![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
❄ april things [open]
Who: Crymaria & ???
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
antiquating))
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
When: Throughout April
Where: Aefenglom, dream hellscape mirrors
What: Mostly open event prompts! However, if you're full up on memory dives or find these unappealing, there's also cake baking! and pet wolf spoiling.
Warnings: human experimentation/torture is the big one. wartime violence. suicidal ideation may come up for prompts ii and iii especially.
((For all memory prompts, the events coming from Crymaria’s perspective means nearly everything will have an atmosphere of overwhelming anxiety just rumbling in the background. Think of water dripping in the other room but really irregularly, and you don’t know if the next drip is when the pipe is going to burst. Or your preferred metaphor for a brain running in neurotic mode. I did more summary than scene in most of them which hopefully creates room for people to jump in where they want 🙏 if you want anything specific or want to chat you can find me at
i. at the looking glass house;
[By far the worst part of these waking dreams is that she is alone in all of them; without Fenrir’s calming presence at her side, Crymaria is always drifting in and out of awareness, wandering these unfortunate landscapes like a specter and just about as useless.
If only the inviting glimmer of the mirrors meant that passing through one would bring her somewhere else. Not home, but a somewhere else she hasn’t discovered yet. But Crymaria knows better, after all.
The frame of her own mirror is carved to appear as though winter encrusts it all, though in the shapes of snow and ice a closer look would reveal smaller hidden details etched into their curves: crystalline flowers, a wolf howling, a single bolt of flame.
She’s just about to touch the surface when she hears someone approaching behind her, and she pulls away and back into herself, adapting as aloof a demeanor as she can immediately toward whoever happens to be here.]
Do whatever it is that you need. It’s not as if this place can make any more of a mockery of my life than it already has.
[Her voice is cold as she dismisses whatever’s behind the mirror, but her body language is nothing short of defensive. She keeps her arms crossed close to her chest; it’s not as if anything else is going to protect her.]
ii. the chosen and the unchosen;
[It’s warm here, perhaps unexpected given the icy symbols wrought into the mirror frame, but the pervasive, thrumming anxiety is everywhere. The people, the landscape, everything’s present enough but blurry and indistinct as if the memory is just fading in, as though what occurred before that point is hazy, stifled or drugged away into uncertainty. There’s some distant conversation, a never-quite reconciled “where am I?” and yet the people and the surroundings don’t fade into focus until -
”Selvaria?”
Selvaria Bles is two years younger and a hair shorter than Crymaria, but it’d be impossible to tell that from this memory alone. She seems impossibly tall, her voice confident and rich. She’s an icon more than she is a person, her commanding presence towering over the constant anxious hum. Beautiful and untouchable and yet so, so wrong. A mix of awe and spite highlight all of her positive features and yet make the entire day’s events feel as negative as possible; Crymaria’s memory twists every word from Selvaria’s mouth and condescending and dismissive.
Perhaps you, having come through the mirror to witness this, will see the battle that ensues?
Or perhaps the fight doesn’t happen for you. By the time Crymaria has worked herself into a frenzy, power coiling around her as she repeats herself in a violent rage—“I’ll show you! I’ll kill you!”—the landscape and the actors once again become fuzzy.
But do you think it really mattered who won, in the end?]
iii. until my final sunset; (CW medical experimentation, torture; threads might also include suicidal ideation)
[Time in this memory does not seem linear in the slightest; instead, whoever ventures into the mirror this time will encounter a tangle of events, difficult place in order but still so, so vivid. The laboratory in the frigid north is as cold inside as the snowy wilderness beyond its walls, and Crymaria is surrounded by other girls, but she is alone. Researchers fetch her from her quarters and bring her into other rooms. The Crymaria in the memory is grown and yet she looks and feels impossibly small, dwarfed by the other Valkyria girls who torment her for crying, by the apparatuses used in each examination.
The experiments vary depending on the day, but they are nearly all painful.
And it seems to go on forever, which may be the real pain of this memory, that it runs more like a slideshow than a shadow play and shows no signs of ending. For now, all the witnesses are trapped here, just like the version of Crymaria who lived through the memory. What is there to be done?]
iv. what a fool; (brief mentions of the cw from prompt iii)
[The uncomfortable atmosphere isn’t entirely lacking from this memory, but, unlike the others, there’s a warm quality to it. There are no surprises here; just Fenrir, and Crymaria, and a man. No explosions, no hidden torments; just conversation and someone foolishly trying to get too close to her, acting as if he cares. It’s annoying. Utterly annoying. But by the time Fenrir chases Walz across the snowy field, growling protectively, she’s smiling.
