Nightmare King Grimm

You swear, it is impossible to get a halfway decent night’s rest.

Now, of course, most of the time it’s of your own volition. You rarely let yourself doze for more than two or three hours a day; it’s the the smartest, safest thing to do when you’re living down in the depths of Hallownest— the dangers of dreaming are far too high. You’ve discovered if you snooze juuust long enough for a little fuel, but juuust quick enough to not fall into the REM stage of sleep, you can dodge encountering,,, Her.

It’s happened once before, and it was terrifying. You’d finished a long trek throughout Deepnest— gods know why you were down there— and you were so exhausted that by the time you were back in the safe haven you called home, you practically conked out on the spot. It was a miracle that you bolted awake in a cold sweat at the blinding light and piercing shriek, your body somehow instinctively fending off the Radiance trying to weasel her way into your dreams and take the reins of your being entirely.

You vowed you’d never let yourself get that tired again.

Until now, of course!

See— you’d caught wind of some sort of,,, circus?,,, that settled itself smack dab beside that little town by the well from Hallownest to the surface. So, like any responsible person, and any person that wanted an ounce of wonder and fun for once instead of the constant stress of being in survival mode 24/7, you decided to waltz on up and check it out.

And, oh, what wonder and fun it was. The Grimm Troupe, as they called themselves, were dazzling. Each performance was awe-striking, each member with their own unique style, but there was always,,, something,,, that felt as if it was simmering just beneath. Something more. But you were so swept up in the excitement— and the Troupe Master, like, hellooooo, sailor!!— to pay it any mind.

,,, Suffice to say, you’re spent by the time you get home— long, long into the night. Buuut, you’ve got a cute critter and charm tied to it as a souvenir! Cute! You dunno why you got ‘em, again, something about a ritual— all you really heard from Troupe Master Grimm was just “Blah, blah, blah, proper name, troupe name, backstory stuff,” as he gave you the little fella, and you “uh huh”d and went on your merry way.

So after tucking Grimmchild— not exactly an original name, but talented hot people have to be bad at something, you guess— into a little blanket burrito on your bed and flopping down beside it, against your better judgement, you decided to just,,, let yourself sleep.

Luckily, though, instead of being greeted with blinding, piercing, orangish-light as you open your eyes in the realm of dreams as you’d feared, you’re greeted with still slightly blinding, piercing, red light. It’s the same red of that circus, you realize, and as your disoriented view focuses, you register that the source of the red flooding your vision is,,, eyes?

OH!!

Oh! Oh dear. You nearly jump out of your own skin, jerking back a little bit.

Gosh, okay, that’s a bug— that’s a bug staring you down, very, very close to your face. Unmoving, unblinking, and apparently uncaring of the concept of personal space. It looks like the Troupe Master, but redder. And larger. And kind of scarier.

“,,, You’re lucid. Good.” The stranger that decided to hijack your dreams comments, voice sounding like they ate nothing but cigarettes and gravel. They apparently see no need to back up, only boring their gaze into your soul, studying every inch of your being and then some.

“Hello, little one.”