Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 48

Stormy Dreams
Trace darted towards Anaisa’s dream and laid his hand against its border.

Inside was fear, but also anger. A surprising combination for a dream, and curiosity overwhelmed him. Slowly, he stepped through the barrier and into Anaisa’s world.

The sight shocked him.

“I hate you.” The venomous words were disorienting to hear from his wife. “I hate all of you.”

She was lying at the base of a grand staircase, staring up at a group of men standing at the top. One was dead, lying across the banister with his throat slit, while another leaned on him like the body was a piece of furniture.

The rest, dressed in the clothing of nobility, but with vague faces, laughed at her, and she struggled to stand up. “I hate you,” She said again before she cried out.

Her legs were broken, and mangled. Shards of bone tore through her voluminous skirts. Trace was horrified. What kind of a dream was this?

He watched his wife crawl, hand over hand, up the staircase, dragging her legs, blood trailing behind her. Each stair jarred her broken bones, and cries of pain accompanied the tears streaking down her miserable, enraged face. The men at the top jeered at her, occasionally throwing rotten food and laughing uproariously as she sobbed. Anaisa pulled with all her might, but the stairs were too steep.

Slick with blood, she slipped back to the bottom each time as the pool of red liquid grew deeper.

Yet still, she tried again as Trace watched. He became sick to his stomach, unable to watch any longer. He’d been in many dreams before, but this… What could it symbolize? What struggle was his wife dealing with that was analogous to such a horrible vision?

“Stop,” He whispered. “Please, dream of something else.”

The command wasn’t binding. He didn’t forcibly replace the dream with some generic vision of his own making. He wanted Anaisa’s own mind to conjure something better for her, to focus on something good instead of… whatever this was.

“Please, something happier,” He said a little more loudly. He hadn’t tried this before, but intuitively, after spending so much time here, he knew her subconscious would hear him. Might respond, might obey his request and reach into some happier corner of Anaisa’s heart.

The world shimmered and shifted slowly, and the nightmare fell away into something else. The flavor of the dream was what he noticed first. A sort of comforted nervousness. Anticipation.

He was in a fine, well-lit room in a large home. A bedroom, he realized, though the details were not entirely fixed. Cozy, yet ornate in its few decorations. The room’s only occupants were two young women. Outside was music, some kind of celebration, with voices talking happily, but muted, as if waiting.

Anaisa was sitting on a bed with an expensive coverlet, finer than any Trace had ever seen. Katia sat behind her younger sister, drawing a silver backed brush through her auburn hair, humming softly as she did. Anaisa’s eyes were closed with contentment, but there was an anxiety underneath her demeanor.

“It will be beautiful,” Katia told her softly as her humming came to a close. “You are beautiful.”

Anaisa was dressed in a fine gown, flowing like a waterfall. It was intricate and jeweled, sparkling in the light as Anaisa smoothed out the skirt with one hand.

“You’re sure I can do this?” She turned to ask Katia. The elder drew the younger into a hug, squeezing her shoulders and sighing.

“Yes. You can do this. You were born for this. Now go,” The elder sister said gently.

“Go? You mean you’re not coming with me?” Anaisa’s voice rose, panic lacing the edges of her words. “I need you!”

“I cannot come with you this time, Annie,” Katia faded from the dream, vanishing into thin air while Anaisa reached out to grab her. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“Katia!”

“Go,” Her sister’s voice urged, and Anaisa stood shakily.

“This is better,” The dreamer seemed to be thinking out loud, talking to herself. “This is safer… right? Right. It’s all right. Katia will be all right, and… so will I.”

The angst of the dream intensified as Trace watched. He was mesmerized by how Anaisa paced back and forth. Her hair was suddenly styled into an ornate arrangement, despite no one being there to do it. A veil draped gracefully over her head, and she held a fan in her hands.

The door of the bedroom opened to the outside, and the sounds of the party became hushed as the light enveloped her.

Anaisa took an unsteady breath and brought the fan up to hide her face, then took slow steps out the door and into the sunlight.

Trace followed, both curious and terrified to see how the dream would progress.

It was very clearly a wedding. Anaisa’s wedding. Would he be the groom? If so, what feelings would be attached to him in her dream?

The aisle she walked up was long, lined with white lilies. Trace frowned. Why have such a mournful flower at a wedding? Was marriage akin to death for her?

Trace was regretting coming to Anaisa’s dreams tonight for more reasons than the moral questionability of invading his wife’s mind without consent.

His heart sank, but Anaisa walked steadily onward, through a courtyard made of stone, along a carpet through a meadow, and through a muddy city street. Her beautiful dress was marred by the muck, but she only stumbled once before continuing.

Finally, the sounds of the crowd came into sharper relief and Trace could see people lined up on either side of the path Anaisa walked. She held the fan closer to her face, anxiety and fear spiking.

“I’m here,” She swallowed. “There’s no turning back. I’m here now.”

Trace was dismayed. He tore his eyes from Anaisa’s form to see the face of the groom. It was vague, and he squinted, concentrating on making out the features. Just as Anaisa made it to the front and stood before the groom with a shy blush, a crack of thunder jolted Trace awake.