Page 134 of Fractured Fates

It’s funny. I remember the fear, how frightened I felt. But these days, I don’t remember the content of those dreams that left me so petrified. I don’t remember why they scared me so much.

The dreams stopped long ago and I haven’t had one – good or bad – in all that time.

Tonight though, things change.

For the first time in years, I dream.

I dream of that hand. Still blurred, still shifting, still dim. Yet I know it’s the hand. Those rings line the fingers. Those black inks scribbled across the skin.

The hand hangs in front of my face and then slowly the fingers flex, flex and then reach for me, following the line of my jaw, stroking over the curve of my cheek, tracing the line of my lips. The touch of the fingertips are warm yet cold, soft yet hard. Fear and longing collide in my stomach.

I lift my own hand to bat this hand away and the fingers flex again. Flex and dart for my throat. Curling around my neck, fingers cutting into my flesh.

The hand squeezes.

I scramble to pull it away, I toss and turn trying to dislodge it.

I gasp for air.

I wake up, panting.

My skin is covered in a fine layer of sweat. My heart races in my chest. My body is paralyzed with fear.

It wasn’t real. It was only a dream.

Only a dream.

It doesn’t mean a thing.

And yet when I glance at myself in the mirror the next day, I swear I see the faintest of bruises on my throat.

I step closer. It’s a trick of the light.

Not real. Only a dream.

I shouldn’t dwell on it.

Yet, it bugs me even more than the question of who left the trotter. It felt so real. I can almost feel the fingers still pressing at my throat.

I consider going to Stone like Winnie suggested. I ponder whether to tell him about the trotter, the hand and the dream.

But Stone doesn’t care about me. As much as something deep inside me would like him to, he doesn’t. He’s made that clear. I’m a nothing. No one of importance.

If I told him, I suspect he’d laugh in my face.

He’d tell me, “You’re a silly girl with silly dreams.”

I wish I could believe that. Instead, I can’t shake the feeling that it’s a warning.

38

Rhi

Pip grunts at me unhappily,his brow pulled down in what looks like a scowl.

“What?” I say. “You can’t expect me to leave you here alone.” While I’m sure Winnie’s spell is keeping any unwanted visitors out of our room, I’m not taking any risks. Pip has been accompanying me whenever the opportunity allows. No one can complain about his presence out in the gardens.

“Besides,” I tell him, “you look adorable.”