[warnings for creepy imagery, minor gore, horrorterrors in general]
They don’t have to do this. Feferi knows that more than anyone, she’s the one who spends the most time speaking with Them—or, well, listening, They don’t take it too kindly when she tries to talk back—but she’s heard enough that she knows They could just pick one medium to relay messages through, only haunt one person. It’s not even as if spreading out the messages alleviates the pain from those who are more likely to receive them—they all have to take care of each other, they all feel sick to their stomachs watching their family suffer.
And if Feferi could be spared the sight of John’s eyes rolling back as he screams into the sky, of Vriska’s arm jerking on its own as it scrawls letters into the dirt until her nails are nearly gone, of Sollux, huddled in the corner of a tent and covering his eyes like that might stop the visions, whimpering pleas and apologies and barely able to tell the troupe what the actual message is until Feferi cradles him in her arms and calms him down with a steady stream of “it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re safe, you’re here, it wasn’t really them, they still love you, they love you, I love you, okay, shhhh…” until he can open his eyes without seeing ghosts everywhere—
If she didn’t have to see any of that, ever again, she’d gladly take her own set of nightmares.