#nora.

The campus grew emptier and emptier as the days went on and Inge thought it a bittersweet thing. Mostly sweet, though, as her emptying schedule meant there could be a refocus on her art. At the same time, she could utilize some of the space for her own work, push aside chairs and tables and make the room she usually tried to create in her house. It was time for a summer project.

But when she entered the studio, which she’d expected to be empty, she found herself walking in on someone. Someone very busy digging her fingers into the supplies that stood there, still waiting to be stored away for the summer. Inge stared for a moment, remaining in the doorway before moving in further, closing the door behind her with a kick of her shoe.

“What do we have here?” The girl did have the age to be a student, but Inge didn’t recognize her from one of her classes. Could be that she required some supplies for the summer, though, which could be understandable. But one ought to ask before nicking stuff from professor Endeman, didn’t they? 

There was an aspect of Nora’s life that had been missing these last two years. Art. There was a time where she would have stayed locked in her room painting if her fathers didn’t drag her out and force her to face the light of day. For the two years Nora had been walking, endlessly walking, art had lacked because anything she was making she’d have to carry with her. Now that Nora was settled in Wicked’s rest she drew somethings, but Nora missed painting. She missed making large canvases that took time and patience to craft with her own two hands.

That’s why she decided to steal from the school. 

Nora wasn’t a stranger to stealing from the campus. In fact, she thought the campus was lacking in all things security. The amount of things she took and broke into around there was astounding. And people just let her get away with it? Absurd. Nora was elbow deep in some art supplies in a random classroom when a voice spoke behind her. Fuck. Beneath all the paint feumes she’d forgotten to pay attention. You can’t relay on a good sense of smell if it’s being fogged. 

“Your worst nightmare.” Nora answered, flipping around, hands still clenched around pilfered goods. An illusion flickered acrossed her face, sharp pointed teeth glinted beneath a gagged smile that appeared to have been ripped open, inhumanly. Nora held the image for a beat before shrouding herself in a further illusion. Shadows wrapped themselves around Nora’s body, creating a second skin. Her hands turned into black pointed talons. Black feathers sprouted from the shadows, a vision taken directly from Howl’s Moving Castle when Howl transformed into a bird. Sure, Nora didn’t like to plagurize her work but she was in a bit of a rush here. “Boo.” 

Inge could respect a good thief. While she severely disliked being stolen from herself, she had nicked her fair amount of things — to only use the ability to astral project to haunt people’s nightmares would be a waste after all. (And besides, there had been periods of high need when she’d had to run, abandon all she’d had and recreate a life elsewhere.) She could respect it, especially when it came to stealing art supplies. To lack the resources to create art, well that was depressing.

But still, there was something about it that was wrong, wasn’t there? These were the supplies she had taken care to supply for her students. Inge wasn’t going to call campus security, as that was her worst nightmare. Not the young girl in front of her, who proclaimed herself to be just that. Her eyebrows lifted, then creased together, as if she was mostly curious to see what was bound to happen.

The first feeling was envy. As the illusions flickered around, showing gore and dangerous teeth, Inge wished she had the power to do such a thing during the day. It grew and grew and her eyes grew somewhat wide. She had heard of this, but never seen it in action. “That’s glorious.” She was fond of bird-motifs, wasn’t she? Flocks of crows pecking at her sleepers. Leathery wings against their cheeks. She moved forward, glad that the door was closed. “Can you do more?”

The lack of fear was the first indicator that something was going very wrong with this interaction. Here was Nora, putting on a show, doing the most, weaving a portrait of beautiful fear. Where was the decent reaction? An earth shattering scream as she ran away? Maybe freezing in terror? Peeing her pants? Anything along those lines would have been very nice. Instead, Nora was met with “Can you do more?”

The illusions dropped around her. Leaving Nora standing there, small and feral, hands clenched together. “Really?” Nora asked. Nora sought around in the dredges of her mind, trying to come up with anything. A thought. An idea. A knife protruded from Nora’s chest. Blood dripped down her chest. Nora looked down at the knife as if she was surprised to see it there. “Help me…” Nora whispered, falling to her knees on the ground. Behind her a man, the picture of the hunter whose head had been ripped off in front of her, appeared from thin air. He ripped his knife out of Nora’s chest and pointed it to the unscared lady. 

