I shouldn’t have been surprised that I was dreaming about pitch blackness again, but I was. After such a long time of peace – barely over a week but still a long time considering the daily experience and intensity of the dreams of darkness – I was unprepared for the nightmare I was entering. Despite the darkness, there was something different about the atmosphere. I couldn’t explain it. It’s like how I could tell the difference between the arrival of Grey and the arrival of Astaroth, even if they both came with a signifying pop and an accompanying coldness.
The darkness had a certain buzz to it, an aura sort of, that differed from the feel of the darkness of all my other dreams. Like the darkness that first introduced me to the Grim Reaper, complete with a bony face and a gleaming scythe
