Title: Optophobia
Summary: Fear of opening your eyes.
In Terezi's daymares, the world is terrifyingly tasteless.
Her dream-self will tread the floors of her looming forest, the lavender leaves above and below her trembling silently with wind she can't feel, the soothing scent almost at the tip of her nose, but not quite.
She'll swim in a deep, blood-blue river, immerse herself until she feels like she'll drown, swim down deep and watch the silver fish shine, their sugar-white scales invisible to her clogged nostrils, the cloying water just barely choking her with blueberry syrup, but not quite.
She'll fly the skies on the back of her lusus, lean into the wind, arms spread at her sides and face turned to the moons, she can almost taste the bubblegum and lime, sniff the candy and melon, whirl in a blanket of smells and tastes that warm her to her toes, but not quite.
In these dreams her eyes are perfectly functional, but she his blind.
She wakes up in a terror, clutching her face and wheezing and coughing wonderful sour apple slime, remembering the terror of stark reds, dry blues, bleak yellows, bland purples, all the same flat, impersonal, half-complete foreign, alien colors that all feel the same to her eyes.
How her friends manage to live her daymares every night, she has no idea.
