[Dimitri might step through Sylvain's mirror and expect to see a vision of wartime. After all, it's consumed Sylvain's life for the past five years, and it's the only remotely traumatic experience he acknowledges has happened to him. His past doesn't matter, but he can't deny the war.
Instead, as he steps through the icy surface, he'll step into a hall of stone, architecture clearly that of northern Faerghus. It might look at once familiar and unfamiliar - it wasn't often that a young Dimitri went to the Gautier estate, after all - more often than not, he came with his father to Fhirdiad instead, on the occasions they got to see one another.
Even so - this might still be an image of wartime. It might be an occasion in the five years between the assault on the monastery and everyone reuniting, if not for the echoes of surely-familiar voices around the corner.
"Miklan, stop-!"
Should he follow the voices, he'll turn the corner to see quite a scene. Sylvan, older, is leaning against one of the walls, quick to turn and look at Dimitri, averting his eyes from the scene playing out in front of them.]
Dimitri? Shit... you shouldn't see this...
["Shut up, you goddess-damned spoiled princess!"
And Sylvain, younger - no older than ten or eleven, already with a dark but healing bruise high on his cheekbone, already with a bloody nose and split lip, is lifted by his throat and slammed back against the wall hard enough to clearly, audibly, knock the wind out of him and leave him struggling to take a breath.]
>> Dimitri [cw: child abuse and attempted murder, suicidal ideation]
Instead, as he steps through the icy surface, he'll step into a hall of stone, architecture clearly that of northern Faerghus. It might look at once familiar and unfamiliar - it wasn't often that a young Dimitri went to the Gautier estate, after all - more often than not, he came with his father to Fhirdiad instead, on the occasions they got to see one another.
Even so - this might still be an image of wartime. It might be an occasion in the five years between the assault on the monastery and everyone reuniting, if not for the echoes of surely-familiar voices around the corner.
"Miklan, stop-!"
Should he follow the voices, he'll turn the corner to see quite a scene. Sylvan, older, is leaning against one of the walls, quick to turn and look at Dimitri, averting his eyes from the scene playing out in front of them.]
Dimitri? Shit... you shouldn't see this...
["Shut up, you goddess-damned spoiled princess!"
And Sylvain, younger - no older than ten or eleven, already with a dark but healing bruise high on his cheekbone, already with a bloody nose and split lip, is lifted by his throat and slammed back against the wall hard enough to clearly, audibly, knock the wind out of him and leave him struggling to take a breath.]