Inge loved meeting like-minded people. There weren’t an awful lot out there, people who got some kind of pleasure or found some worth in scaring others. She nodded at the other’s question. “Yes. Make it worth my while.” And maybe then she’d give the supplies and then some, in return. There was something so small about the girl as she stood there without her monstrosities. Inge wondered if she felt the same frustration she felt when her victims didn’t get as scared as she intended.

A knife protruded from her chest out of nowhere, red mortal blood pouring from the wound. She considered reaching out, wanting to touch the not-real thing, but then another figure joined the scene. She had to be powerful, this girl, to conjure whole people. Inge watched as it approached her and remembered what she told herself all the time: this isn’t real. No harm done, when something was illusion or imagination. She raised her hands as if surrendering. If this was a real hunter, Inge would be gone already. Popped away into the plane. In stead, she stared at it. “That won’t cut it, if you want to scare me.” Killing her with a knife would be dreadful and tedious work. Beheadings required something a little larger, unless you wanted a very boring, long process. Still, Inge felt her heartbeat pick up. From excitement, of course. 

Nora opened an eye from where she lay on the floor, spread out in a puddle of illusioned blood. Without fear to feed her illusions Nora could feel the drain on her power. Hunger seeped into her, and yet this woman insisted on mocking Nora’s work. There had only been one other person who hadn’t fallen for Nora’s tricks. That had been Emilio. Now there was another person in this world who didn’t want to be scared by her antics. Nora rolled to her back, staring up at the woman, letting the illusion drop away. 

Despite the hunger. Despite the effort it took, Nora decided she was determined to scare her. Nora was scary. Nora was the most scary person in town, and if this person was too dumb to see that then it was on her. Nora mustered herself, and her energy. Focusing as hard as she could to create something new, a spectacle that the woman wasn’t ready for. The flames of hell sprouted from the ground burning Nora as hands wrapped around her body dragging her. Sounds of aganized screaming accompanied them. “Help. Me.” Nora reached a hand out towards the woman. Black tar fell from Nora’s eyes, her mouth, her nose the stab wound as her body started to disintegrate in the fire. “Please.” 

At the end of the day, Inge had been scaring for over a nice four decades. While there had been a resistance within her at first to inflict terror on others, it had soon become part of her. By now, there was much she had seen – both in her years as a mortal, terrorized by the woman who’d kill her and love her and in the years since. There was not much that shook her any more, an apathy developed that had bitten her in the ass time and time again. But it wouldn’t now. This girl was like her.

She did surprise her. The flames that jumped from the ground made Inge jump back, a sound of glee leaving her lips. She had half a mind to clap her hands together. She wasn’t shaken, no, but she was thrilled. Part of her wanted to be afraid, and another was just endlessly curious to see what else the other had up her sleeve. She watched the hands appear, watched them wrap around the tiny figure. This was good. She moved forward, through flames that did reach her but didn’t burn. She took the hand and pulled, looking at the other up close. The tar shone, black and slick. “It’s so real.” 

No fear came as a treat for Nora to feast upon. Instead the woman grabbed Nora’s hand and examined her work up close. Nora sighed, letting the illusion drop around them. Her stomach made a loud growling noise. Great. Now she was starving to death and all her work had been for nothing. She’d have to go track down Ray. At least he was easy to scare. He would also be easy to bully into a meal after this. “Why aren’t you scared?” Nora asked. “It’s rude to not be scared.” Because frankly? It was rude. 

Nora tugged her hand out of the woman’s grasp, and went back to the art supplies she’d been looking at. The ones that had been clutched in her hand had spilled to the floor. She took a minute to pick them up and shove it in her pocket, before returning to the supplies. “Look, this has been…” Nora stumbled trying to find a word, because what this hadn’t been was fun, “an experience. But I’m going to take my shit and leave.” 

It was agitating, to not be scary when that was the sole purpose of ones existence. Inge knew it all too well. Some of the sleepers just refused to grow scared from the images she threw at them, or at least not scared enough. She nodded. “I know. I’m sorry, if I could get scared I would.” She would like it, to feel terror again in a moment that wasn’t ruled by a hunter hot on her heels. To be afraid of a concept, a vision. “Just doesn’t happen a lot.” 

