Dominance

Chapter 8: Flying Tempers And Tables

Amid her sleep plagued with nightmares, Sara stared up at the bleak white fog from where she lay. The smell of burning and the surroundings of nothingness gave her an unnerving sense of deja vu. The conversant sense of floating left a nauseating swell in her stomach.
For a long time, Sara did not move. She just lay there, waiting for something to happen.

"You continue to hinder my mind, girl."

Sara sat up and whirled around to the familiar voice. There stood the strange white wolf-like beast, uncannily from her earlier dream, standing over and peering down at her. Even with the invincible sensation of being inside a dream, Sara dared not move, unsure of what it would do next. The glossy fur encasing the creature began to glow softly. Then brighter and brighter until Sara had to cover her eyes. She left her hands to linger over her face for a moment after the light diminished, then peeking through the gaps in her fingers, she saw a figure now sitting beside her.

The distinguished canine features of the fantasy-esque creature had altered shape, yet there was no mistaking that the demonic horns and prominent golden amber eyes were the same. Engrossing through the grey miasma, Sara took in ivory white hair so long and delicate at first glance she'd assumed she was gazing at a woman. But as she squinted to regard more detail she realised the inimitable style of clothing sculpted the features of a man.

He sat casually, one knee up, his head resting via his hand on his cheek. The way he regarded Sara was that of disdain.

"Who are you?" Sara found it difficult to push the words out. Her throat burned and her voice sounded soft and raspy. "Where is this place?"

"Don't you know?" His speech was smooth and strange, with an accent Sara could not place. "Interesting."

Sara rubbed at her eyes as they began to unfocus further. When the strange man spoke again his words began to obscure as if he was suddenly far away.

"You are wasting your time coming to me. You should focus on restoring the Drachund to preserve the territory."

Sara didn't understand. But before she could query the dream world had already drifted away.

🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻

Sara awoke the next morning feeling numb and pessimistic. Her eyes felt raw and puffy and she had a headache to match. She automatically turned her head to look at the numbers on her alarm clock which sat atop her bedside table, as she did from her bed every morning. But of course, this wasn't her room. She wasn't in her bed. And said clock was not there.

Instead, she was lying on a worn foam mattress on the floor, staring at a bleak wall with peeling paint and unfamiliar cracks in the plaster. As she pushed herself upright a figure groaned by her side. Curled partially under a large bed frame and partially on Sara's mattress was one of the twins.

The boy stirred awake, his green and gold eyes groggily opened, instantly identifying him. Sparkie's hair was an extra shaggy mess, and with daylight now exposing it, she noticed the dirt and grime on his face and battered clothes. Blood had dried on him in splatters and speckles. Down his neck, shoulders and the front of his shirt, which hung loosely where some buttons were missing. Sparkie grinned toothily as Sara took in the little details and she frowned at his inhuman canines.

Twister was stationed on the larger bed, positioned on the side that leaned against the wall with a window. He was still, except for his tail which silently thumped rhythmically against the crinkled blanket he was sitting on. His posture was alert and rigid, but his eyes looked sullen. His tired blue irises flickered away from his watch through the dirty moth-chewed curtains and met Sara's hazel ones. They stared at each other in a wordless hold, before eventually Sara submissively looked away.