[ The otherworldy thing that lives in the swampy depths of the woman called Annie Westwind observes. It likes nightmares. They are satisfying: a concoction of strong brain activity and adrenaline, sweat, panic. Something its psychic nature enjoys, like a human might enjoy a good true crime novel, gruesome but engrossing. The touch of tentacles does nothing to soothe Rogue's nightmares. They make it worse. Amplifying all the little details of Rogue's trauma into unescapable awareness.
This is especially easy when Annie shares so many of them.
It makes an ugly conglomerate of a nightmare. Too many dead bodies. Too much loss. Too much fear and helplessness. Things caged. Destroyed. But nothing is linear any longer, everything oozes organically into each other.
It's not exactly the first time for Annie, but it is the first time she's melted into another host quite so vividly. ]
does this work? somehow this is what I typed.
This is especially easy when Annie shares so many of them.
It makes an ugly conglomerate of a nightmare. Too many dead bodies. Too much loss. Too much fear and helplessness. Things caged. Destroyed. But nothing is linear any longer, everything oozes organically into each other.
It's not exactly the first time for Annie, but it is the first time she's melted into another host quite so vividly. ]
...Sorry, about this.