I’m always aware of how much my parents do for me, and how much of their lives they give up to make their children happier and healthier. I guess this awareness manifests itself in my dreams.
My existence and purpose in this dream was hazy and confusing–what was I doing? What role did I play? All I remember is a castle full of strange people and beings, and full of food and plenty of parties. I spent my time there. A mixture of wonder and delight and fear, the castle was a medley of emotions and colors and sounds and shifting dream-scenes. I DO remember that a demon was following me, one that I couldn’t see, but I always knew was there.
I knew that time was dwindling and that I’d eventually be taken by the demon, but I lowkey just ignored it and went about my life.
Here’s where things get creepy. I returned to my family’s little cottage in the woods, and my dad told me to burn everything that had my name on it. All letters, drawings, everything. He said he had spoken to a witch in the woods and there was only one way to save me from the demon. After I burned everything with my name on it, I had to stay within the house for 6 weeks.
Every day, my dad cut off all his limbs and put them outside the door. The demon would take them and they would regrow back, every day. This went on for 6 weeks. I was stuck, unable to leave or go back to the castle, and my dad had to sever his own arms and legs everyday. I had burned all traces of myself, my dad was in constant anguish, and I wasn’t allowed to leave for weeks on end–it was basically Hell, but at least my soul wasn’t going to be taken by the demon.
I never got to see if we banished the demon or not–because I woke up in the middle of the night all freaked out. I wish this was a dream I didn’t remember.