She let the other tug her hand back, watched her get back to her stealing. She stared for a moment, but then raised to her feet and shook her head. “No, don’t leave. Look — we are similar, you know? That’s why.” Inge pushed forward, pulled over a cabinet with her foot, gesturing at some unused brushes with the tip of her shoe. “What you did was so glorious, so visceral, it must take energy, right? Don’t consider it wasted, I was a very willing audience member.” She wanted to take the other’s hands and pull her close, pinch her cheeks. She was very cute, yet incredibly terrifying. How glorious! “What’s your name?”

There was a version of Nora that would have been more curious about this woman. Why she wasn’t scared of Nora’s brilliant show. Why she got so excited about it. That version of Nora knew that monsters existed in this world, and that those monsters knew terrors equal to her. This new part of her, the part of her that had killed someone and grown into a more jaded bear, didn’t consider too much why the woman wasn’t scared. Maybe she was a vampire. Or a hunter. Or any number of things that would look her in the eye and say ‘You can’t scare me because I’ve already lived my worst fear.’ or something like that. Now it was time to pack up and say thank you next.

Except the woman said something odd. Something that others hadn’t said to her before. In fact, no one had ever said ‘we are similar’ to Nora before, and actually meant it. Nora turned slowly, her eyes moving to the unused brushes and back to the woman, obviously trying to bribe her to stay. “Are you a bear?” Nora asked the question point blank. There was no point in trying to pretend they both didn’t already know what Nora was. The question was, what was she? Nora’s heart stared to beat faster, despite the voice inside reminding her not to get excited. Other bears didn’t exit, Nora knew this. At least, Nora should know that. Still, hope found its way in. “You first.” Nora deflected the question of her name. She wasn’t giving anything else up until she had answers. 

She shook her head. “No, not a bear. But I’ve heard of your kind.” Shapeshifters. Mortals, but creatures that fed off fear just like her kind did. If she was just a mortal, she had to be very young — not in the deceptive way some other fear-inducers could be, remaining statically young while growing older. Inge felt a rush of something human course through her: why was such a young thing resorting to theft and scaring the bejeezus out of people? She understood it, to be sure, but it was still a bit disheartening on paper.

“I’m a mare. Nightmare, nachtmerrie, whatever you wish to call it —” She shrugged a little. “I get in people’s dreams when they sleep and by making them terrifying I feed. So, similar. Not the same.” It was a secret she should guard more carefully, but she didn’t really care to. Especially not around someone so finely talented. Someone who looked a little hollow, too. Besides, she too was desperate for some kind of recognition. It was lonely, wasn’t it? Making people afraid, again and again, and having to upheave ones life every time the hammer was close to falling. Inge did miss a certain feeling of community of like-minded people, even if she didn’t want to admit it. “But I’m very fond of strong, scary imagery. And what you did, don’t get me wrong, it was horrifying.” She looked at the objects she’d been stealing. “Are you an artist?”

Not a bear. Disappointment ran through her at the answer. Damn that tiny bit of hope that wanted to meet someone like her so badly. It had once again let her down. The stupid thing was that she'd told herself not to get let down by it. So why did the disappointment hurt? From a stranger she didn't even know? Nora Pine was truly pathetic. 

But the woman kept talking. Something about being a mare? What kind of name was that? Wasn't that the name of a female horse? And then she described it as a nightmare. "Okay." Nora flipped her piercing with her tongue as she considered the information that had been given to her. "If you're a mare, then give me a nightmare. I want to be scared." Nora doubted anything this woman would throw at her would scare her. But it was only fair right? if they were both fear eaters, like the woman claimed, then Nora should also get to enjoy a show without giving a meal. "So you're a fear eater?" Nora continued. "How do you eat fear? I smell it. It's..." Nora took a longing deep breath, her nose itching to intake some of that glorious and tasty fear. It wasn't like eating physical food, it was better. It satisfied something deep in her soul. 

