Disclaimer: I don't own this.
AN: There will be parts written in italics, I hope it will do the desired effect, namely confusing you. It is full of metaphoric meanings-I hope so- and imageries. There will be some explanations at the end, but don't read them yet so you won't be spoiled.
Warning: It is AU and barely has a plot. It is yaoi and LightxL. Some violence, and dubious consent.
Also this humble fic of mine is a dedication. The dedication list is at the bottom, too.
Enjoy and leave a review if you have time.
-
Through the Gate of Horn"Two gates there are for our evanescent dreams,
one is made of ivory, the other made of horn.
Those that pass through the ivory cleanly carved
are will-o'-the-wisps, their message bears no fruit,
The dreams that pass through the gates of polished horn
are fraught with truth, for the dreamer who can see them."
I saw a dream...
He woke up all alone in his bed. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Again… Only one hour of sleep… His eyes were burning with the need to sleep more, but his mind, quickly kicking in, started to work in frenzy. As always…
He struggled to turn back to the sweet realms of dreams but to no avail. He sighed, his hand going under the pillow to find two old coins there. He didn't question why. He just got up, put the coins in his trousers' pocket and went to take a shower.
When he was finished, he stood by the large glass window to watch the night still reigning in the sky. He toweled his honey coloured hair and with the backs of his hands he rubbed his still burning caramel eyes.
His notebook was lying open on the table, the study lamp still lit. He stalked towards it and without thinking he took the ripped piece of paper beside it and put it in his pocket, too. He realized that there was a small glass bottle. It was empty; so he discarded it into the waste bin absentmindedly. He returned his gaze to the notebook again. No, he didn't want to continue tonight. He needed sleep. And he knew how to get it.
He dressed, hid the notebook and got going, closing the door upon his restless room.
He walked under the moonless night, his brows knitting together, thinking. Of all the people who shared this very same sky, he was the one who needed a peaceful mind the most, and then again he was the one who was wide-awake as usual. "When will my seventh day come?" he wondered to himself sarcastically. "When will I discard this guilty conscience in me?"
He passed the streets, still damp with the last evening's rain. Pools of rain adorned the lower parts of the sidewalks; occasionally gazing in them, he stopped by a stop to wait for a nighttime ride across the city.
He stood by the misty river gazing at his own reflection, waiting for the ferryman. The inverted torch in his hand was casting ominious patches of yellow light on the surface of the seemingly bottomless river. Sky was dark, earth was mute and wind was cold.
Water was just like a mirror telling him of himself, showing him the faces he bore, carrying long lost words uttered by his lips; all hazy and quickly slipping away before he could even manage to discern the actual memories they represented.
As the ferryman approached, thesingle paddle disturbed the stillness of the dead water with soft splashing sounds that echoed in the heavy air that surrounded him. The boat sailed closer and the ferryman held out a hand. His fingers so thin and white, almost like a corpse's. His head always lowered and his voice hushed.
"To the bank across?"
He nodded and stepped into the boat, too big for only one passenger. He went to sit at the other far end of the old wooden boat and his hand threw two rusty old coins to the ferryman who grabbed them in the air.
The single paddle started to dig into the stillness of the river that seemed to have a life of its own upon closer look. The passenger hung his head. The torch he held was flickering in the cold breeze, creating all sorts of broken shards of memories rippling around the gracefully sailing silent ferry.
He gazed and gazed at them, unable to figure out any of the times that the persistent memories belonged. In his eyes there was a tranquil sadness. None of the things he saw mattered to him or managed to make him remember anything. Yet there was a feeling of repetitiveness and a continuation of stillness, of unchanging, of just… being. In his heart he recognized the feeling, yet his mind couldn't place a finger on it, it was as if he was just hanging in somewhere in the existence.
Everytime he passed justice, it seemed to lose a shade in its value and he was second-guessing himself, something he never did before…before he met him. His mind seemed to only come to life and find a purpose to be sharp after he had found the notebook. Yet one part of him was missing. Everytime he woke up from a fitful one-hour's sleep he felt like he had been awake forever and he had been like that since he was born. Everything he did seemed to be the repetition of itself and it was tiring, like a never-ending dejavu, to live in that empty, unsatisfying life.
The ferryman didn't utter anything more and never cast a glance at him. He just towed the dark boat among the equally dark yet alive-like-a snake river. The water continued its murmuring and its passenger's lowered gaze stayed anchored on the familiar yet meaningless images that swam about the shadowy heavy liquid-mirror.
