The mirror remained.
She pushed the burnt dresser aside, watching as it and its contents disintegrated into ash.
Everything. Gone.
The official report from the authorities was arson. Someone, or persons, had broken into her house and started the fire.
Natalie had been at a conference in New Jersey at the time. She was employed at the university library, working in the conservation department. Her work routinely involved repairing very old, and very valuable, literature. The university was branded a research library, and therefore had an extensive collection of rare pieces. The seminar had covered some of the new techniques used in the industry.
The motives to why someone would try to burn down her house wasn't obvious, and she honestly had no clue. She figured it was simply random; teenagers up to no good and her house managed to be empty that night. Fraternity hazing was a common practice.
She was an introvert by nature. Her love of books only exasperated this disposition, and her friends were few and far between. Her modest income supplied her with the basics needs in life. She looked around her; taking in the remains of what was once a small, two-bedroom house. A dry tear escaped her right eye, quickly leaving a black trail as it died on her cheek. She wiped some of the soot off the mirror.
There it stood, unscathed, while everything else had burnt to cinders around it. How strange, but she supposed that she had seen stranger things in life.
This mirror had been a gift from a friend, Jenn, back when she first bought the tiny house. She had claimed she purchased it from an estate sale at an abandoned mansion in Boston. Why she had felt the need to lug it states away was beyond her. It clashed with Jenn's modern-day furniture, and, in the end, she had insisted that Natalie become the new owner.
Natalie was glad it had not burned up, but it would have been no painful loss if it had. The mirror had always creeped her out. She had is shoved in, what was, the corner of the guest bedroom, with a blanket thrown over the top. Nothing but ashes remained of the blanket.
Her hand ran over the ornate carvings of the frame. Yet, no damage to the wood…
Hefting it up, she proceeded to haul it out of the rubble, and into the back of her crossover. She had rented a short-term apartment while the insurance company debated about how much to fuck her out of.
"Oh! Look girl! My mirror!"
Natalie had been staying with Jenn for the past week, while she had signed a lease for an apartment. She was a nurse practitioner that worked for a cardiologist in the hospital nearby. It was Jenn's idea to come rummage through the ashes; Natalie was content to forget about it and move one. Material goods were not important, nor irreplaceable. However, it still stung.
"I'm really sorry Nat. You know if you need anything, all you have to do is say it."
Natalie stared at the black mound in front of her.
"Thanks Jenn, I think I'll be ok though."
[-]
scratch, scratch, squeak, scratch
Natalie woke up to the sound of something she had never quite heard before. She immediately jumped on her feet off the couch, where she had accidently dozed off. The sun was setting, casting eerie shadows across her sparsely furnished apartment. She grabbed the flashlight off the kitchen counter.
"God, please don't be rats." The reviews for the apartment complex mentioned a cockroach or two, but the landlords seemed to be quite proactive on pest control. These sounds though…these sounds large.
scratch, creek, scratch
She headed towards the noise. It seemed to originate from the mirror, off to the side, in the living room. That couldn't be right, it must be the acoustics of the building design.
scratch, scratch
Maybe it had termites…big termites? Or some small animal she didn't notice before?
The mirror wiggled. Well, she thought it did, but that could have been her mind playing tricks. Slowly, she crept around to face the front side, shining the flashlight on it.
Nothing.
She let out a long breath that she had been holding. It must be a critter in the walls between the apartments. The glass reflected a strange pattern back, which almost rippled like water on the ceiling.
Perhaps it was damaged from the fire?
Her hand cautiously reached out, running a finger across the metallic looking surface, verifying any inconsistencies. Oddly, there was no reflection, but it was solid.
It rippled.
This…this wasimpossible.
She yelped as a hand materialized from the mirror's surface. It was small, delicate, covered in a white cloth. The gloved hand latched around her wrist, painfully, then yanked her forward. Natalie closed her eyes, expecting to feel the impact of her face on the hard surface, hoping shards of glass didn't do any real damage. It felt like she was moving through syrup, and she opened her eyes, seeing nothing but blackness. She screamed, yet no sound was made, as her lungs feverishly burned.
Her head collided with a hard surface, and she collapsed like a rag doll on a blood-stained floor.
[-]
The back way into the clinic had paid off. The upper patio door was unlocked, and he slipped in, as quiet as possible. He had never trusted the " Iosefka" which this imposter claimed themselves to be, and instinctively knew something was off once she asked him to send more humans to her for "treatment".
He was wearing a modified version of an old hunter's set, which he had stumbled across during his first weeks within the nightmare. The knee length overcoat was easier to maneuver in, than many of the other standard Hunter's attire. Leather boots ended at the knees, with some additional ties at the lower thigh. This helped to lock in any material that may "come loose" during his exploits. The extra leather cloak, which wrapped around the top, kept most of the blood splatter off the internal pieces. The pointed hat that adorned his head kept his face clear of bodily fluids, and he rapped a sheet of cloth around the lower portion of his face. Thin brass guards were latched around his lower arms, weaving into the black, leather gloves.
