I summon what I can of my stifled powers to shield myself as she turns and stares right through where I stand behind her.
My pulse thrums in my neck, and I’m trying to keep my breath slow and even. Breathing is something I’ve taken for granted. It’s so much harder here.
Her wide, frantic eyes dart around, scanning for danger. I swear I can almost taste the metallic flavor of her panic.
Finally, she composes herself and walks into the dilapidated shack she calls home. I’ve considered burning it to the ground to force her into a more suitable living space, but the risks are too great. And I don’t want to be responsible for her losing anything more than she already has.
I listen with clenched fists, helpless as her sad excuse for a mother assaults her. Then I count the seconds it takes her to climb the stairs to her room.
Four … Five … Six.
A light on the second floor shines through the sheer curtains of her bedroom window, and my fae hearing recognizes the sound of a lock moving into place.
The shape of her silhouette glides past the window as she changes into more comfortable clothes. I stay until the flame of her lantern weakens, and I’m certain she must be sleeping soundly.
Nothing can come of this seedling of obsession planted within me. I know that. Still, I cannot help but wonder what life would look like if I could put aside the obligations thrust upon me and be selfish, just for once.
She would never have to fall asleep with the light on again.
Arina
“The choking part is interesting,” Phil says.
She passes me a steaming mug of tea across her kitchen table. The comfort of her little cabin filled with trinkets and bright decor is a stark contrast to my own dismal living space.
I try not to roll my eyes. “Of course you would think that.”
“Not like that! I just mean that choking in dreams in general can mean you have something important to say, but people aren’t listening. Or sometimes it can mean you’re afraid to speak up about something.” She eyes me, suspicion clear in her expression.
I take a deliberate sip of tea so I can think.
In the dream, something in the shadows of the mist catches my attention. I don’t know what it is, but there is an energy in the air that tells me I should run.
The problem is, I can’t. My mind tells my body to move, but my muscles are not responding.
In the distance, lights shine. Glowing white moths, or maybe they’re flowers? I squint, but the image stays fuzzy and intangible.
There’s a part of me that recognizes it might be a dream, but I’m unable to escape into the realm of consciousness.
Finally, I’m able to run, but not before the trees start to come alive.
No matter how much effort I put into fleeing, I can’t get closer to the lights.
The roots of the tree closest to me break through the frozen ground, growing and thrashing as they stretch my direction. My screams are swallowed by the cold, dark air.
One long root whips out, wrapping painfully around my neck and constricting hard.
I reach up to pull it off, but the root has morphed into a snake, and I can’t get between where its scaly muscles meet my throat.
I know in my heart that if I’m unable to scream loud enough to be heard, I’m going to die.
That’s when the dream ends, and I’m awake in my bed, choking and gasping for air and covered in sweat.
“Isn’t it odd that the flame in my lamp went out? I know for a fact it was still burning when I fell asleep.” I hate waking up in the dark, especially after a nightmare as visceral as this one had been.
“It was probably just from you thrashing around like you’re possessed,” Phil jokes.
I shiver, remembering how dark the room had been. “It was pitch black, and I must have been somewhere between awakeand asleep because I swear I saw two floating golden orbs in the shadows at the edges of my vision.”