Nora wrapped an arm around her. This woman was asking a lot of personal questions. Nora didn't like that. The woman hadn't even given a name. "Obviously." Nora tried to deflect the question. "Why else do you think I'm in here?" Even in her monotone voice she hoped to get across the tone of 'you shouldn't ask such stupid questions. It looks dumb. It sounds dumb. Are you dumb? Nora didn't bother to ask if the woman was also an artist. She obviously knew her way around this classroom. She was probably the teacher here.

“Now, here? I’m not as good as it during the day, sadly. And I’d have to put you to sleep.” She considered their surroundings. “It would leave us both rather vulnerable.” Who knew, knowing Inge’s luck one of her colleagues or the concierge was a fucking hunter. Even worse, it might be one of her students. Now that would be very frustrating. “I’ve got a few hunter problems.”

Fear being something to be smelled was interesting and Inge raised her eyebrows inquisitively. “What does it smell like?” Hopefully not like the sweat that dripped off people when they got really afraid. She didn’t like that. “It sustains me, fear. So I suppose eating is the best way to describe it. The scarier a dream is, the more sustenance I get from it. When I enter people’s dreams I can do something like what you did. Create illusions, twist things to fit my narrative. But only in here.” She tapped her head. “Not in the real world. It’s an enviable skill.” It would make her less vulnerable, that was for sure.

She smiled, vaguely. “Fair enough. Is your work like your … illusions? You’re not in my classes, so that’s why I’m wondering.” So much of the work of her students was so tame, so different from the art Inge liked to make. She appreciated it, but it didn’t hit her at her core. “You paint, then? I prefer to sculpt. Create 3D pieces. My nightmares inspire them. I suppose fear is a good muse, hm?”

"How do I know you're not making this up?" Suspicion leaked out of Nora as she stared daggers at the woman. "You've obviously seen what I can do, why should I believe you're not having an art teacher connection moment and making up shit?" Nora folded her arms across her body, disbelief evident in her closed off posture. "It seems very convenient that you just can't prove it right now. How do I know you're not the hunter." Fuck. Emilio had warned her to be careful. What was happening here? Was the woman just parsing information from Nora before killing her? Nora dropped her arms to the side, grabbing a knife from her pocket. 

"The way you eat fear doesn't even sound real." It just sustains? Where was the smell? Where was the substances in the sustenance? "Every fear smells different, it depends on the person. It all tastes the same. The more potent the fear the better the taste." Nora wasn't sure why she was answering. Even if this was a hunter, she at least wanted them to get the experience of eating fear right. It was something so ingrained in her. Honestly? How dare she. How dare she use eating fear as a connector between the two of them if this was a trap. Nora could feel the anger inside her rising to the surface. This was just another person who was getting her hopes up to let her down. 

"You don't need to know about my art." The woman kept trying to distract Nora with talk of art, with pleasantries. Nora wasn't going to fall for it. Nora wanted to fall for it. Nora longed to be a normal person who got to talk about her art, and grow and listen and learn. Maybe in a different life she would be an art student at UMWR. Nora could attend classes with Ray and they could study together, or well, she could paint while he studied, the two cohabitating in the same space like normal college kids. She probably could have had other college kid friends too. But in that other world, Nora probably wasn't a monster. Nora was a monster in this world, and Nora had been made aware that she should suspect everyone. 

“Because we are having a conversation and it seems awfully rude to reach out and make you fall asleep on the spot, that’s why. But sure, you want me to?” She closed the distance between the two of them, the other’s mouthiness spurring Inge on. Her hand wrapped around the other’s thieving wrist, fingers pressing down. Her touch was not enough to make the other sleep, but enough to induce a drowsiness or at the very least a yawn. “I could make you sleep, right here, and get in your head. I could prove it right now. Do you want me to, and cause a suspicious scene, with you off in dreamland and me not connected to my body? I don’t mind a little risk.” She didn’t like to feed during the day, but she didn’t want to be slandered. Her tone lowered. “To think me a hunter is simply insulting.”

She let out a guffaw, shaking her head. “It’s real. Whether you believe it or not isn’t my concern.” It was getting a little insulting. Inge didn’t want to be a person who demanded respect, but she’d shown the young thing reverence and admiration. What did she get in return? Suspicion and disbelief. She must be new to this, she told herself. “See, similar for me. The stronger the fear, the more I’m fed. It’s like food, for humans. I still enjoy eating, but it doesn’t keep me alive. If I don’t feed off people’s fear, I starve. Simple. Real enough for me.” 

