A Dream is but a Dream

She held the wilting petals in the palm of her hand, staring blindly into the velvety white. Something had triggered a memory of him. Was it a smell? A sound? The way the wind blew? Anything and everything triggered those memories these days, ever since she emerged from stasis. Ysorrowen closed her eyes, long dark lashes sweeping over her cheeks as her lips trembled and moved while she whispered a healing incantation of the mind.

Peace. Hope. Release.

Her fingers curled over the petals, holding onto them firmly. She swallowed, her other hand rising to the collar at her neck as fingertips brushed over the gold metal. It was a part of her, had been a part of her for centuries, yet she would be damned if she would let it define her. A sad smile tugged at somber lips. Yes, she had been damned for many years, had she not? And the collar, his collar, was a constant reminder of her past. It sat about her neck dormant now, but there it would stay as the curse could not be broken.

The faerie lowered herself to tall, soft grasses and rested. 

You are safe here. You are safe now, she reminded herself. 

Pale blue eyes looked over the lush forest before her. It was enchanting there. Serene. Too serene to have dark thoughts prevail in such beauty. She lay back, eyes upward to the lavender sky full of white twinkling stars. She could hear the branches bend to the wind, water lap at the rocks and rotting wood of the pier, and could smell the strong heady fragrance of moss, sweet rose and earth blanketing her in a comforting embrace. She struggled to keep her eyes open. His face jolting her to attention each time her lids closed.

She was no longer his. She was free now. But why did her heart ache? Why did her throat burn and eyes dampen at the memory? Footsteps crushed flowers and sharp blades of grass beneath them as they neared. She knew he was there, all she had to do was sit up and scream - to call out for help. To fight back. She was no longer his slave and he would not take her again, she would not allow it. But like before, she could do nothing.

It is a dream, she reminded herself. It is merely a dream.

He was dead, wasn't he? He had to be. Why else would she be released from stasis? And it had been centuries. Surely, he must be dead. And if so, why was her heart still heavy? Why did she continue to dream about him? Why did he still torment her if now only in her dreams? Wasn't it enough that she replayed his torture in those prevalent memories?

So many questions. There shall never be answers, she resolved. 

And so the questions should stop, she heard a voice say. But it wasn't hers. 

She tore her eyes open wide, the scream lodged in her throat though not released, found her heart slamming frantically against her chest. She sat up, feeling the rise of heat color her cheeks. At least her thoughts were her own. Ysorrowen felt shame at the turmoil within, the fear he had instilled, the desperation she was left with. She glanced down at her closed fist, opening her hand, and found the withered petals soaked with blood.