I know what she is doing.
She is sitting at her dark cherry wood desk, her back straight as she wracked her mind for words to sooth her urge. Her pale green eyes reflected the glow of the screen. Her notebook lay on her lap, a pencil tucked behind her ear, begging to be used.
And her hair. Softened with her brush, the black silk trailed to the floor in long waves, like midnight waves on a beach. One of her green eyes would be covered by some of her hair, which she paused to wipe away. She would hesitate a moment, cast her eyes around the room, glancing at the clock. She then would sigh, and go back to whatever she battle scene she was working on.
Her fingers fly like pixies in the fairytales across the keys. She is wearing a small lace cardigan over her favorite blue dress. She was about to go dancing, but the urge of inspiration held her back for a moment longer.
"Lauren,"
No please, let me watch this girl. She's so involved with her work.
"Lauren, honey,"
No! The girl, she was fading! How does her story end?
"Lauren, love! Wake up!"
I jolted awake.
"Lauren, you were muttering in your sleep." The voice whispered.
I nodded and rolled over in my bed. I can't believe this. I dreamed about her again.
Lydia, in her lace cardigan, typing up her masterpiece.
That was ten seconds before she got killed.
