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| Details |
| Author: | Saaron |
| Summary: | On Saturday, before last week's episode, Iphindra falls asleep. After hearing a voice apologizing in the night, Iphindra has her very first dream. Soon, said dreams turn to nightmare, and everything familiar turns into a terrifying unknown. |
| Rating: | M for Mature 17+ |
“I’m sorry,” says a voice similar to hers. “It’ll be over soon, little one. Be brave.”
Iphindra eyes light up in the night, and her gaze wanders around the dark room. She sits up on her bed, the vines that had spread from her hair to the wooden bedframe retract back onto her body. There’s no one, and she doesn’t hear the voice anymore. It wasn’t a spirit either, that she knows for sure. Did the druid wake herself up in her sleep? That’s new!
The moonlight shines through the inn’s curtains, reflecting off of a simple mirror placed on the side of the room. Iphindra wrinkles her nose, sniffing the air. A familiar smell spreads through the room from the window. A comforting one. She jumps from her bed and begins tracking the scent, her nose up in the air, following the fragrance as if pulled forward by it. Barefoot, she would walk completely silently if it were not for the times she bumps into furniture, almost completely unaware of her surroundings. What is that smell? What does it remind her of? Why is she so hypnotized by it? She needs to have an answer to all of these questions, and she needs this now!
Iphindra walks past the mirror and catches a glimpse of the woman on the other side — a kaldorei, with pink skin and purple hair. They look alike — as much as Iphindra would admit an elf looks like her.
But she doesn’t care about the reflection looking at the ground, her eyebrows and the corners of her mouth pulled down. Iphindra’s walking, sniffing, and looking up at the cloud of smell that desperately calls her towards the balcony.
The druid opens the glass door. Where has she sensed this scent before? She keeps walking towards the edge, feeling the cold stone on the soles of her feet. When, exactly has smelled this? It feels so long ago. She puts her hands on the ledge. She knows it. She’s sure she knows it, but what is that fragrance? She climbs up, ready to follow it. The winds of Dalaran blow all around her. They’re not the ones carrying the scent, no. Her hair and the vines fly behind her as if pulling her back inside, back to bed, but she has to know. She’s too curious to let that go. She slowly extends her leg into the emptiness in front of her, still sniffing. It’s on the tip of her tongue. She takes another step. She’s so close to remembering what it is.
She falls. It’s not a long fall — it shouldn’t be. Her room is not that high up in the inn. But she falls. And she falls. And she falls.
But the smell…
As Iphindra’s body reaches the ground of Dalaran’s gardens — it hits her.
It’s home.
It’s the smell of Ashenvale.
“Iphi? Iiiiiiphiiiiiiindraaaaa?” After the familiar smell — it’s a familiar voice—a familiar giggle. A familiar wooden hand shaking her shoulder. “It’s not like you to nap like that. Wake up!”
Iphindra feels her soaking wet clothes pull her towards the ground as she tries to push herself up. Her hands and knees sink into the pool of blood — no — the mud, under her. The cold, sticky mud. It’s raining. Pouring, even. The smell — that was the rains of Ashenvale.
And the voice — it’s her sister’s, Idrana. “Come on, sleepy head, you’re almost back to the real world!” She says teasingly as Iphindra struggles to get up.
The smell — it’s everywhere now. Iphindra feels at peace, she feels safe. She would sleep just a little longer, if she could. She sits on her knees and uses her mostly—mud—free forearms to rub her eyes. “I- I’m sorry Nana, I don’t know… how long I’ve been asleep.” She turns to look at her sister.
Her faceless sister.
She knows it’s Idrana standing in-front of her on her four legs, clapping her hooves in the mud. She recognizes her, regardless of the face devoid of traits. Has Iphindra forgotten her sister’s face during her slumber? Is the heavy rain playing tricks on her eyes and obscuring the face of the person she holds dear?
“Whoa, tough time waking up, uh?” Idrana smiles — Iphindra doesn’t see it, but she hears the smile in her voice. All of its playfulness, all of its joy. “Here, let me help.”
The dryad goes to sit behind her sister and begins brushing her hair with her fingers, humming happily. The fingers on the branch-like arms of Idrana were usually soft, delicate, and moved swiftly through the knots in Iphindra’s hair.
Here though, it feels like Idrana was pulling it, and the fingers were longer; claw-like, leaving marks on the back of her neck. She brushes Iphindra’s hair under the rain for a long time — this never-ending rain. The druid hears the mud fall back onto the earth, sliming down her back. She feels her whole being become heavier from the water covering her body. She shivers when her sister’s claws hit her neck. Idrana takes a deep breath. “Do you feel that, Iphi? The whole forest is alive!”
