METHOD OF BEDLAM ━ 𝐓𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐛𝐲 ²

𝐢𝐢. 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ; a fucked up holiday

✵ ──────────────── ✵

ii. sixteen: ❝ a fucked up holiday ❞

𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠: gods & monsters - lana del rey

──────── ✵ ────────

Somewhere in London

── ✵ ──

Mar's pulse hammered in her chest as she attempted to make sense of the bizarre sight that was happening in front of her. The baby's cries rang across the lonely dreamscape, a disturbing contrast to the eerie laughter that surrounded her.

She lurched forward, her movements hesitant and shaky, as if the air in the fictitious world itself was resisting her forward motion. The foreboding expanse seemed to spread indefinitely in every direction, heightening the sense of imprisonment. As she moved closer, the laughter grew louder, intertwining with the cries of the infant.

Thomas kept walking away, his back to her, clutching the infant in his arms. The resiliency of his form provided a bizarre grief, and his remoteness just added to Mar's sense of loneliness. The lady alongside him with her long blonde hair teased familiarity, prompting a distant recollection that slipped into her mind.

Mar's chest clenched as she cried out to them, her voice drowned by the great expanse surrounding her. The ghostly laughter continued, mocking her efforts to overcome the growing chasm between them.

She sped up, the dream world bending and distorting with each stride. The air was thick with an abundance of unresolved tensions. A shudder raced down Mar's spine as she got closer, for the woman's face remained hidden, an intriguing mystery reluctant to unfold.

In the midst of this dream-hell, Mar was struck by a tornado of emotions: uncertainty, desire, and an awful feeling of sorrow. Thomas and the intriguing woman resumed their leisurely stroll, oblivious to Mar's urgent pursuit.

The baby's cries became an uncanny song, its mournful notes reverberating across the abyss. Mar's surroundings were hazy, the dream world changing with each heartbeat. Regardless of how rapidly she followed them, the gap between them remained insurmountable.

Diego gently shook Marianna's shoulders, concern etched across his face. "Marianna, wake up! You're just having a bad dream!" he urged, his voice soft but urgent.

Marianna's eyes fluttered open, and she gasped for breath, still caught in the remnants of the unsettling dream. As she blinked away the last traces of the nightmarish visions, she felt a shiver run down her spine.

The room, now dimly lit by the soft glow of a bedside lamp, felt like a sanctuary compared to the eerie dreamscape she had just escaped. Diego's gaze lingered on her face, searching for answers in the jaded glint of her eyes. He had become a reliable anchor in these moments, a source of comfort that transcended the boundaries of blood relations.