This was disappointing, most of all. Never mind the slights, the other’s attitude and her wary nature. Inge was genuinely interested, wanted to see what the other could make with paints and brushes. There was something about supernatural creatures making art, after all. They tended to see the world differently than mere, pesky humans did. “Fine. Art is private sometimes. If it’s anything like your scare work, though, it’s got to be good. That’s all.”

The woman’s hand wrapped around Nora’s wrist, and Nora was filled with the desire to slumber. Sleep tugged at her eyes as a yawn escaped her. With her free hand she rubbed at one of her eyes. “It could be fun.” Nora mumbled between a yawn. The ground was looking awfully inviting at that moment. Nora could just curl up for a quick nap. Nothing wrong with that. This wouldn’t be the weirdest place she ever slept. But the woman kept talking, something about proving a point and insulting her by calling her a hunter. If Nora was honest, which she rarely was, she wasn’t paying attention. All she could focus on was the dropping of her heavy eyelids and attempting to keep them open.

“I starve if I don’t eat off of people too.” Nora’s voice slurred in the way of a person who was up way past their bedtime. She started swaying on the spot as fantasies of being asleep filled her essence. It would be so easy. She just needed to sit down. This lady wasn’t a hunter, she’d said as much. No one could get mad at her for not doing her diligence in checking that.

The woman was still talking. Did she look disappointed? Nora put her free hand on the woman’s face forcing the check up, so she’d be smiling. “Don’t look so glum.” Nora yawned, in her tiredness she was forgetting to be the cool girl, the girl without emotion, fear itself. “You could cure insomnia.” Where had she been during the first few weeks after Debbie’s death, where sleep would elude her. “Here.” Nora dropped the hand and pulled her sketchbook out of her pocket and handed it to the lady. “Take a look. I’m just going to.” Nora tugged her hand out of the lady’s grip and sat on the floor. “I’m just going to sit here.” She told her, closing her eyes. 

You could cure insomnia, the little thing said between yawns, one of her hands on Inge’s face. “And you could be showing people lovely, quaint and healing illusions,” she retorted, pointing out the hypocrisy. They were fear-eaters, not healers. Why deny nature? Why not do what they were born or made for? She could make people’s dreams something soft, reunite them with loved ones or push them towards wonderful conclusions. And sure, she’d done it, if only for her own benefit. But she had no interest in being anyone’s personal hero. Neither, she assumed, did this girl. 

Inge didn’t blame a thief or a fear-eating creature for their nature. She did curse self-righteousness, at least in others. She let the other go when she dropped her notebook, glad that she gave into the drowsy touch she’d put on her. To force her to sleep and push into her dreams, but her curiosity was pulled towards the sketchbook. “Take a nap, if you want.”

While flipping through the pages, she saw sketches of eyes and tentacles, dark creatures with sharp limbs. Inge smiled, wishing that there were more students in her classes that made such art. When they tried to be scary it was so often forced and shallow, as if their imagination only stretched as far as that of mainstream horror movie directors. She didn’t know much about Bugbears, but they were born, weren’t they? Maybe this was someone with a lot of experience in fear too. When the young woman seemed more awake again, Inge looked up. “This is good. I love this one,” she flipped open the notebook to a page of a face being held in a pair of hands, with a face appearing in its mouth. “Do you make larger works? I assume you paint, because…” Well, she had been stealing painting supplies. Inge pushed her phone towards the other, showing her portfolio’s website on the screen. “Don’t have my sketchbook here but I’ve got this.”

"Illusions can't heal." That was the dumbest thing she'd ever heard. Being touched and thrown into a sleepy state, that was tangible and real. What would a healing illusion do? "Do you want me to torment them with pictures of what they would look like if they weren't sick? Didn't lose a limb? I don't think that's a very healing thing to do." Nora summoned the illusion of a small spider in her hand, her other came up to crush it between her palms. A show that there was nothing real about them. They were specks of light, detailed by her imagination. 

