⚠️Trigger Warning: Heavy Gore, slight necrophilia, and torture. Please SKIP if you're uncomfortable with these themes! ⚠️

"falling in love with you was easy. It was loving you that was hard." the words fell out of Dream's lips in broken tatters, crimson ink spreading across the page-it seeped into the cozy corners of parchment. By now, the paper-thin piece of parchment was long spotted and frayed, the edges curling against the presence of the sun.

As if the promise of a bright future beckoned, waiting for him to plunge over. Only it was not day but night. Gentle shafts of moonlight hurtled through the window, illuminating his golden features the same way they illuminated his heart. Sickly pale and crystal clean. Tainted by a hint of green. Tears clung onto the edges of Dream's golden eyelashes, at odds with the crimson streaks that stained his faster, the metallic tang of blood mixing with the salty taste of tears on his lips. Warm liquid trickled down his arms as he leaned down, quickly scanning the paper in his hands, the words that engraved it like a sickly stain.

I tried, I really did. But there's only so much one can do in the time we had. Don'tget me wrong, Heather. I loved you. I truly did. I loved the calls, while they lasted. The little I love-yous.

But there's only knowledge left now, a flickering ember where love should be. We were doomed from the start.

so much one can do when the fire burns in flame.
When everything sparks, but there's nothing but a missing heart.
you set me on fire, you made me warm. So happy, even if gods knew we were doomed to meet.

Because worlds apart didn't mean hearts apart,and my heart beats the same for you. call me selfish, call me high.
But I knew you loved me too.
I loved you,in every letter.
I love you still.
That's why embedded in my heart,
you will always kill.

Davidson
George.

The letter slipped from his hands, fluttering away at his feet. Visions of a stunning boy, dressed in blue jeans and a soft, black sweater teased the edge of his memory. Doe-like eyes and soft brown hair reappeared, and he could feel the silky, thin strands of hair in his fingers again. Small, soft kisses on his skin, which turned into possessive, greedy kisses that deepened into bruises. The rush of euphoria flooded him again, but that was drowned out by the horrific realisation of what he'd done.

Involuntarily, he looked down to the cooling body on the ground. With a manic look in his eyes, he leaned down, cupping a soft cheek. Soft brown curls sifted through his fingers blood matting it's hair. For some reason it seemed longer now. He tilted the body, savouring the feel of skin under his touch as the head lolled to the side, glassy eyes staring back at him. Dread filled his stomach looking at the broken corpse. His greedy emerald eyes scanned the corpse, surveying his own handiwork. My work, the words haunted him, as he looked at the once-beautiful boy before him. No, that can't be. George's still alive. George was beautiful. No, no! He still is! But the state the corpse was in left no room for argument, with little maggots scurrying over the surface of his beloved boyfriend's skin.

Brusied skin and broken bones jumped into his line of vision. Sharp blade sliced through a half-hardened shirt easily, and Dream slipped the torn blue shirt off the other's body. If Goerge was alive, he'd wince at the exposure. But he wasn't, and chilly air settled.
over his skin like heavy moths, biting into it. Thousands of cuts littered his skin, rusty brown and gaping, though some of them were half-scabbed, still open, weak dribbles of blood trickling out. Dream stroked pale skin feverishly, a manic look in his green eyes as his fingers traced over open wounds, seeking the creatures that lay beneath his skin. Memories tricked back to him, the feel of a familiar hilt in his hands, dancing all over his skin, the same way they used to do with their fingers.

Only George wasn't screaming in pleasure this time. But in unabashed pain. And Dream released pain in torrents, satisfied with every small scream or gasp he got. He savoured the feeling of control he had, savoured it as every nick of the blade illicited small noises. He loved the feverish look of fear in his hazelnut eyes, the single moment where he'd come to a horrifying realisation.

That the Dream he thought he knew wasn't a dream at all.
But a nightmare.

Dream relished it, when hope left his eyes. When he knew he'd finally caved in. Loved when he'd been drained, his face paling quickly as blood drained from him, trickling down into a bucket. He savoured the abhorrence George had as he drained his blood, the feeling of delicious, warm liquid trickling down his stomach. It filled him, somehow. Almost as if George filled in the empty, cracked abysses and corners of his twisted mind, and he wanted more.

But that wasn't possible. Not with his fingerprints all over the blades and daggers, not with the tapes he'd taken. Not with the fingerprints he'd left all over the older boy, a simple show of his love for him. Grinning, he kissed the frozen lips of the boy he'd once loved. Or still did. Loved so much, too much. That it destroyed him.

"Be a good boy, Georgie," he purred, his fingers working hard as he made the final preparations. "I'm coming for you."

"I won't break our promise."

Not anymore.
Because if one went down,
So did the other.

The feeling of a blade in his grasp both exhilarated and unsettled him, terrifying him beyond belief. I shouldn't be this worried, he thought. I've done this so many times before. But driving a blade into yourself and driving one into another's heart wasn't the same, though he supposed George had prepared him. The older boy was his heart, after all. He savoured the sickening sound as flesh ripped open and bones caved apart under his grasp. He loved the warm tingles of adrenaline that pain showed him, throbbing vigourously. He was in bliss for a moment, almost out of himself. It's so satisfying playing.

But crimson liquid flowed out, the harder he pushed, a symbol of the one he had killed. Blood stained his already-fingers, flowing out of the gash. It trickled freely down, seeping into the cotton fibers of his shirt. I love this, he thought.
George, I'm coming.

Not an inch of remorse took over. Half of him wondered why people didn't do this so often. The world devoid of depravity eluded him, as he took his last breath, his soul caving under.

Slipping and falling, back to a world long under.

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A/N: 1140 words! chocolatewithtea. Here's the random horror chapter! I hope you guys enjoyed this, and please don't do anything like Dream did in this fanfic- none of this is moral or legal, and I'm not going to be held liable if any of you actually do this. Hope you enjoyed it, and kudos!