Long, sad dream.

There was a comic book about a young girl named Camille, drawn in a style that was a cross between Jhonen Vasquez and Moyoco Anno. She was very angry and frequently disoriented, because the world did not work the way it was supposed to, somehow. People disappeared and came back different and cruel, and she was the only one who noticed.

Sometimes she drifted off and came back to find familiar things twisted and burned black, days seemingly having passed, and people avoiding her. If she’s doing these things, why has nothing been done about her? She doesn’t know. It makes her mad.

I woke up from this dream into another dream, very disappointed that the comic book did not really exist. I was a small child spending the winter in the gloomy, tumbledown home of a depressed millionaire with many children. Exploring the massive house, I eventually worked out that it had once been several buildings, including a cafe (still in operation; it’s so big that the millionaire, who rarely goes further than the kitchen, hasn’t noticed) and a grade-school.

Some of the children are not the millionaire’s - they’re schoolchildren who were trapped in her house when it began to grow outwards and overtake the buildings nearby. The town is dilapidated and unpopulated for many miles beyond.

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