⟪ complicated doesn’t even begin to explain it. nothing in this forsaken place makes sense; logic has abandoned its post, and with it crumbled universal laws dream has always known to be true. even kieren’s answer rings unsure — it’s like all his time spent here still fails to cast a clearer light on their predicament.

what. who. dream notices the subtle wince, which in turn deepens the crease between his brows. it’s the opposite, for him. he never knew who he was, beyond his function. there was never an opportunity for him to be anything else — anyone. and the possibility of choice, at long last, is the span of a single, nauseated heartbeat.

he can’t decide whether it’s a bad thing. he knows, deep down. selfishly. and it rolls uneasy in his stomach, airy between his lungs. ⟫

And do you… prefer to be different? ⟪ as opposed to what he was before. if it sounds a little like projection, it’s probably because it is. ⟫