He slowly crept along the abandoned, circular hallway, noting the strange silence. The occasional creak from the wood could be heard from his steps.
shuffle
He picked up the pace heading into the room that linked to the front entrance where he had various conversations with the women of this clinic. A blue celestial child stood in front of the door. It made no move towards attacking him. It simply stood there. A low, almost whimper, came from the creature. It dawned on him, and his large, brown eyes softened.
It was her. Iosefka. She had been turned into this…thing.
He could not leave her to such a cruel fate.
He snapped his wrist outwards, and the saw cleaver extended into a staff formation. Focusing on his center of balance, he bent low, twisting his upper torso. With a sharp lunge forward he sliced Iosefka's mutated head off.
The saw cleaver was an instrument of destruction and terror. He had ripped to shred thousands of people; some still human, others fully transformed into horrific beasts. It was a trick weapon of the Old Hunters; granted to him upon his first death in this nightmare.
Thoughts drifted back to that first awakening in the Hunter's Dream. To the first sight he laid his eyes upon. She was always there, watching. The beautiful doll, which was granted the breath of life. She was kind, she was patient.
But she wasn't real.
The woman that was real, lied dead at his feet…by his own hands, no less. Perhaps he deserved this nightmare, this, fate.
Closing his eyes, he refocused his senses. The pale blood, still dripping from his leather jacket, granting a small euphoria. The beast in him always craved more.
His head jerked behind him, and he sniffed. He smelled something. A sweet scent. It was foreign, and did not belong, here, in this nightmare.
He turned around, and stepped out of the front lobby, back into the dark corridor. He retraced his steps, and slipped to the right. This led to a great room, with a stair case on the far end. Wood paneling covered the entirely of the walls, and bookshelves aligned the bottom portions. Worn, wooden tables were scattered throughout, holding up random items of no interest. He heard slight moans echo above. They sounded painful. Keeping close to the walls, he made his way up the stairwell.
He cautiously peaked around the door frame. It was the imposter, kneeling on a medical table, in a birthing position. The woman was twitching and groans of extreme pain would occasional tear themselves from her throat.
"God I'm nauseous... Have you ever felt this? It's progressing. I can see things... I knew it, I'm different. I'm no beast... I... Oh... God, it feels awful... but, it proves that I'm chosen. Don't you see? How they writhe, writhe inside my head... It's... rather... rapturous…"
He had enough. This woman was a monster…delusional in her grandiose attempts to become the mother of an infant Great One.
Flicking his wrist, the saw cleaver folded upon itself. The sharp bits of bone and steel protruded, wrapped within blood soaked cloth. He thrusted it upwards, splitting her open. The body twitched, and he could see where alien tendrils had started to spread inside her internal organs.
Reaching inside, he found her swollen uterus, and pulled it out. Tearing it open, he yanked out a partial umbilical cord. There was an infant in development, deformed, as usual. He threw it on the floor and crushed it.
He was a monster. A beast. All that mattered was ending this hellish dream.
That strange scent. It danced across his senses, yet again. The smell was overwhelmingly strong, and his inner beast growled, restlessly.
He looked to his left. There was a bloodied body, laying on its stomach on another medical table. It had various tubes connected to their arms, running into buckets. It looked to be a simple bloodletting…not an attempt at transformation. Strange. Perhaps its blood could help support an infant? His inner beast stirred, it wanted a taste.
A small whimper came from the near corpse. It sounded…feminine.
It turned slightly, revealing a beautiful face, covered in blood and bruises. Her eyes were glossy with dilated pupils. A beautiful shade of blue locked their gaze upon him, as a pale, shaking hand reached out. It was covered in blood, which slowly dripped onto the puddle on the floor.
"Please…help."
He flicked his wrist, once again extending the saw cleaver into its "trick" form. It would be easier to end her now. She would never survive if left on her own.
It would be mercy, the same as what he granted Iosefka.
Another whimper slid out of the pathetic creature in front of him. Her breath was raspy. She was trying to speak again.
"Pinch…IV…it will…stop…bleeding…"
How…intriguing.
He moved closer to the dying figure. She was desperately trying to close the open incisions in her arm, still connected to the tubes that were draining her life. More blood leaked out, and small gasps of pain escaped her partially open mouth, as she failed to disconnect herself from the means of her rapidly approaching death.
He put pressure over her arm, and with one quick yank, ripped the tubes out. A scream echoed the abandoned clinic, followed by a heart wrenching sob. Blood splattered across his chest. The beast within him let loose a guttural growl.
Just one taste.
She was clothed in strange garments. It was a material and design he had never seen. She wore pants, but that was not entirely uncommon for the women in Yharnam. He ripped some cloth off of the dead imposter, tearing it into long strips, and proceeded to tie, tightly, the open wound on the mysterious woman's left arm.
She still had some tubes in her right arm. He leaned over her bloodied form, and repeated the process. She only gasped this time, as the pain knocked her out cold. He tied the wound tight, waiting until the blood congealed. Where would he take her? The only safe place he could think of would be Oeden Chapel. However, it was a long walk from where they were, and he was unsure he could carry her while fighting the various insane denizens. He doubted the messengers would allow her into the dream.
He glanced back down at the bloodied, barely alive woman. Perhaps…perhaps they would make one exception.
