- RORY -
The room is dark, lit by only the flickering golden glow of candles that play on the weathered faces of every woman standing around . Most of them are older, and their wisdom and strength is palpable.
I’m in the middle of this circle of won. I don’t think there is one of them I have t, but they all feel familiar sohow—like I needn’t have ever actually seen them to recognize the energy they carry. Our souls know each other.
So this is a dream, then.
No lips move, but there’s a chant in the air—a low murmur of shared words providing a backdrop to whatever is happening with in the center. And then I’m handed a knife.
Sothing bristles to attention in the corner of the dark room, and I look in that direction to find the one familiar pair of eyes here. He’s the only male, and he’s the only one who is not at ease. Luciano. Why is he here?
The chanting intensifies, drawing my attention away from him and back to the blade in my hand. I can’t possibly be the one in control of my actions, because I bring the knife to my forehead and make a cut in the skin. I don’t feel it at all. It’s not painful, and then a darkness pours out of from where the cut was made. It spills onto the ground and separates into slick, slithering forms that resemble sea creatures.
All of the attention in the room focuses on the ground, and I feel sick. That was inside ? All of that? How?
I’m about to back away and run... get as far away from this bizarre ritual and the horror that has spilled out of when those creatures on the ground all turn to look up at . They want to get back inside.
One of the elders bends over more, holding either side of my head, and I begin panicking. But she squeezes my temples and more black... goo... cos out of and drops onto the ground.
"That’s everything," she says and lets go.
Finally, I’m allowed to scramble backwards, and the circle of won tightens until the dark creatures that ca out of are no longer in my view. I can’t see anything, but I’m certain that they’re being slaughtered. For so reason, my heart squeezes with that knowledge. Why do I feel like it’s a part of that’s being killed?
When my knees buckle and I know I’m about to fall—no longer whole because those creatures have been exorcised that I relied upon as part of my identity for so long—arms encircle to keep up. And then I can breathe. I’m breathing... I don’t think I was breathing before.
"Lorelei," he whispers. I feel his breath in my hair. His warmth under my hands that are fisted in his shirt.
My eyes open to find Luciano kneeling in front of and bright, blinding light streaming in from the sky above. His hands are on my face. His eyes, no longer black, look fierce until I blink a few tis and cough. Then he curses, but relief washes over him and he pulls close so that I’m in his arms just like I was in the dream.
His hands draw down through my hair and over my back where they then stay, and I’m still coughing for so reason. The taste of bile is in my throat like I actually got sick.
What happened?
"Are you okay?" He asks, and I feel the question resonate in his chest.
It’s such a familiar sound and feeling... and I don’t want it to be. I don’t want it to be, because it’s comforting. I should let him go. I should let go of his shirt, but I can’t. Because there is darkness here between us that I can hide in. Everything else is so bright. The skylight of the plane...
But he pulls away, breaking the darkness with the shock of sunlight that I squint against, and he caresses my forehead like he’s making sure there is no injury there. The knife and the injury I inflicted upon myself rush back to the forefront of my thoughts like they just happened.
"You were there," I gasp, my gaze locking with his.
Luciano’s eyes were black, weren’t they? And cold. But now, this close, they look like the warst, deepest brown.
He doesn’t say anything, but confusion and worry and disbelief are so clearly there in the warmth of his gaze. Luciano was there. He had the sa dream as I did.
Is that possible? Is this so kind of group hysteria or shared hallucination? Is it because of the plane or the altitude... or sothing? Are Dex and Raya infecting us?
Another wave of nausea has swallowing back the bitter taste in my mouth, and Luciano’s thumb glides over my forehead again. He sighs and pulls back against him, one arm curled around and his hand cradling the back of my head.
I don’t want the comfort and familiarity of this embrace, but I can’t bring myself to fight it right now. Because the darkness of shadows returns here between us.
"I told you," he says, and I truly have no idea what those words an. I don’t care, though. I’m sure he’s right. I’m sure he told sothing, because there is unquestionable sincerity in his tone.
"I told you that nothing is going to hurt you, and I ant it. But that doesn’t an you get to hurt yourself. Even in fucking dreams, Rory."
"But..."
But I didn’t have any control over that! I didn’t even feel like it was who was doing it.
"If there is sothing like that inside of you, let get it out," he says, gentle and fierce—that contradiction of his. "I will help you. Just don’t... don’t hurt yourself."
I frown into his chest at the emotion in his voice.
"Don’t tell what to do," I mutter.
Luciano chuckles, the hand cupping my head now fisting my hair before releasing it into a gentler grip.
"I think you need soone to tell you what to do when it cos to this."
"Why?"
Instead of pulling away from him like I should, I rest my forehead further on his chest. I’m tired. I’m so tired. Whatever this is that’s happening in my fucked up mind is exhausting, and I’m just... ready to stop fighting.
Maybe he’s right. Maybe I do need help. But why him? Why does he care?
"Because you can’t do it yourself, dolcezza. That’s why I’m here."
The answer feels so right with his gentle words spoken into my hair.
If Luciano and I are going to share dreams, at least they’re not the sex dreams that Raya had. Because even after a horrifying nightmare like this, I already want Luci to kiss . If he tried to right now, I know I wouldn’t stop him. And that’s almost scarier than anything.
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