When the ferry reached to the other bank the ferryman helped his passenger and handed out a small glass bottle to him. "Don't forget this, my Lord." He nodded lightly as he took the offering and stepped on the dry shore.
He walked for some time and reached his destination. He raised his inverted torch high and gazed around as he started to roam on a foamy mist.
He was now walking around the outskirts of the city. Houses stood seperated and far from each other, streets wide and lonely. This suburbian area reminded him of himself and his loneliness. He was standing alone, deprived of the sole consolation in his life who was trapped by his own hands in one of these old, haunted looking houses. There was a familiar fog swimming around the unkempt gardens of the houses; unlit windows tired and blind, sidewalks damp, air nearly rotten. He rounded corners, walked under the eerie illumination of the street lamps and reached to the house he was looking for.
Before his eyes, there was a forgotten garden where no ray of the sun could reach, no human foot could step on and no sound could dwell except for the soft murmurings of the river he left behind, the name of which he forgot long before.
Flowers were scattered around the forbidden place, all of them miraciously alive and full of sweet scents. Silence was sweeping around the sleepy solitude of their silvery petals. Blooms of poppies, passionflowers, camomilles and lavenders mixed and a cold breeze carried around their peaceful scent across the land. The mist was swirling around and among the flowers, heavy and moist.
He bent forward and started to pick up flowers of every kind, of scarlet poppies, of blue hysopps, of white pasques and passionflowers, of violet lavenders, and of fragile camomilles. He made a huge bouquet of them and continued his walk.
He was now standing before a magnificient palace; infront of two gates, one of ivory and one of horn. He chose the gate of horn without putting any thought in it. He passed the holls and climbed stairs, knowing where he was going but choosing not to dwell on how and why he knew it. Every corner he turned there were images hanging in the still air, products of the minds free from the tolls of the world closed behind the heavy eyelids of the slumberers.
He rearranged the flowers in his hands with a familiar feeling of doing the same thing many times before. The house was empty, rented for a very low price, the flecks of dust and rust never disturbed other than by his own feet. He drew an old key from his trousers' pocket and unlocked the heavy bolt securing the room and his treasure inside.
He entered the room dimly lit by crystal lamps, full of rich colours and heavy furniture. The huge windows of the room were wide open but secured with silvery iron bars outside, and the chilling wind was blowing right through them, cream coloured curtains flying as if in a trance.
In the room there were so many images floating around that it was mesmerizing to watch. There lying on the floor were the guardians of Sleep, all in a deep and everlasting slumber. Their bodies resembled those of the dead he knew all too well. The thin layer of dust covering the floor and the bodies of the guardians told him that it had been a long time since someone managed to wake them. Their bodies were here, yet their souls were wandering around the dreams of the slumberers.
Stepping around their sleep smelling forms, he reached to the bed, in one hand holding the bouquet and in the other the inverted torch.
In the mids of the heavy silks and velvets lay the sole entity in the whole existence that was capable of being a remedy to his burden. His midnight hair was spilled haphazardly on the pillows, his limbs limply lying beside his lith body. Features soft and skin glowing under the dim light… His youthful face forever stuck at the same age. Being the same since the first mortal saw the first dream and since he himself took the life of that mortal when his time cameand laid him to an eternal slumber only he was capable of doing.
Despite this eternal stillness that equated to nothingness, his face was so serene and peaceful… In absolute contradiction to his state…He was never changing… just like himself.
He placed his torch on a nightstand near the bed and sat closer to the sleeping figure. He leaned in to whisper into his ear, waking him with sweet nothings, his tired breath caressing the soft skin beneath.
He knew he missed this feeling, to be close to him just like this, to feel the heat emanating from his half naked body to his skin. Always… Always the same deprivation drew him to this place, to his room; when watching him eat on the bed, pace in the small dark room, rock back and forth in ill concealed deterioration of his personal walls didn't suffice. He needed to touch him, feel that he was still there, still real in this all blurry and hazy repetitiveness of the days and sleepless nights. He hated to acknowledge the feeling but everytime he came here with the same intention in his mind, he knew he was the one who lost everything to this delicate man who made everything around him spin and crush in an instant.
His body stirred and his misty black eyes opened with a hint of surprise in them, sleep still dripping from his dark eyelashes.
"I saw a dream." he mumbled trying to focus his dark eyes to the man hovering above him who could swear that he heard this very same sentence so many times before, but couldn't remember when.
