Work Text:
The end of a dream is always loneliest for Nem, for unlike the dreamers who are greeted by the sunlight in their eyes, Nem is plunged into the darkness of her mind.
Form dissolves, colors melt, and the curtain drops—another spectacular performance. But there is no applause waiting for her, not even a row of empty seats at the theater.
She crawls into a ball, hugs her knees to her chest. This void has long become home to her.
Someone find me.
Please come find me.
Please.
From time to time, a flicker of light.
Purple, wispy.
A butterfly.