The past two days had turned the typically active Nightingale into a slugabed. And how could she not become one with these dreams? They were warmth and made her feel far more alive than when she opened her eyes to the autumn-turned world. Once she would have loved the sight, appreciated the beauty. But as she opened her eyes now, Nightingale grimaced, pressed her eyes shut, and turned to the other side. Back to sleep she went—
There he was again! And he was smiling, as glad to see her as she was to see him. He greeted her with a nuzzle, and then a kiss to her nose. She mimicked him, pressing nearer to him; the chill of reality seemed to seep into this world, but he did not allow it for long. His muzzle moved across the length of her, and there was fire for every inch he touched until she was a mohawk of flames. And he was alight, too; his fire was brought to her, and she leaned in close to him.I love you,came that voice, his voice, deep in its tenor and lovely, bringing a whole other sense of warmth to her core.I am coming for you,Nightingale breathed.I am coming for you. Maybe it is you I search for. I can't remember when I wake. But I love you, too. I always have. Since the moment I saw you,she was insistent, and he smiled.I know,he responded, and seemed to speak again, but she wouldn't let him.I need to know. I need to know if this is a dream... I mean, if this is the only place I can find you... so that I may never wake, so that I may stay here with you forever. I am told it is, that you aren't real. But you, this!The other looked at her with eyes she knew, eyes that shook her, but when she focused on them, they drifted in and out, reminding her: dream. This was a dream. But still, it did not feel like it. Nightingale was haunted by him! Nightly.You have forgotten me,he murmured, and takes a step back. And you take a step forward.Forgetting. Everyone is telling me I have forgotten them. It hurts, it hurts...Her head throbbed as she tried to think, to understand.
She shook her head in her dream, trying to increase the ache, or lessen it; she wasn't sure.Remember,he prompted, demanded, and her head felt like it was splitting. Nightingale attempted to yield but could not, her mind was not yet to the point of healing it needed to be. It was frayed, broken. There was a disconnect.I can't have forgotten you,Nightingale sobbed,I can't. Not when I see you here. That must mean something,the haunting eyes are fixed upon you, unrelenting in what they demanded.Yes,he relented at length,It must.
The words were a blow that caused Nightingale to stir, disturbed by them. The dream was not its usual quality. There was... there was something else. It was not cold; there was love there, still. Nightingale loved this man of her dreams, that much she knew. But as she came to awareness, there again came her grimace: dream. A dream.
It was nighttime, now, and the winds blustered around her. The shriek of a magpie could be heard, and Nightingale shifted, sniffing for water. She knew she had rested near a lake where she saw fish... but exhaustion, and her longing for her created love, had conquered her before her hunger could provoke her to action. Already, everything tangible about the dream faded to nothing, including the face, the eyes, the voice. If she heard it again, she would not recognize it; dreams could be cruel. Life, crueler.
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