[i]"They're burning! Take them out, quick!"[/i] [b]A light tap-tap-tap of her dark boots and she hurries over to the oven, frantically opening the reflective black door at her friend's call. It was largely the same every time. Always something nice, peaceful, fun. Always friendly and happy. Yet, it always ended. The pages were torn, the screen faded black, there was no final chapter for [url=http://m.imgur.com/JSsnOdN.jpeg]Rose Ebonheart[/url]. The door opens to unleash the monster from its chain, the boney creature rose to several meters above her, draping her already tiny body with darkness. The embodiment of the hammer of war and death, loss and hatred, selfishness and greed. A Tyranid was usually the monster, but it stood for much more, it was a metaphorical design within itself. She could feel it, even when the view shifted to the falling rose petal, even when she could feel the pain, the lashes and knarling teeth cross her limbs, her skin being torn and flesh rended, even through the nightmare, even when all she could see was the petal, rivers of blood flowing around and under it. Throughout the unbearable suffering she felt, Rose was never blessed with the final blow. The petal eventually would flow along the same path as the crunches started, when the view again turned, as if she was trying to look up, when she could just start to make out Veronica's features finally, when she could start to remember her again, when she could see her friend was glad Rose was gone, but the screen would always fade black. There was no final chapter. The memories always escaped her grasp the instant they came to existence, she would never remember, never find the peace her unconscious mind sought. It was at this point that she always woke up. The lashing she was given every night never attained a level of normalcy, it always scared her, it always caught her off guard, it always hurt, more than falling from the tree she decided to rest in while she watched the stars pass, more than the thump of her right arm at the end of a several meter drop. Rose was still reeling from the predation her mind still thought was real to care about a broken arm. It felt like an hour, it may have been a whole hour, but she finally pulls herself to a sitting position. It was just the arm that hurt now, if her thoughts weren't countable. Mud and twigs adorned the right side of her body, even part of her dark, crimson-tipped hair. She doesn't even bother wiping herself down, just places her left palm over the pain in her arm and feels the scarlet aura whisk it away into a warm, cozy feeling. Her arm mends itself quickly, but she kept her hand at its job, before slowly sliding it up to her face, silver eyes closed. She could feel her thoughts calm, the memory of the dream recede. The teenage vessel of abandonment wanted it all gone, to never have to think again, to never have to face it again. Being addicted to it was a blessing and a curse. It always worked, using that particular ability brought her back to not having to think, to remember. She liked it, needed it, even though it was more like autopilot, she didn't even understand what she did while within her synoptic innocence. Thus, Rose Ebonheart forgot all her woes. She returned to the little girl she was, and hopped up to her feet, brushing herself off with a look of shock that such muddy things could mar her precious hood. Mud quickly coated her hands, which she shook uselessly in an attempt to throw off. Instead, it flicked up to splat on her nose. Rose cracks up into uncontrollable giggles after a pause, finding it absolutely hilarious for some unforeseeable reason. [/b]