Now that Inge's hand was off her arm, Nora could feel her wakefulness coming back to her. Nora let out another yawn, still sitting on the ground. "But I get it. You're not a hunter." Nora would concede the point. The one time in her life she actually took some of Emilio's warning to heart, and she insulted the only other fear eater she'd met. Wasn't that funny? Nora had insulted the lady too. Not that Nora was a stranger to insulting those who meant her well. She seemed to have a specialty for that sort of thing. Why would she think anyone wanted her well? That just wasn't her first instinct when she met someone. 

At least the art teacher was gentle with her sketchbook. Nora watched, eyes half shut, as the art professor flipped through her pages. "I like to oil paint," Nora admitted. What was the etiquette among fear eaters? Were they supposed to try and scare each other? Were they supposed to feast upon each other's fear? Nora was unsure. There had to be something more here, than just looking at art. This was uncertain ground. A monumental moment in her life, and she was spending it setting on the ground, looking up at a lady going through her art book. "I haven't had much paint lately. It's expensive." Nora motioned to the items she'd been stealing, spilled on the floor from her impromptu need to nap. A phone was being shoved under her nose, and Nora found herself engrossed by the other's sculptures. "Sick." Nora muttered, flicking through the page and examining each picture with interest. "You should bring some here. They are cool." Not that university students deserved to enjoy good art. Nora just wanted to see it. 

“Sure they could, if you tried and thought about it longer than two seconds. Show people a lost loved one, whatever. I’m not saying you have to. I’m just saying.” But it wasn’t their nature, was it? Surely Inge could try and make someone’s dreams nice, but it went against what she was. It would be draining. And she had no interest in being anyone’s hero, anyway. She watched the spider crawl over the other’s hand, envious of her abilities working in the daylight and on the earthly plane. She was so useless here, if it weren’t for her art. “We’re not here to be healers though, hm? Not our thing.” 

She let go of her bitterness in relation to being compared to a hunter, even if had been a serious slight on her character. Ingeborg held onto some of her grudges tightly, as if they were precious things for her to look after and love. But most of them were birds in the wind. Not because she was a forgiving person, but because she preferred a life with little ties and little boring, depressing things. Grudges? Not quite entertaining. “Definitely not.”

Oil paints, that was interesting. Certainly not Inge’s preferred medium, but she did appreciate a good painting. Her eyebrow creased at the mention of how expensive it was. She did not appreciate reflection, but there had been a time where she’d not had the means to make art — it had been reserved for scrapbooking, then, and making postcards to sent to family and friends. Hendrik had thought art ridiculous and a waste of money and it was hardly as if Inge had any money of her own, when she’d been a married woman. “It is expensive. I can pretend to not have seen a thing.” A strange thing to for a stranger, maybe, but then Inge had also almost put her to sleep after the other had opened an illusionary portal to hell. This was no longer customary. “There is two on campus. Most of them are in storage, though, a few in people’s homes. I’m going to have an exhibition in town soon, though.” She smiled. “MuertArte, do you know it?” It would be interesting to see the local population interact with her art. She’d have to make some appear in a few dreams before opening, though. 

Thought about it for longer than two seconds? Nora didn’t know much, but she thought the grief of seeing an illusion mocking someone that their loved one was dead and no longer with them might be too much. Then again, the only death Nora had been privy to was the one she’d caused herself. Casting an illusion of an alive Debbie would only mock Debbie’s memory. Debbie had already been lost by Nora’s hand, she didn’t need to be puppeteered around. “I don’t think that’s right.” Nora mumbled. “I don’t think seeing a picture of someone makes them feel better about being gone. Being put to sleep? Now that’s helpful.” But the professor was right. They weren’t here to help. They were there to scare. 

Then the other fear eater was offering Nora a kindness. Nora was suddenly given the permission to run away with any items she needed stuffed in her pocket, and the professor would turn a blind eye. A circus of emotion drove through Nora, clowns coming out of a tiny car too fast to make sense how all of them could fit in there. Suspicious, confusion, gratitude, back to suspicion, understanding, and landing on acceptance. Nora chose to circle back to gratitude. “Thank you.” Hopefully she wasn’t fae, but Emilio had never said anything about fae’s being fear eaters as well. She would have to ask him.

