HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~
Let me look at this from my dark and honestly chaotic evil lenses~
A lot of people only know about the L'manburg wars and on; that's pretty much how the SMP became just that, because it was then that it started getting attention.
But what a lot of people don't realize is that technically, almost everything before that is still cannon.
And was C!Dream a psychopathic manipulator then? No. He certainly always had the potential to be, but so did Wilbur. Smart people have that potential by default.
But there was something drove Wilbur to tap into that insanity, and the same should be assumed about Dream. His limbo is as followed, in an unnecessarily artistic format because I'm ✨extra✨;
He woke up in a field of flowers. As he cast everything under his careful gaze, a word single word formed on his lips.
"Dream."
Was that his name? It felt like his name. He resolved to call himself that until something else came along.
The sun never moved from it's original position from the sky, and yet Dream was still acutely aware of the hours passing as he wandered the field. From time to time, he remembered more keywords from... From whoever he was, most likely.
Green. His favorite color, perhaps? It was almost instinctively that Dream glanced down at his clothes, paying real attention to them for the first time. The hoodie he wore was indeed green, but it was a bright and poisonous hue, and the hoodie itself was torn and bloodstained. At this, his unperturbed mindset shattered as he realized nothing was making any sense.
What had happened? Where was he? Why was it, no matter how long he walked, Dream couldn't reach the forest at the edge of his field? Why hadn't the sun began to set? He knew it had been hours, knew that it should be well into the night by now. Where were the other creatures? The bugs, the rodents, the mosquitoes that should have been lazily buzzing about around him? The flowers, which only moments ago had only been splashes of vibrant life, seemed like empty husks in the stuffy breeze, unnaturally colored and sickly sweet, like cheap perfume.
As panic began to set in, Dream felt the tell-tale prickling of light rain, and looked up in alarm. Where only moments ago, there had been abnormally bright blue sky, there were darkening storm clouds.
As the rain fell harder, becoming sharp and painful, Dream just stood there, unable to tell if the burning sensation on his face was the corrupted sky fall, or his own tears. It all came back to him in large and incomprehensible blurs of memory and information, and yet he felt himself slipping away again.
Dream couldn't tell you what exactly made him refocus his eyes and glance just to his right, only what laid there on the ground next too him.
A shining, bloodstained axe.
>>>
He woke up in a field of flowers...