The real Crymaria, the one who finishes watching this memory, remains with that same, almost fond smile on her face even after everything has faded away.
Then it’s gone.]
After that, I was here. All that really did have to be a lie, in the end.
v. piece of;
[In the waking world, there's a little more peace. Though Crymaria still hasn't quite shaken her loner nature and generally keeps to herself, she’s also been doing some part-time work at Piece of Cake, responding to the call on a whim and a need for a financial cushion. She's a rare enough sight around town that working behind the scenes is much easier, besides.
She is not a baker by trade or by nature, and it shows in how she struggles with measuring things to an exact science, how messily the ingredients are strewn through her hair and on her clothes, but the routine procedures also seem to be somewhat calming for her. She’s very focused, even around other people who may have picked up the part time job, and surprisingly…approachable and willing to help, even as she crouches down to look closer at the level of her dry ingredients to see if they're integrated properly.
Alternatively, someone might even catch her sneaking out to deliver a wolf-approved treat or two to Fenrir, who’s staying out of the kitchen (for sanitation reasons, obviously) in a safe place, looking a little suspicious and sneaky about it, stealing a glance over her shoulder every so often.]
no subject
which happen to be closer to crymaria, as it stands. not quiet at her side, but close enough that, if he were to lift his hand, he might touch her. ]
I don't know if I had expectations.
[ for what he was to see. if he had realized with more certainty that this were to be crymaria's memory, then... dread, probably. nothing good. she so rarely seemed a happy person. instead of reaching out to her, like he might be tempted to, his hands fold together at the small of his back. ]
But, something like that, [ he should have known. ] had been breathtaking.
no subject
[She hears him come closer until they stand side by side, and only then does she stop staring at the dissolving past to acknowledge his presence. Maybe she's surprised by his praise, because Crymaria takes a moment after Viren's compliment to study his face, trying to read the emotion in his expression.]
... I wasn't able to control it. [It doesn't matter how strong she was as a Valkyria if she couldn't do as she was told. Her brow furrowing in consternation, Crymaria begins muttering in a soft, rapid voice.]
But why... I don't understand! Why bring me here if they didn't want me to use my powers for the only thing they're good for?! [Even knowing that it's unfair to expect from him, Crymaria looks at Viren as though he might give her an answer to something he can't possibly understand.]
no subject
I would disagree. [ reptilian eyes glimmer, and his voice is unwavering. ] Your powers could be good for more than that.
[ he doesn't understand it exactly, no. he can only imagine understanding, extrapolate, make connections in the idealistic manner he would prefer. ]
[ his next words are, however, much more tailored for crymaria's listening, curious as to whether he can pick up on her anger, what he's been witness to before: ]
But— wouldn't you think, then? [ his gaze narrows. ] That it's their fault?
no subject
[She hasn't realized, not yet, just what provides the bright Ragnite-blue power that propels the snow cruisers, but it will dawn on her the longer they travel down this path of conversation. Which might not be the best outcome: To know that what makes these ships capable of crossing the Crystal Sea is just another group of girls taken and turned into pawns for the sake of war might crack what is already fragile within her.]
Their fault? [she repeats.] I don't - I don't know. No! [Crymaria glances back at Viren.] I... It's my fault for being weak. It has to be...my fault.
[It sounds like she's repeating not only her own self-doubts, but something that's been told to her over and over again until it becomes an ingrained response.]
no subject
[ viren sounds... baffled, genuinely affected by her response. his voice lilts with an edge of unease, tossing his hand out in the direction of where those "angels" had stood before they'd faded from sight. ]
No. [ somewhat tentative, at least in contrast to her immediate protest. he only knows so much, after all, and has to try to piece together what he does into a coherent picture. ] In making use of you, they've hurt you.
[ his eyes flash -- he's felt her scars, he wants to say. but he can't know who precisely was responsible for that. ]
What is it? [ his eyebrows raise. ] Are they responsible for you, honing your powers, and using them for ... [ a pause ] their gain, or not?