“Yeah, I know MuertArte.” Nora added with a slight nod. “I know the owner, Metzli. I’ll have to go check out your exhibit when it's up.” Nora wondered if the people living in the horrific and creature-ridden town of Wicked’s Rest would have a good reaction to horror themed art, or if they preferred something light. Something that didn’t remind them of the creatures banging around under their bed and threatening to eat their children.

 “So, you’re a mare?” Nora was getting up, cleaning up the spilled supplies and helping herself to whatever her grubby hands could wrap around and fit in her pockets. “Short for nightmare. You haunt people's nightmares.” Nora was talking out all the information she had learned, trying to wrap her head around the new idea. “And you don’t turn into an animal? A crow maybe?” Something about her said I’m a Crow. Nora couldn’t place why she felt like that. 

She shrugged. Inge wasn’t sure where she stood. Would she want to see Vera again, even if it was just an illusion? It wasn’t as if she could see her again in sleep, like so many others could. There was just memory, which was twisted and watery, and the few pictures of her she had. “Might depend on the person, but again. Not our domain, anyway.” Though she did think there was some purpose to the fear she instilled in people: there was no art without suffering. None of her work would be here if it hadn’t been for those initial nightmares and her subsequent rebirth.

Maybe letting thieves get away with stealing from her department was bad praxis, but what did it matter? Inge had little intention of staying at UMWR for a long and interesting career. Some day the hammer would fall and she’d get out, run off to a different city or town and continue on there. Supporting a fellow fear-eating artist would be fun. “Of course. But I’d like to see what you make with it, if you don’t mind.” At the other’s confirmation that she’d come to see her exhibit Inge smiled. Maybe not all inhabitants of this town would appreciate it, but Metzli, Nora and some of her students would be enthusiastic patrons, at least.

As the other busied herself with theft, Inge hopped on a table, swaying her legs easily. “Yes. I can get into them and change them how I want. A bit like what you do, but in people’s subconscious. With less rules.” Then she let out a soft laugh. The other was sharp. “No, I can’t transform. I can astral project though, which I’d argue is just as fun. I can become a bird in someone’s dreams though. I often do.” 

"Not our domain." Nora repeated the words, nothing to add. Nora wasn't sure her illusions could be anything other than terrifying. There was no point in trying. What would have been the point in trying to summon a unicorn if it wasn't going to pretend to run over the group mewing with awe in front of it? If the horn wasn't a bloody mess with entrails pierced on the tips, as its eyes glared at the world and it charged down anyone who came close. Actually. As Nora thought about it, a unicorn didn't seem like a bad idea. She would add it to list of scares to do.

The woman wanted to know what Nora would make with it. "Art." Because at the end of the day, Nora was an asshole. And asshole answers were easy to give. "I don't mind." Nora added eventually. "Metzli has asked for some of my art before. I'll drop off some finished pieces with them." She could display them under a false name, Osito was what Metzli called her. Osito would be a fine name for an artist. She could have also invited the fear eater to her crypt, but trust wasn't gained by a shared food source. 

"That's sick." Nora offered. Because it must be fun to go into peoples dreams. Maybe. Nora didn't know what other people's dreams looked like. She'd only seen her own. "Less rules, what does that mean? You just control everything? Could you make a whole city if you wanted?" Nora's illusions were decent sized. They were people sized, maybe even a little bigger if she strained herself. But she had always held dreams of creating an image so large and terrifying that it towered over a whole city. Maybe one day she would meet another bugbear and they could work together to make it a reality. "Astral projection?" Every time the woman spoke Nora felt like she was left with more questions than answers. "What the fuck is astral projection?"

She was funny, this bugbear. Oppositional, filled with the bite and bark Inge sometimes wished she’d have had when she was younger. There was something so very human about her, from the questions she asked with ferocity from the way she waved away some of her suggestions. As if she was still trying to figure it all out. This, of course, was fair enough — she seemed no older than twenty and the youth had so much space for figuring out these days.