"Why…did you come again?" his voice murmured.
"For a taste of your remedy." he answered, scattering the flowers he brought all around the bed, his head dipping forward with the intention to get what he wanted.
He tried to get away, as always. His limbs still weak with the sleep, he exhaled a harsh breath.
"Not this time, Kira!"
He put a hand between their bodies and turned his head away, his eyes closed fiercely. The body above him tried to settle its weight upon his, its heat all too familiar and scalding. Arms and legs started to struggle, one to capture, and the other to escape. Bed sheets fell haphazardly down and pants of effort began to fill the norrow space between them.
"Lawliet, don't fight!"
This hissed command earned him a stray punch across the face and he tasted blood on his tongue. The metallic taste waked his senses. Suddenly he felt flooded with the scents of the flowers, the taste of the struggle and the heat radiating from his captive's panting form. His eyes blurred with the animalistic need the taste of blood awakened and he drew back to throw a lightening fast punch.
A sickening crack was heard and a muffled yelp echoed in the room. Why was it starting always this way? Why did he have to hurt him to make him listen to his words? His own vision blurred, too.
He wouldn't shed tears. He knew this forced submission of Lawliet wouldn't last long. So he undid his belt and strapped Lawliet's hands to the bedpost, securing them so thightly to the point of stopping the blood flow.
One of Lawliet's lips was split severely and blood was oozing down his chin. His vision was swimming and he couldn't move his arms.
When his vision cleared he saw Kira looking at him worriedly, his hand caressing the side of his face that he was hit from. He tried to turn his head but the touch was so soothing.
"Your methods never change, Kira." He muttered darkly around his bloodied lips.
"Let me…" Kira leaned forward again to lick away the crimson liquid he spilled. When his tongue met Lawliet's skin, Lawliet winced and sighed. "As if I have a choice in this…"
He settled on him feeling the tremors coursing through the body under him. He was softly murmuring as he licked away the blood hungrily on the pale lips. "I can't sleep…" He placed a kiss on them, inhaling the trembling breath that exhaled from them. "I can't sleep, love…"
His hands roaming on the naked arms and sides, feeling every rib protruding from the soft skin... Every touch seemed to linger even though the hands kept moving. When Lawliet realized that Kira was becoming more desperate he felt one of his hands pull at his hair and in pain he opened his mouth only to be covered by Kira's. The kiss had nothing to do with gentleness; it was snearing and dominating. Teeth clashed and Lawliet refused to return the passion, causing Kira to growl in disapproval.
Kira broke the kiss to look at him in the eyes. He saw the defiance and the anger he was by now accustomed to seeing in them.
"Is killing taking its tool on you Kira-sama?" asked Lawliet still trying to catch his breath. Kira didn't answered, for he knew Lawliet was right and he hated him for knowing it.
"And you seek solace in the arms of your enemy?"
Kira only continued to look at the nakedness in the eyes of the man with his eyes of cold steel, seeing the truth in them and silently accepting it. Yet it didn't mean that he couldn't deny it to Lawliet's face. His lips lifted upwards in a tiny smile that didn't reach to his eyes.
"So it seems, love…"
He bent forward but his love turned away his face, so he chose to dive into the skin presented to him by a mistake. His lips laid wet kisses on his neck. His hands were prying the other's legs open to create space for himself. When they gave in and spread open he leaned in. The movement caused a startled gasp to ring in his ears. It sounded so sweet and told him that someone else was enjoying this, too, no matter how reluctant he might seem to be.
His teeth bruised the skin; his tongue soothing the burning sensation. And he could tell what his mouth was doing to the other.
Though Lawliet continued to struggle, every moment their hips brushed against each other he swore he saw flashes of colours behind his eyelids. When the killer's lips left his now raw neck he opened his eyes to find himself kissing the other. Around one of his naked nipples something silky was roaming which caused a numbing pleasure ripple across his heaving chest. It was like the fleeting touch of a butterfly's wings. So light and tickling… Kira was twirling scarlet poppies on his skin. The silky feeling was spreading from his nipple to his collarbone and to his neck and ear.
He gasped into the kiss unable to control himself. He tugged on the leather restraint to stop the maddenning sensation but Kira was touching all the right places just long enough for him to lose his power to struggle anymore.
