Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 115

Chapter 115: Responding to the invitation
Trace had barely opened his eyes when he raced to the edge of his–much smaller, still-in-progress–dream world. Anaisa had hobbled to bed with Sapphira supporting her some time earlier, so it was entirely possible that she already—

Yes!

There was her glowing orb, right where it should be.

She had invited him during the ball. Had she meant the invitation? He dearly hoped so. Stepping into her world deftly, Trace took stock of his surroundings.

A dark canvas of a dream, in greys and browns. Almost colorless. In the distance, he heard crying. He rushed towards the sound, and found his wife with a bear trap around her ankle, the chain of it being held by a man who looked like a younger version of Oakdown.

As she cried, the man yanked occasionally on the chain, causing her to fall to the ground.

Trace concentrated on dismissing the man who must be Sir Yellow, Anaisa had called him Denholm, first, trying not to entirely destabilize everything. Anaisa frowned at the place, drying her tears, and began trying to pry off the bear trap that was cutting through skin and bone.

Trace came closer, and Anaisa startled when she noticed him.

“Help me,” She whimpered, and his heart broke. The bear trap had to be a manifestation of the physical pain of her twisted ankle. He had hoped the doctor’s medicine would alleviate it entirely, but apparently some still lingered. He tried to dismiss the item, but to no avail.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. You’ll have to try to get rid of it.” He told her quietly.

“I tried! I’m not strong enough! Help me pry it off,” She frowned.

Trace paused and decided to see if he could proceed without breaking the dream.

“It’s not a matter of strength. Picture it as gone, and see if you can make it go,” He coached gently. Without a reaction to how strange an instruction that was, she obeyed, squinting her eyes at the offending piece of metal.

It loosened, and she seemed surprised, drawing her foot out of its pointed grasp.

“This… this is a dream,” She blinked rapidly, as the world destabilized. Trace held very still, trying not to break it apart entirely as Anaisa struggled with the realization.

The quaking stopped, and Anaisa looked around. When her eyes fell on Trace, she hesitated.

“You’re still here.” She looked at him strangely. “In my dream.”

“I’m real,” He reminded her, not wanting to take advantage of her disorientation. “We’re in your dream, together.”

“I hate my dreams,” She stood to turn away and gestured to the grey and brown. “They’re miserable.”

“What would you like to dream of?” He moved towards her just as she whirled around.

“What should I dream of?” She pursed her lips and the surroundings faded. Soft music began to play, and the brown and grey tones of the dream turned to brighter hues. Her nondescript dress melted into the ballgown she’d been wearing earlier.

She lifted her eyes to his, suddenly shielded behind a sparkling mask.

“I’d rather you not dream of hiding your face from me,” Trace whispered, and the mask dissipated. He smiled. Anaisa was far bolder in her dreams than in person, even now that she knew it was him. Perhaps the dream world still made her doubt the reality of his presence.

“You’ve seen my face,” She teased. “It’s nothing new.”

The music continued, and he produced a fine suit for himself and offered his hand. “I could look at your face forever and never tire of looking at it. May I have this dance?”

She placed her delicate fingers in his, and he pulled her close, relishing the fact that she came to him willingly, happily even. This version–this dream version of his wife–was more herself than she would reveal to anyone in the waking world.

It was an honor and a joy for him to see her as she really was.

Several steps in, she winced, and he paused, concern on his face. Had he done something wrong? Had she remembered he was real and didn’t want him here anymore?

“My ankle… it still hurts.” She reached down towards it. “Why can’t I make it stop hurting? I made the trap go away.”

“I’m sure it’s hurting for real,” Trace explained. “When a real sensation affects your body, it can be difficult, sometimes impossible, to eradicate it from a dream. Your mind keeps hold of it.”

“Like… like the poison.” Her eyes flickered as she recalled the previous nightmare. “But you made it go away.”

“I took you away. I couldn’t banish it.” He explained.

“Take me away again. Your world is far prettier than mine,” Anaisa scrunched her brow.

“You broke it, remember?” He teased, his eyes falling to her lips. “Not that I would ever complain.”

“You have no dreams anymore?” She whispered in horror.

“It’s not that. I just had to start from scratch, building all over again.” He shrugged.

“Show me,” Anaisa said quietly. “Please. Last time you… you held me and took me. My ankle hurts.”

Trace concentrated on his wife’s face. He needed to relieve her pain. He pushed away all other desires, all other thoughts. “Are you sure?”

“Please, take me to your world.” Trace watched her lips as she spoke, letting himself be mesmerized by their movements. The memory of their softness. He would do almost anything to feel them against his again.

Before he could have another thought, he pulled Anaisa to his chest and yanked with his mind, jerking them both out of her dream and into the void. Blocking out every thought he could, he rushed to the edge of his broken world, setting Anaisa’s feet on the edge and concentrating as hard as he could on her face. On making her happy.

She gaped at their surroundings, but he ignored them. “This… this isn’t at all like what you made before.” Anaisa’s eyes grew wide with wonder and fear. “What… what is it you’ve done? What is this place?”