Sanctuary [h.s.]

Chapter Eight

"Oh, and I digress

'Cause I must make you the perfect morning

And I try my best

To prove that nothing's out to get you"

***

My reflection stared back at me from the mirror that clung to the bathroom wall. Ginger tendrils of hair cascaded past my shoulders, framing my face perfectly. I examined my fair skin, gently lifting it to check for any signs of aging. There were a few. Nothing devastating, but it was no longer the skin I had when I was a teenager. Accepting this change was strange, though I knew I'd come to terms with it eventually.

I bared my teeth in the mirror, not in a smile, but in the way a child would – scrunched nose included. A smudge of pink lipstick stained my front tooth. Leaning in closer, I rubbed it off with my finger. As I applied pressure, the tooth wiggled slightly. My eyebrows knit together, puzzled by the unfamiliar sensation. I opened my mouth wider, separating my teeth. As they parted, the tooth fell out. My eyes widened as I watched it drop into the sink. Another tooth followed with a crisp clink against the ceramic. I gasped, running my tongue over my gums, feeling the empty socket where the teeth once were. Another tooth succumbed to the pressure of my tongue, joining the others in the sink. I clamped my hand over my mouth, desperate to stop more from falling out.

Sunlight streamed into the room as I opened my eyes. My tongue darted over my teeth, checking to make sure they were all in place. It was just a dream.

My tense muscles relaxed momentarily until a soft whimper broke the silence next to me. I turned to see Harry's sleeping face, pouting in distress, his eyebrows weaved together in worry.

"N- No... Please..." he murmured, pleading in his sleep.

I reached out, gently placing my hand on his bicep. His eyes flew open, and his body nearly tumbled out of the bed. I flinched at his strong reaction, pulling my hand in towards myself.

"No! Get away!" He warned, still lost between reality and his dreams.

I sit up, tilting my head with concern before speaking in a gentle tone, "Hey, it's me. It's just a bad dream."

I watched as the fog of sleep cleared from his eyes, bringing him fully back to the present. "Just a bad dream?" he snickered. "It was him. Silas. It's always him."

His tone was calmer, but a trace of pain lingered. He rubbed his face with both of his hands, trying to dispel the discomfort and weariness.

"This happens often? You said your dreams were normal," I question before covering my mouth as a yawn escaped me.

"Yes darling, that's what we call a lie," he responded, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words. "I wasn't about to tell some stranger what was lurking in my mind. But I suppose you're no stranger now. Just strange," he teased, a slight grin tugging at the corner of his lips, though the humor did little to mask the underlying pain. "He was reading poetry... how does your dream compare?"

"Well, my teeth were falling out. It was quite awful. Think I would've preferred the poetry," I attempted to lighten the mood but his reaction told me that I fell flat.

He clicked his tongue with a shake of his head before shifting his body so his feet met with the wooden floors. With his back turned to me he began to speak, "I wouldn't be so sure. My master was a prolific poet. He carved his verses into our flesh. Said he'd turn us into art." His shoulders shook gently as he let out a soft, bitter chuckle. The absurdity of it all seemed to be his only defense against the horror.