The story so far:
Amos had shakeen me. My mind began it's downward spiral into that which I had mentally blocked. The dark man. I dreamed of the dark man, his hands on my head. Those tattered knobby hands pulling the warmth from my body. Teariing my perception from me, taking me inside him and running my subconcious through his mind like a house of mirrors. In the dream he left me broken. He left me infected and invaded, dirty and shaken. The dark man and his god.
"Are you alright?" asked Amos
"It's ..It's nothing Amos, I just feel a bit cold" I replied
"Cold, it's warm as the dickens in here"
"Please excuse me, I do apologize, but I just need a minute."
I scurried off to the bedroom, leaving Amos with a very confused and concerned look on his face...
His face....His face..........The dark man...
I nearly fell as I entered the bedroom and shut the door as gentle as I could while at the same time slamming it.
His face....The dark mans face was a shadow. It was long, but rounded at th chin. His ears pointed not unlike an elf or a ......
The dark man had said no words to me, but I remembered everything he told me or taught me, or tortured me..
I knew nothing of how to compose myself. I had left Amos in the other room and I sit here shaking, head in hands, crying with no tears.
How can I go back out there and face that man. What do I say? How do I act?
The dark man is real. He is not just a nightmare anymore. He is not my saint. He is not even himself.
He is the dark man, and he is real. Others have seen him and turned chilled, but I know him..
The dark man and I are not done.