Painted Roses

Devil in Thy Dream

                  

Rosalia woke with a sense of terror she didn't understand in a towering corridor she didn't recognise.

She was on her back. The sensation of arms around her faded away, as if Braydon's embrace was a dream she woke from. Yet this was a dream, she knew it so be so, though she didn't know where she was.

She sat up, looking around, pushing to her feet.

She could only have been in a palace.

The golden walls, the plinths topped with blossoming vases, the plush red carpet all bathed in sunlight, it almost reminded her of Rose Castle.

But it wasn't Rose Castle; she knew that, even though it was familiar.

It took her a moment to place it when the realisation suddenly clicked.

She was in the Play Castle. This was where Braydon and his siblings had spent most of their childhood – and many a day during adulthood from the sound of it. But was this really what it had looked like when it had been a fully functioning palace?

She couldn't know such a thing after all. All she had was the ruins. Why was she dreaming of such a place anyway?

A door further down the hall opened and she turned, her eyebrows lifting.

Luka walked through the door.

He was younger then the face she knew now, not by much but still younger. His hair was cut short – both he and his companion decked out in beautiful clothing that would now be acceptable as a fancy dress ball – and he was laughing in a way he didn't laugh nowadays unless he was with Beldon.

There was no Beldon this time.

If she was dreaming of some sort of imagined past, Beldon didn't exist at this time, Luka had no notion of him.

Instead the person who made him laugh was a beautiful man his age with chocolate brown hair and easy smile.

They couldn't see her. She stepped from their path as they walked path, chatting animatedly about some hunt they had apparently both participated in. It wasn't the Luka she knew, probably not even the Luka Beldon knew.

The pair disappeared around a corner, their laughter fading away, echoing through the silent sunlit air.

And then something drew her attention.

Not a sound, there was no change in the calm quiet around her, but something rippled through her. She turned in the opposite direction to Luka and followed the feeling, almost like an instinct, through the halls, passed the servants who had no concept of their waking-dream visitor, until she suddenly knew where she was.

She was walking towards Braydon's office. The one she had found the last time she had visited the ruins.

Voices could be heard through the closed doors, a pair, one was unmistakably Braydon, the other was a female. Their words were muffled but the tones were tight, angry, stressed and tired.

She stopped outside the door, reaching to rest her hand on the handle.

Her hand slid through the metal, partly slipping into the door making her withdraw in surprise. She stared at it for a moment, then pressed her hand to the wood, letting her fingers, hand, arm and finally the rest of her slide through.

She stepped into the room, the perfect, clean, well-used room with its polished wooden desk, dust free surfaces, clear windows and shining portrait that looked out towards her with the same gentle, powerful eyes she had witnessed for herself.