[The Hunter, Nathanial, didn't respond right away while he listened and thought over her words. Over their situation. There was still so much he did not know, for all that he'd transcended humanity itself. Was it because he was in a human shell and form? Would he even be fully capable of understanding all the unknown and unknowable, with that limiter placed upon him?
Then there was the Doll. She had come to the Waking World--and was that only his doing? Or hers? Or some combination of them both or something else entirely? Studying her, head tilted very slightly as pale golden-brown eyes watched her. Another sip of tea to anchor himself and focus.
She was not flesh, nor bone and blood, muscle and sinew and tissue and all the things a living body usually was composed of. Her fingers wrapped around her own cup were still jointed and made of porcelain, her form and features still impossibly perfect in that way only a 'doll' could be made to be so. He knew she could feel 'hot' and 'cold' as sensations, and pressure in terms of touch--but how was she tasting? Was she? What senses did she possess and where might they be the same or similar to a human's?
Reality was so much more vast and fluid than could be easily comprehended without falling to madness. More eyes to see allowed one to glimpse what lurked at the edges of what was reality for that moment though. To make sense of the incomprehensible, to see that which was unseen and to try to see the whole of it. That was madness and perhaps that was what allowed the Doll to eat and drink, to live in the Waking World when such a thing shouldn't be.]
If they do not diminish, it's likely you'll grow more used to them. They will not seem so vivid and shocking. Nightmares becoming old and comforting friends, as the devil you know. Until you come up with dreams of your own.
[The Hunter's voice was thoughtful, soft. Pondering on many things.]
Did you ever ask others before me, about their lives? Did they remember, before the Longest Night?
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branchandroot
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Date: 2023-10-13 03:19 am (UTC)Then there was the Doll. She had come to the Waking World--and was that only his doing? Or hers? Or some combination of them both or something else entirely? Studying her, head tilted very slightly as pale golden-brown eyes watched her. Another sip of tea to anchor himself and focus.
She was not flesh, nor bone and blood, muscle and sinew and tissue and all the things a living body usually was composed of. Her fingers wrapped around her own cup were still jointed and made of porcelain, her form and features still impossibly perfect in that way only a 'doll' could be made to be so. He knew she could feel 'hot' and 'cold' as sensations, and pressure in terms of touch--but how was she tasting? Was she? What senses did she possess and where might they be the same or similar to a human's?
Reality was so much more vast and fluid than could be easily comprehended without falling to madness. More eyes to see allowed one to glimpse what lurked at the edges of what was reality for that moment though. To make sense of the incomprehensible, to see that which was unseen and to try to see the whole of it. That was madness and perhaps that was what allowed the Doll to eat and drink, to live in the Waking World when such a thing shouldn't be.]
If they do not diminish, it's likely you'll grow more used to them. They will not seem so vivid and shocking. Nightmares becoming old and comforting friends, as the devil you know. Until you come up with dreams of your own.
[The Hunter's voice was thoughtful, soft. Pondering on many things.]
Did you ever ask others before me, about their lives? Did they remember, before the Longest Night?