Caught in violent gesticulations

A dream; a sure yet sorry state, that any-one is to experience, try as they might to avoid its weakening pull. To sleep; it is akin to willingly rendering yourself paralyzed, and to stare ahead blankly , into a profane mirror of your own morbid, shattered consciousness. But of what may a man with no memory dream. For if the state of dreams is defined by memory and emotion, then what is there to be built? What remains, as all else has been taken, and the otherwise curious mind is left totally, and completely vacuous of insight and imaginations. The brief answer is nothing; there is nothing—sights and smells are all void concepts in a lucid world, such as this. But, one thing does remain, yet it is to a banshee’s perpetual dismay. A voice. A voice which starts in a low, resonating hum, but it always refuses to be stagnant. It grows and expands quickly, becoming deafeningly loud, and where there was once a singular, lonesome voice, which sang its depressing hymns—by the end, there was a choir of unintelligible screeching. Was it even possible to pick out a voice amongst the screeching masses? The Banshee did not know; The Banshee would likely never know, as all he could ever muster to do in these dreams, surmounted to keeling over, and feebly covering his ears.  

The man’s eyes snapped open, and as all of the information hit him, his brain seemed to grind to a slowed halt. It was as if he had been thrust deep underwater, yet was quickly dragged, pulled from the darkened depths, just as he had adapted to the otherworldly pressures. His breathing was ragged, desperate, and as his eyes flickered around wildly, reality had finally managed to set in. This moment of chaos; this expression of sheer terror and confusion, was almost in an instant washed away. It washed away so swift, and all that remained on the pale face of Viktor Hertzfeld; a morbid curiosity. A faint, yet clear smile overtook his thinned lips, as he began to try to move. Sure, he felt every muscle in his body ache, as they cried out to him, but at the very least he had to make himself appear somewhat confident. He knew painfully well how he must have appeared, and the thought of it bothered him, unending. His green eyes shun, albeit not much, as they took in the nature around him. But, of course, there was no form of recollection to be had. Which was disappointing, surely, but Viktor had not expected much, anyways. He had travelled here, as he believed that a place of magics such as this, would help in furthering his research. Perhaps it would make him remember—in truth, he knew not what to expect. Simply put; he had felt drawn, and now—he was in such a compromised position.

“Oh, well, do excuse me. It was hardly my intent to be a cause of trouble for you.” Viktor’s voice was clear, precise, even if his old accent remained still, somewhat. It was with a fair bit of trouble that he sat himself upright—he’d note, of course, how dirty his suit had gotten, as he had laid on the forested floor. He resisted the urge to project his frustrations over this, and instead—only a quiet snicker, would escape his thin lips. “My, how unfortunate is this. Unfortunate, indeed. Again, I do apologise—this is hardly a good representation of who I am.” His smile was, to others, uncomfortably forced. He’d run a shaky hand through his dirty-black hair, as he finally stood; he had, of course, no clue as to how he should approach this situation at hand. “Goodness. Where are we, if I may? It’s quite the ominous place, don’t you think? I don’t… recall where this is. Pardon, but who are you again? My head is more than a tad bit foggy—I can’t remember, if I’ve met you before.”  

The Banshee would think back to the dream he had; the nightmare that he had miraculously escaped from. He recalled the voice; it was low and unnaturally calm, and it sent shivers run down his spine. Of course, he knew not why this calming voice haunted him, but he figured that it was the familiarity of it, that made him feel uneasy. “In case I have not—my name is Viktor Hertzfeld. I am a… researcher? A librarian, I think…” A thoughtful expression claimed Viktor’s face, but only for a moment. “Anyhow, could you please tell me where I am.”