I told you ( such double edged meanings to his words, half truth and half something else. ) I do not dream.
( though he does, a dreamer at his heart. painting cruel ideas up in the fluff of dreaming clouds doesn't change their cruelty, though — you can dream up all manner of horrors. degrading, deficient things. nikolai lantsov's parted lips, parted legs — defiled.
not a dream. the darkling doesn't dream. he either has or he doesn't, and nikolai? well. he's not sure where he falls on that particular path. it should be one way, and yet he cannot deny the other, a weird impulse there to make certain nonexistent, unimportant, unremarkable dreams a reality. that drive, neverending. nights spent up recounting the forgotten king on his back, wondering if he and alina don't fall asleep under the same sky after all, nikolai painted beneath their eyelids. )
no subject
( though he does, a dreamer at his heart. painting cruel ideas up in the fluff of dreaming clouds doesn't change their cruelty, though — you can dream up all manner of horrors. degrading, deficient things. nikolai lantsov's parted lips, parted legs — defiled.
not a dream. the darkling doesn't dream. he either has or he doesn't, and nikolai? well. he's not sure where he falls on that particular path. it should be one way, and yet he cannot deny the other, a weird impulse there to make certain nonexistent, unimportant, unremarkable dreams a reality. that drive, neverending. nights spent up recounting the forgotten king on his back, wondering if he and alina don't fall asleep under the same sky after all, nikolai painted beneath their eyelids. )
You do. Do you not?