He lifted her up bridal style, in his arms. She was a little heavier than most of women he had come across; obviously being well fed and cared for. Her mouth hung open, and he noticed her teeth were white. That was…unheard of. Some blood began to trickle down from her bandaged arms, onto his gloves.
He carried her through the newly opened front door of the clinic, down the stairs past where he first "signed the contract". It was something he regretted every moment of his miserable existence.
The lamppost and lantern laid at his feet. He knelt down with her still in his arms, lowering her on the floor, carefully. The tiny messengers sprung up from the foggy basin around the stand. Small, white and sickly hands reached out, touching the woman. He laid her fully on the ground next to them, and stepped away. Either they would take her or ignore the body.
The little babes seemed delighted. More popped up from the foggy puddle that started to grow larger. Eventually, the puddle encompassed her entire form, with the messengers touching, caressing, and pulling on her strange attire.
Within a blink of an eye, she sunk into the floor and disappeared in a mist. A few messengers remained at the base of the lamppost, bopping in and out of the fog, awaiting his arrival, should he choose it.
He had to finish some business, first, back in the woods. He would inquire later where the strange woman was taken. He sniffed at his hand, lifting his cloth mask downwards over his mouth and licking some of the near dried blood.
Yes…he would definitely inquire about her later.
[-]
Natalie woke up with a splitting headache. It hurt to open her eyes, and she felt like something was wrapped around her head, tight.
Oh, what a nightmare. She dreamt she was in some Victorian age mansion, with creepy hospital beds, and some crazy woman trying to drain her dry of her blood.
Judging from the bandage she felt on her head, combined with the nauseous headache, she must have accidently hit her head in the apartment. Whatever she was sitting on felt hard. A hospital bed?
She must have hit her head real hard.
"Please try not to move so much, your wounds need time to heal."
That was…an interesting accent. Where was the nurse from? It hurt too much to open her eyes, so she laid on her uncomfortable bed, in the dark, taking her best shot at guessing. Maybe eastern Europe.
Cold hands touched her left arm, fussing with a bandage. Extremely cold hands. They didn't feel fleshy…but very stiff. Maybe the gloves? She let out a small laugh. It was simply the effects of her dream, playing tricks on her mind. How childish of her.
"Thank ya, ma'am." A strong, southern accent accidently rolled off her tongue.
The stiff hands stopped, as if surprised by her voice.
"Rest. Should you need anything, I will be nearby."
The nurse seemed to possess a warm and polite personality. What a change from the entitled, rude bitches in the cardiology department. Her dad had heart issues, and being the closest child, the duty mostly fell to her to watch over him. Her mother had died years ago. It was how she had become fast friends with Jenn; Jenn being the only non-bitch nurse that the hospital seemed to possess.
She sighed. She wondered who found her. Where was everyone, anyways? Natalie wearily reached a hand towards where the nurse's voice had last come from.
"Ma'am, do you know if my family is here? I would like to see them." She paused. "Well, touch and talk to them, at least."
There was an odd silence that perpetuated her hospital room.
"I am truly sorry, but your family is not here. You are in the Hunter's Dream."
The what?
She felt around on her "bed", only to discover that it consisted of blankets on a wood floor. She felt her arms. They were sore, and thick cloth was snuggly wrapped around her elbows.
Oh my god…it wasn't a dream.
This was real.
Panic set in. She tried to roll over, but even that was an exhausting endeavor. She fought the crippling pain and opened one eye. A hazy image of a tall woman in a dress appeared, before she passed out again.
[-]
The foreigner was indeed odd. Her smell was not of the dream, nor the ones which interconnected to it. Her blood was pure; it had not been tainted by any of the Elder ones. The essence of it seemed rich, sustainable. It was no surprise she was being bled out by the healing church fanatics. The Healing Church member was correct in her assumption of the blood's qualities, as she had quickly managed to become pregnant after the first transfusion.
The strange woman's body had materialized in the small trail to the left of the workshop. The messengers that carried her through were ecstatic, but concerned for her well-being. They were fundamentally kind beings. Whispers echoed that the Hunter had found the girl.
Oh, good Hunter.
She had seen many hunters come and go since the Dream first awakened. She loved all of them dearly, the current one no different. It was what she was created to do. The task they underwent was always rough and greatly painful; both mentally and physically. Her purpose was to provide them comfort and stability, but, even with that, the pain of loss quickly followed as each Hunter would eventually be granted release from the Dream. Gehrman remains, but he is tiring of the dream.
Perhaps, one day, the cycle may end.
The doll stared among the countless gravestones that line the area. If she were human, she would weep; Gehrman was not the only one who had grown tired of the needless death.
Her thoughts drifted back to the foreigner. If she is not part of any of the dreams, then where does she come from? Was it a nightmare as well? Does a Great One rule her reality as well? Well, they couldn't have; her blood would carry some trace of their presence.
She would wait patiently until their guest awoke later. Gehrman was oblivious to her presence, but she doubted that the old man would care. He had mostly withdrawn himself into complete isolation. She hoped he would show another kindness, though, and at least offer the woman some comfort.
