Whoever stuck him in this overgrown toy box is going to pay dearly for that dream.
“What dream was that, again?” a woman’s voice calls suddenly, halting his footsteps on their way half into the shadows.
A white figure with long white hair cascades out of the dark, a flower of silk and grin and pale lavender eyes.
He rubs his face, feeling his stubble scratch the skin on his fingers now roughened and raw from breaking out of the box.
The woman’s fingers reach for him, taking his fingers and sucking away the dark reddish blood welling from so many cuts and gashes.
“Oh god, you bitch, you great white bitch, don’t fucking do that again!” he murmurs, crushing her hand in his as he presses it against the large, sticky abrasion his cheek has become, “... I thought you’d... but who was... but then who... I thought... who gives a shit. You’re here, damn you. Bitch.”
She smiles and smacks the back of his head, then nuzzles her face in the cake of gray mud there.
“So you dreamed I was murdered, huh? That’s not the one I had. Want to compare notes?” Flamina swishes her white Japanese robe against her bare legs.
The Master wipes at his eyes with a dirty elbow, scowling a threat at the swaying kimono as he reaches for it with an angry palm.
“... take that fucking napkin off. It’s blocking my view of your milk things!”