Title: Melting
Fandom: Inception / Paprika
Rating: Gen
Length: ~350 words
Contents: Implied dream violence, dreams, ficlet, Ariadne (Inception), reality warping in dreams
Summary: Dreams followed the rules set by the architect; that's how it worked. That's how it's supposed to work.

Ariadne heard the music first. It floated through the open window of the library, a hard, thumping rhythm and wailing like a jazz funeral.The noise of the crowd came next -- voices shouting, laughing, crying, roaring like lions and crashing like waves.

It didn't belong in this dream, and she left her post by the stairwell to check the street outside, expecting to see the first ripples of rebellion as the dreamer's subconscious fought back. It was too early, she thought. They'd never finish the plan before the crowd arrived, as loud as they were.

Ariadne had never been torn apart by a subconscious dream mob, but Arthur had stories. He'd even shuddered when he told them.

So it was with deep unease that she strode past the windows as casually as she could, trying to avoid attracting the attention of the library patrons. Her heels made no noise on the carpet; the silence stretched out as it should -- except for the music. It sounded like a parade.

It was a parade.

Ariadne found herself frozen in front of the window, staring in confusion at the oncoming menagerie of marching creatures -- frogs the size of a car, dressed as cheerleaders; marionettes two stories tall, with their strings jerking in the air above them like live electrical wires; a bright purple t-rex stomping in time to the drums and thumping inexorably with the crowd up the front steps of the library.

As she watched, the lions melted from their marble stillness and joined the dancers at the edges of the parade, grinning maniacally. The facade of the building billowed outward, sprouting brilliant ruby-colored vines that waved and writhed and began to climb.

This can't possibly be happening, Ariadne thought, her breath catching sharply in her chest. Dreams followed the rules set by the architect; that's how it worked. This dream followed her rules. That's how it worked.

It was the last thought she had as the room around her began to undulate, then stretch into the gaping maw of a pitcher plant. A waft of sweet, sweaty air billowed up to her.

Ariadne screamed as she slid down into a thick, wet darkness.