30th of Saun 722
From the wardrobe, to the sock drawer where Woe expected to find his shoes, Woe walked barefoot, over the scurrying rats and spiders. Crow watched from the window as ever, obscured slightly by mist. The dirty window provided plenty of light, even though it was
dirty
from so much dust.
Woe made it to the sock drawer, where his belts, shoes, and other such things usually were stored. He tried to open it, but the wood jammed, warped as it was. Woe furrowed his brow, trying to twist and turn the compartment this way and that.Oh but this was pointless, trying to physically
wrench
the drawer out of its moorings. Woe stood back, and frowned pulling a key
that happened to be in the pocket of the coat he'd gathered from the wardrobe. The key, he thrust into the lock of the drawer, and with that incorporated into the drawer, he willed it to change its nature, now connected as it was to the axis of his own soul. Yet, as he made the slightest change, the drawer disobeyed, taking on forms far different than he had meant to. Shards of wood like teeth ringed the edges of the drawer, giving it a savage maw, which it then turned on him, sliding toward him, or was he sliding toward it?Then he was swallowed whole by the toothed drawer, and into his sock drawer he fell.
He tumbled end over end, until he hit the dirty path that splayed out before him. He could hear Crow's cries, raucous and angry as he came to his senses within the wooded path. His hands searched the ground, as he grew accustomed to the foggy atmosphere, his eyes adjusting to the poor visibility. In the gloom, he could perceive... well not much at all. He felt around on the ground, and his fingers grazed something silky, stemmed, and wet at the tip of the stem. It was a feather, that had been pulled violently, as if from a living bird. Woe thought of Crow.
"Crow, what's wrong? Where are you?" He took the
bloodied feather
and stuffed it into his pocket as he walked barefoot along the dirty path. There, set upon the path, he wenet forward, following the sounds of Crow's racket, as she cried for horror at some hidden menace
. Woe feared what it might be, but now that he was in the sock drawer, presumably, he'd still have to find something for his feet. Even so, he continued to step on disembodied feathers with his feet, feeling their silky texture against his toes as he found them. He'd reach down and gather them up like so many breadcrumbs
.Try as he might, he could not shake his guise as a young child during these dreams. The harder he tried to change his own shape and nature in the dream, the more elusive control became. So he was stuck, as a young ten-year old boy. Lost in the woods, following the braying of Crow, and fearing Mother's punishment if she found him out of doors.