Iphindra looks around. Ashenvale is as beautiful as ever. “Yes, it’s wonderful,” she answers, a smile growing on her face. She sees her sister’s unnaturally long arms on either side of her as she extends them, taking a break from the hair brushing. Idrana takes another deep breath. Iphindra’s gaze flutters around, taking it all in.
And that’s when she spots it.
The trees, the flowers, the grass. They are all staring at her. The trees’s barks begins to split open in places. Every plant bends unnaturally, with her as the center of it all. Pistils spill from nearby flowers. She puts her hand back in the mud, pushing herself up on her feet, and she sanks deeper into the puddle. And the more she looks around, the more the forest appears to look back.
Idrana doesn’t seem to notice. She keeps brushing Iphindra’s hair, but the latter wants her to stop — she needs her to stop. Iphindra turns around, facing her faceless sister. “Idrana, I-”
The dryad puts a finger on Iphindra’s lips, hushing her. She grabs both sides of the latter’s face, stroking gently. A familiar touch for the tactile doe. But her fingers, again, scratch at Iphindra’s skin. “I’m not sure you really feel all the life in the forest, Iphi,” she says, her voice calm and comforting. “But that’s okay, that’s not your fault. That’s just something you can never master.” Idrana giggles.
“I- I can’t?” Iphindra stutters, furrowing her brows in confusion.
“Well of course! All that lives emits… information! With its body, or in the air itself!” the dryad explains matter-of-factly. Her hands move lower down Iphindra’s face. “They tell the others around what they feel — joy, excitement, love, lust, fear, sadness, anger, and so many more!”
Iphindra nods. She knows that. She already knows that.
“The thing is — you can’t feel all of these emotions within yourself, so how could you feel and understand them from others? Hatred, despair, horror — all of those would kill you Iphindra. My poor, little Iphindra,” Idrana continues, putting her hands on Iphindra’s shoulders, her abnormally long wooden fingers reaching around her neck. The druid starts feeling weird then. Although dryads aren’t against physical touch — quite the contrary — her sister’s hands have been on her for a little too long, now. It’s beginning to feel uncomfortable.“You’re not an empty shell, but you’re as close as can be, for a living being. You’re incomplete. You’re pathetic. You’re weak, Iphindra,” she says joyfully.
Idrana’s fingers close dangerously around Iphindra’s neck, the claws piercing slightly through her skin. The druid can do nothing but stare in disbelief at her sister — a sister who’s suddenly speaking harsh words from an audibly smiling, invisible mouth. The plants around approach even closer, bark cracking all around them.
The pressure around Iphindra’s neck disappears, the forest stopping in its crushing, claustrophobic closeness. They were standing in a globe of trees — a wooden cage, made of living, breathing bark, with eyes staring from the other side. “Oh, oh! Let’s play a game!” Idrana says.
“A game? Now? I’d rathe- I’d rather go back to the others…”
“Well, we can play as we do,” Idrana claps excitedly. “Let’s play hide and seek. You’ll hide, and I’ll seek,” she giggles, her laugh echoing in their small, suffocating part of the forest. “Run.” Her voice grows serious, dark.
“Nana, I don’t want t-”
Idrana seems taller than usual — or Iphindra may be sinking deeper into the mud than she realized, as it now reaches her knees. Regardless, her sister seems to keep growing, and her voice grows too — stronger, louder. “I said run.”
“Na-”
“Run,” the dryad growls through her teeth. The rain over them amplifies, and the trees begin cracking again. Iphindra panickedly looks all around her. From the fallen pistils in the flowers, from the broken bark, from everywhere, red eyes stare at her. They all look. Glare. Everywhere she looks, they all stare back. The featureless face of her sister begins crackling like firewood. Iphindra cowers and looks away to avoid seeing one more of these eyes staring at her — especially from Idrana’s face.
“I’m almost done,” says the voice from earlier, calmly. More of a thought than a voice, actually, as it speaks directly from inside her mind. Perhaps it was a forest spirit after all… “Do as she says, for now, little one. Run.”
And to that order, she obeys.
Iphindra attempts to crawl her way out of the mud, moving her arms towards a less permeable ground. She stops for a second, turning only slightly towards her sister as she hears her speak. “One… two…” Hearing that, followed by her sister’s giggle, she frantically moves her arms, clawing at the ground. Attempting all she can to push herself out. She’s dragged down by the weight of her muddy, soaking wet clothes, and every move becomes progressively more exhausting.
“… Twenty—two… Twenty—three…”
Finally! Iphindra manages to free her legs. She begins running, but the exhaustion mixed with the dirt on herself weighs her down. She stumbles through the trees, panting.
