You say you're getting better,
But you don't feel any better.
Black. She sees nothing but black.
You see, dreams are funny like that. Your mind conjures them up from memories, thoughts, feelings. Sometimes, it turns them into something peaceful, tranquil; something that makes you feel warm, safe, much like you did as a wee babe nestled against your mother's breast.
However, the mind can also use dreams to show you the one thing you never wanted to see.
Your inner Demon, your true nature.
Lacie knows which of these she's experiencing. And she's non too happy about it.
Her body appears malnourished, emaciated. Her ribs poke at her sides, a child jabbing a stick unto a dead frog. Her snowy white fur, usually soft at best, is coarse, unpleasant to touch. There is a hint of grey smeared all over her coat.
Dirt, and grime; she is the factory worker, covered in it all, oil and sweat, tired and hungry from a day's hard work. Surely, a warm bath, and a hot meal would do the trick.
Except, she won't be getting any here.
Light, bubbling laughter waltzes through the empty space; her body shivers in response, unable to suppress the terror she is feeling. She doesn't know who is there, or even what is there - she cannot explain this sudden desire to scream and wail, tears burning her face.
Another round of laughter is heard; but it seems to echo more, and it sounds slightly louder.
Is there more than one? The echoes and sudden increase in volume seem to suggest it. But she knows from experience that sound has a tendency to trick the mind; it could just be one...thing here.
She finally finds the strength to speak, her body still shivering, tears gathering in the corner of her eyes. Her voice is loud, but strained, her throat tight; she feels like she's choking.
Who's there?
The laughter returns, hysterical, highly entertained by this smeared, white doe. She tries to be so tough, but she's so weak...
You're pathetic.
It's the voice of a young child, sickly sweet. There's no hiding the venom in the tone, however. It's the perfect blend of sugary honey, tainted with rat poison.
Lacie wheels around, trying to find the source of the voice. She stops moving, however, when she feels her legs shake even more. One more move, and her legs will buckle, sending her sprawling onto the empty surface below.
What did you say? She attempts to sound threatening, only to sound like a cornered animal, terrified, unstable.
The child's laughter rings loud and clear, the sound of playful teasing, chasing butterflies on a warm summer day.
It is quite out of place in this realm.
Foolish, selfish, stuckup...
The child says it lightly, as if naming flowers in a field.
Wretch, idiot, child, crybaby...
Lacie is frozen, her head facing the ground. Her legs and ears are the only thing moving, rattling like a baby shaking a toy.
Smoke, white, oddly gentle, skirts her feet, moving to where she can see it fully, clearly.
Words form at her feet, her eyes going wide as she reads the words that appear before her.
You are my whore.
A low growl rumbles from her throat, as she finally finds the strength to rear, smashing the smoke with her front hooves. The smoke dissipates, but the laughter crawls to her; amused, wicked.
You're a silly little thing.
She feels pinpricks along her back, her neck. She shudders deeply, as she raises her head. There are new words forming just inches from her face.
As the child's laughter rings loud, psychotic, Lacie feels her world spin, her pupils dilated.
No one is around to hear the dull thud of her body against the ground.
