The Least Common Denominator

XXXVI.V Imaginary Number

"crimson...."

I was dreaming... I knew I was dreaming... The lingering pain of burning flesh... and yet my skin never flaked from the phantom pains...

"Crimson...."

Instead, my body was engulfed by the sheer sense of overwhelming disappointment; of regret so immense that it threatened to make me spiral into collapse... And yet I didn't mind it.

I was used to it, after all.

"Crimson!"

Opening my eyes to the familiar visage of Lace trying to shake me awake, the only thing replaying in my mind was my conversation with Ica; my so-called power made manifest. She had wanted to burn me to a crisp, and yet she didn't. Rather, couldn't. She was a part of me, and I was a part of her, most likely. Our similar appearances were a dead giveaway in that regard.