Kira was panting along with Lawliet when he broke the kiss. He went down, slowly yet insistantly moving between Lawliet's legs. He licked the gliding skin, taking one of the pale pink buds between his teeth, causing Lawliet to jolt in pain. He sucked on it until his tongue felt sore and he reached for his lips again.
With quick movements he tried to discard Lawliet's pants but not without some resistance. He avoided the kicking legs and sat on his hips to force him cease the movement.
"A moment ago you really seemed to enjoy this."
This time Lawliet didn't answer and continued to look at him dispassionately.
"It is a game for you, isn't it?" Kira asked knowing the answer all too well…
He would come here every night but some nights he would stay longer. The dark haired man would struggle and not give in to him. He would play it everytime, though knowing well that he would be taken either way at the end. He would say he hated him, he would punch and kick him with all his might, and he would bit into his lips as they tried to kiss him… Yet in the end…
He could tell that Lawliet was still ashamed of himself for loving him, for yielding him thus. He was resisting each time, for he wanted to create the illusion that he was the victim here, not the participant.
Yet, as Kira got rid of his own clothes and flushed his skin against Lawliet's he knew that they were both losing something here to gain another thing in return.
The feeling of that soft skin melting against his was overwhelming. He was soft; piliant and yielding just like the flower petals he crushed between his fingers. He was trying to return everything he was doing to his body. Using his awkward hands, unashamed, clutching at his shoulders as if for dear life as his lover's deft fingers explored his insides, stealing the breath out of him.
His head shot back when they became one with one precise trust, a single tiny cry escaped his lips. The sound was stolen away by his lover's lips. For one single moment everything stopped.
They waited.
Their visions swam around as they tried to focus on each other's faces. It was hard to look at those dreamy stark black eyes when they were shiny with tears. It was even more harder when those caramel eyes pleaded with him to taste more. He moved and everthing became lost.
Then he realised that it was not about gaining anymore, what they did was all about losing; losing their minds into each other to see the flaws in their blinding brilliance, losing the sense of self and time, losing the memories that bothered them both.
He knew that Lawliet was basking in the idea of being the sole one who was able to offer this unholy ambrosia to Kira, or one might say a drop from the waters of River Lethe. It was such an unquanchable desire for him to forget, to lose, to stop thinking even for a blissful moment of satisfaction, to feel only him all around himself, to stop existing as himself and being a distorted sole entity with his love.
"Rid me from myself…" he whispered, "Lend me some peace of mind, kill my pain…"He realised Lawliet was also trying to grab onto something, on someone, just like himself. He was just being selfish to desire what was forbidden for him; this form trembling with his crushing force, this mirror like eyes captivating him as their breaths mingled and formed something so solid, so real, that he was bent on catching it between their violent kisses and biting on it, savouring the taste… Lethargy and sleep… That only his love could offer.
"Untie my hands… I want to hold you."
It was very ironic that he, the extinguisher of lives who was so eagerly distributing the Eternal Sleep to whomever he deemed "worthy of bestowing", was striving for a momentary bliss of the same kind in the arms of his exact opposite.
He was hated, loathed even… He was never seen as a salvation for the mortals he ruled, all was fearing him, all was afraid of angering him, all was frightened by the beauty and ugliness his name carried in their minds.
He knew he could never destroy his conscience as long as he turned to this man everytime his mind got foggy and started to doubt itself. But sleep was the only thing that offered him a chance to be himself again, to believe that he would be fine and have the strenght to go on. Though this seemed like a repetition in itself, a cycle he was caught by, stronger than him and determined to never let go.
He knew Lawliet rejoiced this control over him, maybe the sole thing that enabled him to continue in yielding to the man he loved and hated so dearly. Though everything had an end he knew that Lawliet strived for this moment to come, too.
They forgot to breathe, making small noises of the bliss coursing through their bodies. Every movement they shared brought them closer as if it was even possible. Would it be possible to become one entity? If it was, he sure as hell wanted to be a part of the soul hiding behind those misty onoxy eyes. To hear his name on his lips again again, each time made him feel as if he himself was hearing it for the first time.
"Light… Light…Li…Light!"
Limbs tangled to each other so helplessly, he thought, it would be heart breaking to see them like this… To see them in such frenzy as they tried to reach their souls to wash some dark spot away, to be a remedy for each other's sins somehow as they climbed higher in their bliss.
He could see that Lawliet was crying… Not because of the slight torment that his body ached with, not because of surrendering himself to Kira again, but for being able to do this, to be able to reach and touch that small thing inside of him once more… He knew when he achieved something.
