Stepping into the subconscious of another person, especially an unfamiliar one, was like entering a new world. It took adapting; like a pair of lungs acclimating to a foreign atmosphere, there was nothing quite like that first second of exposure, the feeling that you might just collapse beneath the oppressive force of mental energy. Nightmares were more powerful in that way. A shiver jolted up Marlow's spine as she took it all in; like dreams, these were more than their visions, they were the senses, the thoughts, the emotions, all needled together to create a place that was very real to the people in it.
Marlow slowly ventured further with a hand drifting along the tunnel wall. She barely grazed the bleeding vines with her fingertips; but as she moved, gashes in the tendrils sealed themselves up and the pools of crimson evaporated, revealing clean earth. The music vibrating her bones quieted, but even its loudest seemed like it would pale in comparison to the violent discord of the Victrola. The voices stunned her; Marlow held on to the edge of the tunnel and turned away from the noise, grinding her teeth. Dreams, she knew how to dismantle. Telepathy was another thing entirely.
"Issac," she called, pushing herself forward, into the pulsating center, until she reached him. She knelt in front of him, reached for his arm and lingered there without touching him. "Issac," she said again, loud enough she hoped, for him to focus on.