“… Thirthy—five… Thirty— six…”
She doesn’t know where she’s going. She stumbles, hitting those trees unnaturally near each other, those trees following her, tracking her. Their roots make her trip as the eyes follow her closely, awaiting her final downfall. Iphindra has a hard time breathing. The more she runs, the less space she feels she has between the trees, as they slowly morph into a wooden cave surrounding her.
“Fifty! Ready or not, here I come~!” Idrana’s voice echoes, and morphs slowly. A deeper, unknown voice blends itself with hers, twisting into an odd, distressing new voice.
Iphindra wimpers, hearing the heavy hooves hitting the ground, more like a galloping stallion than the delicate jumps of a doe. The noises attack her from everywhere around, making her feel even more surrounded. A flight of small blue birds descend from the trees, throwing themselves at her face, talons first. The druid covers protects herself with arms and stops in her tracks. She attempts to speak to them, beg them to stop, calm them, yet they don’t answer. They continue striking her.
“Think, for Elune’s sake, think!” say Idrana and this other voice in unison. “You’ll never be a druid. Stop with this nonsense at once!”
Hearing the voice getting closer, Iphindra takes fear and pushes the birds away, now hiding her face inside her arms, and beggins running blindly.
“Come on, Iphindra, you’re not hiding very well today! I can see you,” giggles Idrana.
Iphindra uncovers her face once she doesn’t feel the birds wings around her. The rain mixes with the blooding running from the wounds on her face. She want to scream, but she doesn’t, she can’t let Idrana know where she is — just in case she’s bluffing. Still, she begins to lose hope. The more she runs, the smaller the forest feels, and the closer her sister’s footsteps get. She stops, perhaps Idrana was right — Iphindra should find someplace to hide instead. She extends a hand, asking politely for plants to move and leave space for her inside a bush. They don’t answer. At least not positively. Instead, vines lash at her arms, grabbing her and pulling her towards the ground.
“How are you so stubborn?” the two voices shout, coming from just around the corner. “There’s so much you could do, yet still you hold on to that childish dream. Grow up!”
So many emotions blend together in Iphindra’s mind — all emotions she doesn’t understand. She knows sadness — Linwel explained this one to her — except this time, it feels stronger. So much stronger. There’s something that has to be fear, as she feels herself looking around, wide-eyed, as her heart beats fast. That’s fear, in a lot of animals. The last one — that one came with the second voice within Idrana’s. Iphindra feels her fists clench, every muscle within her seeming to tense. The intense fear and deep sadness make her want to run, but this one feeling makes her want to fight. Except that she can’t. None of her powers are working, and even physically, she’s feeling so, so weak.
As soon as she frees herself and begins running once more, vines lash at her ankles, tripping her, dragging her back. Iphindra falls face first into the dirt, unable to do anything. She feels dizzy, her head spinning. The whole forest blends into a blurry landscape. Everything closes in on her.
Idrana shows her face. Her face cracked in half, with that red eye inside, staring at Iphindra. “Got ya!” She says joyfully.
The dryad stands up in front of her sister — seeming bigger than the forest around them itself. Rains pour above her, yet it seems to just fall right through her. She raises her hand, looking at it. “That’s quite enough,” she says calmly, in her dual voice. “The Emerald Dream isn’t for you. The Emerald Dream will never welcome you!” Idrana extends her arm behind her head, long wooden claws facing Iphindra, ready to strike.
“Oh, fuck you,” says the voice inside Iphindra’s head.
The druid closes her eyes as the deathly claws lunge at her.
Her breathing is weak. Her heartbeat, slow. Iphindra difficulty opens her eyes to find herself in a cocoon. She sees the whitered vines from her body having grown all around her, protectively, unaware of what had caused her so much distress during the night. Distraught regardless. Large chunks of the plants are dead and dry, and through them, Iphindra sees her room. The plants grew exponentially and overtook most of this place, before most life faded away with their symbiotic host’s own energy.
Again, like in her dream, Iphindra wishes to scream, but she can’t. She doesn’t have the strength to anymore. Doesn’t have the strength to make her way out of the plant armor, although she wish she could. She wish she could be outside, under the sun, the grass under her.
All those emotions she didn’t understand but felt during the night, they could have killed her. They almost did.
Iphindra breathes through her mouths, just enough to keep herself alive. Tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes. “I remember… I remember your face, Idrana. I remember it,” the whisper comes softly between two breaths.
The frozen woman feels a shiver run through her spine. The first ever since she got to Northrend.
How foolish was she to dream of having dreams as she slumbered.
Iphindra curls up, for a sleepless rest.