The light in your nightmares

Dust and Red quickly went downstairs.

The boy was relieved not to run into Two or Chatterbox. They did meet a few people but none lingered to chat.

Charismatic at Pony's side just nodded in greeting as they both climbed the stairs.

Then they ran into someone again near the dining room.

The guy was taller than Red, which was quite an achievement. The man had black hair at the bottom and dyed white on top. It was all done in the Edgar Cut style which surprisingly suited him.

He looked the duo up and down, then gave them a bright smile. Dust could easily guess that he was Chatterbox's crush.

He wasn't alone either. Cherub who was previously mentioned was accompanying him. All Dust can say about her is that she fits perfectly with the description he was given and that she seems cheerful.

Far too much for this kind of environment.

Red pulls the boy forward without any contact being able to be initiated.

As an explanation, a firm "Let's go".

The boy has gotten used to his companion's sudden change of mood and doesn't react more than that.

After all, if what the new girl said is true, it's not because someone touch the food that everyone will end up having to participate in a Nightmare at the same time. And for the secret passages and all that, someone other than him can explain to them.

Soon they find themselves in front of the door that leads to the portraits.

It's a modest wooden board, simple and ordinary. Which probably explains why they didn't find this room full of strange portraits the first time they came to the castle.

Not that Dust had time to look. But Pony, Purple-belly or someone else must have searched the place at that time. If only to find an exit.

.

The portraits are still hanging on the walls, waiting for them very patiently.

Dust wonders how long they have been hanging there and when they were made.

Each step that brings him a little closer to his portrait amplifies this unpleasant feeling of being observed by the painted characters.

He stands in front of him - almost hypnotized even.

And asks the question that disturbs him the most out loud:

-Why are our portraits here? Why this gallery exist?

The cold and clear voice of Red behind him answers:

-It's an exhibition.

He then moves forward to look at the canvas with the boy almost shoulder to shoulder.

Dust moves to have more space while keeping his eyes fixed on the oil painting:

-An exhibition of what?

Silence. Then a sigh. The man is brief:

-A collection.

Dust reacts immediately:

-We are trophies?

to this new question and his look Red does not even offer him a smile.

He does not say yes to Dust but it is just as well.

A collection.. of trophies... An explanation that seems quite possible.

But they are exhibited while they have not yet lost?

-Where is your portrait Red?

The man raises one of his eyebrows and a blink later he pivots on himself to point a little further at his image.

With great strides Dust places himself below the frame. The blue eyes frozen in time look down on him as indifferent as inhuman.

Dust notes that he is wearing the same outfit as when he met him in the darkness of the mine.

Vaguely, outside the gallery, the boy hears murmurs of discussions.

It's quite disconcerting because the noise creates the illusion that the portraits are whispering to each other.

The observation is simply no longer enough for the young man. Why expose them like this? To taunt them? His two arms reach out to grab the wooden frame.

The artwork he is lifting is heavier than he thinks. He has to stand on tiptoe to unhook it from the wall and tilt his back backwards to remove it completely.

Red watches him do it without stopping him.

He only opens his mouth when his portrait is placed face down on the ground.

-What are you looking for?

Dust doesn't give him a look, busy as he is contemplating the tapestry previously hidden by the paint.

In the end, it's always the same thing he's looking for:

-Answers.

The brown eyes then return to the back of the frame. There's nothing there either, no inscriptions, no images. Nothing. A simple wooden board....

The boy sighs and goes back to his own painting.

As he stretches out his arms for the second time, the man following him gets ahead of him and places Dust's painted face on the ground without any effort.

There is nothing there either.

The noise of the discussions outside creeping into the gallery rises a little more.

Dust hears it without listening, his mind is elsewhere.

Suddenly he thinks of Eyes. Of that young man in the mine. Of his face lit by the flashlight with dust glowing like glitter in the darkness.

He remembers his widenend eyes dazzled by the sudden ray of light.

What happened to him?

Dust doesn't know. But one thing is sure; he didn't come back.

The portraits scroll before his eyes as he thinks and he finally finds him.

The two mens are now in front of Eyes painting version. Dust inspects it meticulously while mumbling:

- It's scary not to know what happened to him...

The taller of the two seems curious by what the smaller one says:

- Happened to who?

Dust glares at the man in his incomprehension. What do you mean to whom?

- To him!

Red looks at Dust then follows the boy's head movement to come across the portrait. However, he still doesn't seem to understand:

--Who is it?

Dust is almost offended by his companion's question.

He observes him more carefully. The man's expression is serious, his eyes expressing only confusion.

Intrigued, the boy checks:

- Don't you remember? In the mine, the one who fled when the shadow appeared...?

Red tilts his head to one side as if to better remember.

- The guy you carried?

His tone is hesitant.

Dust frowns.

Is he confusing One with Eyes?

Even if they were plunged into darkness, the two don't look alike at all! Did he not pay them any attention?

The young man abandons the cause because it seems lost in advance.

To say "no" to his companion, he only needs a small gesture of the head in negation.

Somewhere inside him, it makes him sad. How can you forget a human being so quickly?

A whole existence...

He focuses on the portrait again.

Next to him Red whispers, his memory coming back to him after five minutes of long silence:

-It was the blond who was walking longing the wall like you....?

Dust notices that the "blond" as Red says so well is also wearing the same clothes as in the mine in this artwork.The worn sneakers, the jeans,... Everything is there.

Without having to say anything the red-haired man takes this portrait down from the wall as well.

Dust thanks him.

Then he falls silent in the face of a simple observation.

Just like the other paintings there is nothing behind. The boy even tries to examine the inside by separating the meshes of the frame.

But the frame does not reveal any secrets.

He must face the evidence and the work returns to its original place.

The man next to him gives him time to think.

Brown eyes cast a final glance at the room, stopping for a second on the painted face of Purple-belly then on that of One, Princess and Handsome.

Portraits of dead or missing people next to those still alive.

Without any distinction

What is worrying here is that one can disappear in a second.

If they expose them like this, isn't it a statement? One that affirms that they are losers in advance?

He turns his head trying to perceive the back of this very long room.

There are hundreds of paintings, maybe even more.