the Hill of the Absurd which has no top. This is surprisingly easy to accomplish, but the result is quite damaging to look at. Our and their dynamo rumbles happily as you and they and I stare happily at the impossible, paradoxical handiwork of royal incoherence. The cabbage skeleton cackles uncertainly, rolling around in endless circles upon a single point, the proverbial, which is to say original, angel on a pinhead.
Thou art the Moon in Red, a Vermillion Memory. You succumb to grand solipsism sinking deeper and deeper into yourself, reveling in dreams of memories of dreams of blood and happiness not forgotten. And thus the Primordial Dream
bleeds, wounded grievously. A great gap is cut out of the riotous everything, and from it gushes a river of mostly red blood. It happily flows around, potentially up and also down, the Hill of the Absurd into the Idyllic Lake, quite spoiling its natural beauty. You are happy, and remember yourself from the eyes of Lynn, who stares at you. Thou becomes clearer in thine remembrances, perhaps.
The Primordial Dream seems slightly calmer. For certain definitions of slightly and calmer.
Name:
Brink of Catastrophe Advancing from the Horizon, JauntilyPerson: Messy
Dynamo: Hostility/Threat
Estimated Remaining Lifespan: 4 periods
I am Catte! Felidae!
I'm First Person, clearly! But Second Person when you're talking!
I exist because cattes are cute!
Estimated Lifespan: 3 periods
I am Lynn, the Lady of the Swan
I am, naturally, a first-person.
I am driven by realization, the blooming of potential.
I will live for another 2 periods.
You are the Moon in Red. Thou art the Vermilion Memory.
Person: Second
Dynamo: Sighted Memory
Estimated Lifespan: 3 Periods
Dreams:
Horrific Cabbage Skeletons: 5 Significance
Hill of the Absurd: 5 Significance
Lake of Idyll: 3 Significance
Scroll of Guiding: 3 Significance
Wound in the Primordial that is a Dream Which Bleeds with Great Fury into a Mighty Torrent Which Flows Onwards: 3 Significance
