When his vision cleared, he found himself back in the Hunter's Dream. He stood on the cobblestone path just beside the tombstone, the garden and the roses and the sunflowers rustling in his presence. And the through the mist Enjolras could see the Doll smiling at him.
"How goes the hunt, Good Hunter?" She asked.
"I've yet to begin." Enjolras said as he sheathed his firearm and latched the saw cleaver to his belt at the hip.
"Then you've discovered the usefulness of the lantern."
He nodded, glancing at the headstone, spotting the words that read "Central Paris" that had suddenly appeared on the stone.
"I'm grateful to know I can return here." He said, looking back at her.
"We are untouched by the Waking World." The Doll approached him, and Enjolras found himself eased by her voice. "But you mustn't stay for long. You are needed there."
His finger twitched and he touched his neck as he stared at her. His lips parted as he took a step towards her, his mind fogged by questions, by uncertainty. His tongue pressed against his teeth, and Enjolras hoped she would catch the earnest in his eyes. But she said nothing to him, her eyes unwavering as she stared at him, and he was compelled to speak.
"I saw things," Enjolras began, "Things I can't understand. And I remember—I remember Paris. I was back in Paris, but not my Paris."
"Such is the nature of the Waking World," replied the Doll. "A half remembered dream. Return and hunt and you shall be granted insight."
"What insight?" Enjolras asked, remembering the note the messenger had given him. "What knowledge shall I discover?"
The Doll said nothing, and Enjolras knew she could not answer him. His jaw clenched, sighing as he tried to calm his frustration before making his way up the steps and into the sanctuary. He went to the chest and stored inside the note he had found. He eyed the words on the note, a hand written scrawl with no signature. He closed the trunk before returning to the garden. He could feel the Doll's eyes on his as he walked down the steps and to the tombstone. He touched the stone, the words "Central Paris" without looking back at her.
Enjolras returned to the Waking World and headed down the street, his mind vaguely remembering the buildings and street names he passed, accepting their location although he remembered them in other places, too exhausted to continue questioning. The streets were quiet, the moon had not left its place in the sky, and the stench in the air grew fouler the longer he walked. And as he went, he had no sense of time, no way to know how long he had been walking. It could have been minutes or hours, and he did not know. Soon enough to his relief, he could see a ways down the street a lone man, his back to him and a torch in his hand. He was walking rather slowly, dragging his feet. Perhaps he needed help.
"Monsieur?" Enjolras called out as he made his way to him.
The man slowly turned, his face covered with a thick beard and unruly gray hair, his skin pale even in the glow of the dancing flame of the torch. A butcher's knife was in the man's right hand, Enjolras saw, and he felt a chill crawl up his spine. Without warning, the man charged at him, crying out, "Help me! Oh God, help me!" His large knife was raised, and Enjolras's heart raced in a panic as he scrambled to grab his saw cleaver. And before he could unlatch the cleaver the man was in front of him and he swung. The butcher's knife snuck deep into Enjolras's shoulder, carving down diagonally through flesh, muscle, bone, and Enjolras staggered, his mind unable to react to the immense pain as blood spewed from his wound and spat out of his mouth. He hissed out a groan, his vision blurring has he felt himself begin to blur. Staring up at him, feeling the knife tear from his body, Enjolras could see the yellow of the man's eyes, the veins in his face protruding from his skin. "Beast," Enjolras thought, and he fell to the ground, his eyes to the moon as his vision turned to black.
Enjolras awakened, wheezing and choking for air, his eyes rolling back as he was overcome with searing pain. On the ground, he stiffened and rolled onto his side, panting from the heat of the pain. He was unable to scream his agony, the pain itself stealing all thought and air from his lungs. And as he laid there, the scent of grass and earth in his nose, he found the pain slowly ebbing, the air returning to grace his burning lungs, and he was able to move. The pain vanished and left him with a tingling where he had been originally cut, and then that tingling too faded to nothing. Sitting up to rest on his hands and knees, he was no longer bleeding, and there was no wound. He hung his head, staring down at his hands in his lap and shuddered, remembering the pain. He bit his lip, curling his hands into fists, the leather gloves creaking in response to his clenched fingers, his eyes stinging.
"Good Hunter."
Enjolras looked up to see the Doll crouched before him, her eyes cast down on his in concern and grief. He trembled. He fumbled over himself and gripped at the velvet skirt of her dress, curling his fingers about the fabric by the fistfuls. He wept, unable to control himself, and the Doll sat silently as she stared at him. Moments passed and Enjolras relinquished his hold on the Doll, and she stood erect as he remained on the ground.
"You told me I can't die," Enjolras muttered.
"You can't." The Doll's voice was low and gentle.
He glanced up at her, his lips parted but no words left him. Sitting back on his knees, he looked back down at his hands in his lap. He understood.
"To escape this dreadful Hunter's Dream, halt the source of spreading scourge of beasts, lest the night carry on forever."
Enjolras stared back up at the Doll whose kind eyes stared back. He sat, staring at nothing as his mind fully began to realize the position he was in, the nature of his existence. And yet there was still a hope, that he could free himself. But could he manage killing and facing death time and time again? He had no other choice. He stood to his feet, the weakness in his bones replaced by strength and hope of escape. But only if he continued the hunt. With nothing to say, he nodded a feeble goodbye to the Doll, and she smiled at him as he turned to the gravestone, the dream fading.
"Farewell, Good Hunter. May you find your worth in the Waking World."
