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It was always the same dream—one minute I was watching myself from a distance, as dream—me frolicked all too gracefully about in a field of daisies and primrose, then a moment later she stopped. The field had turned brown, barren and the thick, putrid scent of something burning filled the air. We were not alone.
Six figures now stood in a circle around the dream-me at the center of the field, all shrouded in coal black cloaks. Fear had only begun to seep into my bloodstream before I evaded its clutches.
I had been struck by this baffling need to save this version of myself—the girl who knew none of the evils the world held. The girl who still saw everything through rose-tinted glasses—I didn't even need another second to think before I was sprinting across decaying flowers. As I neared them, I could hear their whispery voices conspiring, yet I kept my eyes trained on dream-me.
I also became more aware of the sloshing my feet made each time they impacted the earth. The sweet, metallic scent that now co-mingled with the burning. As I pursued this venture, my eyes were locked on dream-me ahead, too terrified to look anywhere else and see the full nature of what my surroundings had become.
As I edged closer to the static cloaked figures, my eyes, compelled by the dream, broke away for just a second. In which I saw only one of their faces, yet it was enough to give me pause. Translucent, alabaster white skin and dark brown hair which was slicked back. The man had a widow's peak, sharp, thin nose, round jaw and pointed chin. Though, it was his thin lips which were curled in the most predatorial smirk and his cold-calculating bloodred eyes which caused my heart to palpitate. Still, I shoved past them and sprinted toward myself. And right as the blue eyes of dream-me locked on my own...
They all lunged.
My subconscious yanked me from my nightmare and I found myself disoriented and staring at a morphing silhouette. A small bubble of a scream had formed its way in the back of my throat, threatening to unleash hell, when the urgent but warm hand settled on my wrist. The frail women, I knew by the name Theodora Huckle came into view. Her long black hair tickling my nose as her aging olive skin illuminated itself by the candle she lit beside me. I watched as her alarmed black eyes locked on me, worry aging her face beyond the usual youthful guise she held. "Get up, we must go now!"
