The Dark Presence. [ She repeats the name to commit it to memory. Her gaze moves towards the windows as they continue to walk. ] Not the happiest name, is it?
[ Elizabeth can see the entity that Alan refers to. A cloud, a tornado, commanding birds, commanding people it has taken away. People who have been carved out and a will simply replaced by. Pale creatures that moved so inhuman like. Blank eyes.
It won't take Alan that way. It needs him... doesn't it?
She can tell that as she stands in a dirty street of some place that is meant to be New York City. Standing underneath a steady light and watching shadows as they walk past. Shadows that shout or grumble the name of the author she also follows behind at the same time. Then, sometimes, she catches a glimpse of a brown coat. A man soaked from the rain.
Alan Wake.
Just not the same Alan that she follows behind. Another version of the man who is also trapped in this dimension.
Does every version of him end up here? A vortex that sucks creative minds in to free itself? An unending cycle...? No. Every cycle can be broken. The matter is the price. And who will be willing to pay it.
Blue eyes settle on the back of the man as she follows him. Black and white flannel. Longer hair but not as long as the man she saw in the streets. ]
"Pulled into the story"? [ Her arms cross. ] A story you wrote? What does any of that mean? What happened to this Carl Stucky?
[ Elizabeth can't say that she already knows the answers to these questions of course. Alan is on a set path and, for some reason, she must see him down that path. For some reason she is now apart of his manuscripts. ]
no subject
[ Elizabeth can see the entity that Alan refers to. A cloud, a tornado, commanding birds, commanding people it has taken away. People who have been carved out and a will simply replaced by. Pale creatures that moved so inhuman like. Blank eyes.
It won't take Alan that way. It needs him... doesn't it?
She can tell that as she stands in a dirty street of some place that is meant to be New York City. Standing underneath a steady light and watching shadows as they walk past. Shadows that shout or grumble the name of the author she also follows behind at the same time. Then, sometimes, she catches a glimpse of a brown coat. A man soaked from the rain.
Alan Wake.
Just not the same Alan that she follows behind. Another version of the man who is also trapped in this dimension.
Does every version of him end up here? A vortex that sucks creative minds in to free itself? An unending cycle...? No. Every cycle can be broken. The matter is the price. And who will be willing to pay it.
Blue eyes settle on the back of the man as she follows him. Black and white flannel. Longer hair but not as long as the man she saw in the streets. ]
"Pulled into the story"? [ Her arms cross. ] A story you wrote? What does any of that mean? What happened to this Carl Stucky?
[ Elizabeth can't say that she already knows the answers to these questions of course. Alan is on a set path and, for some reason, she must see him down that path. For some reason she is now apart of his manuscripts. ]