Their bodies tensed and a moan in unision uttered as they reached and claimed what they have been striving for. Another sin was washed away by the rippling waves of carnal pleasure. But what they felt in their hearts was beyond it.
As Kira collapsed in his arms a small smile spread across Lawliet's face. Kira wiped away the tears staining his love's face and dove in for a final, content kiss. He basked in the lasting taste of their unision in Lawliet's warm embrace; feeling his cold fingers drawing circles on his back.
They gazed into each other's eyes, Lawliet's smile still on his lips.
"You did it again, didn't you?" he asked, with a voice tasted like surrender.
Kira's gaze faltered. He realised that he was still inside the warm body, so he withdrew gently. His hand picked up a passionflower and with its petals he caressed Lawliet's bruised lip.
"Light… Did you do it again?"
"Did what, Lawliet?"
Lawliet's smile fell. "You don't remember again, do you?"
A dready feeling clouded around them and Lawliet sighed tiredly, fully aware of what was waiting for him. He would never have time to tell… He would always forget until the last moment came.
"I had a dream…"
"What must I remember?" He asked voice full of suspicion.
"Every night you came and you don't remember what we do, what we talk, do you? Every time I ask the same question while we are lying like this and you look into my eyes with the same confusion. Everytime this moment comes, I forget to tell you. Always the same… Just like a whell of fortune."
He was panicking now… An ill feeling started to bottle up in his stomach as the flower fell from his hand.
"What…What is it Lawliet?"
At that very same moment he asked this question, Lawliet's body convulsed and his dark eyes went impossibly wide.
With panic, he grabbed the other's shoulders, "Wha… What is happening? Lawli…"
"Oh… Always the same eyes… Always the same loneliness and childish anxiety in them Light…" he managed between gritted teeth. Another violent tremor hit Lawliet's form and he clutched his heart in a vain attempt to preserve it in its cage…to break the cycle somehow.
He was on his knees now, oggling the dying man with a frozen body, tears in his caramel eyes.
Another colvulsion and Lawliet's body stilled and Light cradled him without knowing what he was doing. The man with the midnight hair was smiling softly, accepting his fate.
"Look at your pocket, read it… You never remember…you idiot… Never knew… how I…loved…"
And his eyes closed.
Time ticked away, warmth left his body as it left Lawliet's a few moments ago. He was looking at the dead man lying in his desperate clutch. All he did was rocking him like a rag doll, murmuring sweet nothings to wake him…
It was nearly dawn when he realised that his love was long gone and cold. He got up and cleaned him, laying him on the bed neatly, putting the covers around his lifeless form. He was looking serene and peaceful as if he was still sleeping. He discarded the ruined flowers and bent over his lover to place a kiss on his dead lips. He got dressed and left the room, locking the bolt in its place.
He wandered around the streets; empty and hollowed of their meaning just like himself. He didn't think, didn't cry, didn't yell, didn't scream… He was remembering now.
When he reached his apartment he sat on his lonely bed and reached for his pocket. He pulled the piece of paper and opened it to read.
His eyes watered. He read it again…and again…and again until he screamed and pulled off his hair, until he made his face bleed by his nails, until he fell limply backwards onto the bed. One of his hands touched a small cold bottle. Without knowing he brought it to his face and opened it. He spilled some of it on his blood-covered face then drank its contents.
He sighed and got up, feeling too tired and spent. He put the empty bottle on his table. He went to the bathroom and showered. He looked into the mirror and marvelled at the fresh tiny scars on his face and how his throat felt dry.
He returned to his bedroom. And saw a piece of paper, he didn't look at it and put it on his table to read later. He wanted to sleep now as heaviness tugged at his eyelids. He climbed onto the bed and slid under the covers. He sighed contently again, thinking about Lawliet and his sweet remedy. He knew he would sleep until midnight this time.
He looked at his lover as he slept. He played with his honey coloured hair, with his long and graceful fingers, kissed his lips softly and lay beside him wide awake. He mused, everytime his lover came for him, and they would spend themselves on this same bed and while it would leave him wide-awake, his love would just sleep. Sleep as if he never slept. Watching him like this was enchanting. He could feel the weariness leave his love's warm body, he would send peaceful dreams to him, watching him as he got rid of the troubles of his mind, troubles of his conscience.