“I’ll be curious to see them, then,” she said, not engaging with the asshole comment because what point was there? Besides her amusement, there was really none. “This town deserves more good art.” It was no New York, no Venice, no Tokyo but still … even a small, rainy town on the east coast deserved a good art scene.

She frowned, then shrugged. “Perhaps. Most people conjure the cities in their dreams themselves, and I’m not much of an architect. I had a time where I did larger scale abstract things, nightmare-wise, those were large? Dark constructs, tar-like …” She trailed off, thinking about how those dreams hadn’t always inspired a lot of fear in others but had certainly done something interesting. Inge refocused. “But it’s always just one person I can do it to at a time.” Which was a limit she was fine with. She leaned on her hands, positioning her body forwards a bit. “I can go into the astral plane. It sounds wishy washy and that’s because to some it is. For me, it means I can …. pretty much just go into a different dimension and look at this earthly one and decide where I wish to land. Not when it’s day, though. It’s how I access dreams. It’s … hard to explain, if you haven’t done it.” She shrugged. “Maybe I can show you during the night, sometime.”

Good art was subjective. Good art, in the eyes of the media, often included cute puppies, beautiful sunrises and other mundane things. Great art was Goya’s Saturn Devouring His Son, Munch’s the Scream. Great art included horror pieces. Nora hadn’t done well in school, information went in one ear and out the other. Scores of tutors had been hired to sit down across the giant table from her and try to bang information into a brain that was unwilling to receive. The only thing that ever stuck willingly was art. Nora devoured art with the intensity of Saturn himself. “This town deserves great art.” Nora mumbled. “Great art should invoke fear.” As another fear eater, Nora felt this would be the first person she’d ever met who would agree with that statement. 

It was with rapt attention that Nora learned about people’s dreams. How fascinating it must be to slip into someone else's consciousness and see the world how they saw it. It would answer so many questions the girl held about how they saw the world. What it meant to be human. What she was missing from the experience, the question used to keep her up at night. Now it was a passing fancy. “You should show me a dream too, some time.” Nora added, as the fellow fear eater leaned forward and told her about the astral plane. Nora wanted to know all of it, she wanted to see all of it. “Night time.” Nora repeated, Mare’s were limited to night but appeared to have a massive freedom. The years of walking would have been so different if Nora had been able to delve into the astral plane while traveling. “You’ll give me a nightmare sometime, right? Or can you only give nightmares to people who will be scared?” Because Nora would never be scared. She’d only ever been scared of one thing in her life, and that had been herself.

Inge beamed at the other, such a small and young thing and yet so wise. Art should invoke fear, indeed. Her nightmares were a form of art, besides the regular pieces she made. Not everyone thought so, of course — people spoke of trauma and sleep disorders, of symptoms and illness. But art was better after suffering. Life, waking, all of it: it gained color and all when there was fear. She sought it herself, didn’t she? How she wished, sometimes, to quiver like a feather in the wind, to be truly afraid for her own life, her body and mind. Fear was art was fear was art. “You are so correct.” Maybe it was their nature to blame for this philosophy, but Inge simply thought they were right. “Of all the emotions to invoke, it is fear we artists should look for most.” 

And now the little thing was asking for a nightmare. Inge looked at her and saw a challenge, not like the other ones she encountered but a true one. A fellow connoisseur of fear who wanted to be frightened. She couldn’t make fellow mares afraid, and so many of the rest of her peers were immortal and thus immune to her touch and haunting ways. But here was an option. “I’d be honored. And I do support you attempting to scare me again. It’s been quite some time since I’ve been afraid. And it does inspire me, whenever I feel some terror.” She smiled. This was more honest than she was with most, but she supposed that the other might understand. “As far as I know I should be able to get in your dreams, but whether I’ll succeed in scaring you …” Inge shrugged. “We’ll see, right?”

Nora nodded. They were in agreement. Fear was the ultimate form of art. Something clicked, at that moment. Something nice and full of melancholy. Nora paused, digesting the emotion for a moment. Dissecting it carefully to try and understand where it had come from. Oh. It was the feeling of a life that could have been. The knowledge that if she had been raised by other bugbears, she would have had this community with them her whole life. Instead of the first time, in an art room, with a mare. Maybe. Nora couldn’t say for sure. She’d never met another bugbear.