They would stay like this for hours; he would wake and make love to him again… then he would sleep some more and finally wake up again…to leave… And he would instantly fall asleep after his departure, capturing the fleeting butterfly kiss on his breath; keeping it there until the next time he would come to him for his remedy. He would wait for him, dreaming about him and promising to himself that this time, he would not forget to tell him about the dream he had seen.
He fell asleep…the kind of sleep he forced on the others, name after name by the notebook he had. His chest didn't rise and fall; his breath didn't come in and out. He just laid there, a smile of gladness plastered on his face. He was glad in his Eternal Slumber that Lawliet gave him what he desired the most…Peace of mind.
Until… The next day's midnight…
-
Some God out there in which neither Light nor Lawliet had faith, was snickering. It was standing by the table where Light kept his notebook. It didn't need it. It just grabbed the thin folded paper and it was instantly set on fire, crumbling into ashes. It took another piece of paper and scribbled the very same thing It had been writing since It got these two mortals in Its hands.
It snickered one more time and went by the cold bed where Light's body laid. It placed one of Its hands under the pillow and put the same hand on the mortal's forehead. This been done, It looked at the folded paper again.
In the folded paper It left on the table was writing:
"Light Yagami, wakes up one hour before midnight, finds two coins under his pillow. Takes the folded paper on the table, goes out to his lover, L Lawliet, at midnight. They make love and L Lawliet dies of a heart attack. Light cleans the room and comes back after the dawn and drinks the water he finds in a bottle and goes to sleep. He dies of a heart attack in his sleep."
"That Lawliet guy is really smart to sense this plot." the God snickered, "Yet he doesn't know two things… That Light isn't the one who does this and this paper is different from Light's notebook's…And the catch is, Light never remembers what he does…"
It gave an ungraceful shrug of shoulders.
"Isn't it what makes it fun, though?"
And It just disappeared from the room.
-
He woke up all alone in his bed. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Again… Only one hour of sleep… His eyes were burning with the need to sleep more, but his mind, quickly kicking in, started to work in a frenzy. As always…
He struggled to turn back to the sweet realms of dreams but no avail. He sighed, his hand going under the pillow to find two old coins there. He didn't question why. He just got up, put the coins in his trousers' pocket and went to take a shower.
And he never questioned why… everything seemed so unusually usual… as always.
"I had a dream…and I dreamt of you and me, Light-kun."
Fin.
AN:
-Before any of you points it out, yes, I have a thing for tormenting L and I like beloved captors and beloved captives theme- as the readers of Tainted Love can tell-.
-Yes, L and Light are trapped in a cycle of the same events happenning day after day… L knows that there is something wrong and thinks that it is Light's doing. But Light doesn't remember a single thing, since he drinks the water from the bottle every night. The water is from River Lethe, one of the rivers in Hades that makes you forget everything after you pass or drink from it. Yes, it is an afterlife story and I don't know who the vicious god is either:D
-You might have wondered who were the guys in the italics… They are:
Hypnos: The god of sleep in Greek mythology, also known as Somnus.
Thanatos: The god of death in Greek mythology, the brother of Hypnos-this doesn't count as incest, does it?- Thanatos is depicted with an inverted torch in one of his hands –the estinguisher of lives- and a butterfly –the fragility of the soul- in the other.
Thanatos is also used in Freudian psychology as another name of the death drive. According to Freud every living organism has a desire to turn back to an inorganic state- the aim is to conduct the restlessness of life into the stability of inorganic life-; it is described as the opposing force of Eros that is closely related to the pleasure principle. Destructive behaviour towards the external world and one's self stem from death drive. Hence, sadism and mashocism are seen as the products of it. The compulsion of the mind to repeat the bad memories -in order to master them and reduce the level of anxiety- , dreams that occur in traumatic nerousis are the results of this drive.
I am talking with limited knowledge here, so I might be erring; please refer to some sites about it if you want to get more accurate info.
The gates: In Greek mythology, Gate of Horn is where the truthful dreams come from and Gate of Ivory is the one from which the deceptive dreams come.
The flowers I mentioned here are all sleep inducing flowers that are used in medicines, but never try them on your own! Those flowers are said to adorn the gardens of Hypnos.
-The poem at the beginning is taken from Book 19 of Homer's Odyssey.
This is a dedication to: novembermond, calisedesang, aquariusdragon, schizofragile, kamichiroeris, ladykadaj, and to all my LJ friends.
And to you, you patient readers!Drop a line?