Status: A long work in progress. I still need Ivanov to get back to me.
Reunion
A Dream
She went home, slipping past everyone that would ask questions, and went straight to her room. Her shoes were kicked into her closet and her bed bounced gently beneath her as she fell onto it. The flyer was the last thing she saw before she fell asleep. It crumpled a bit in her grip.
She slept.
She dreamed.
The bar was just as awful in the dream as in life as she walked through the door. There was a seat in the back corner that was perfect. It gave her the security of having her back to walls without interfering with her view of the stage.
A spotlight clicked on, illuminating the microphone stand and turning the shoddy platform into a grandstand. Footsteps echoed offstage, slow and measured footfalls on wood. The gnawing dread clawed its way back into her stomach.
Familiar sepulchral chords stretched from an invisible piano. Someone started vocalizing in a voice that was terrifically familiar, a voice that had echoed in her thoughts since she had first heard it.
No.
He took the stage and began the song. Those icy eyes of his found her effortlessly, freezing her to the spot.
The fear in her gut clawed its way into her chest and nestled around her heart. It was him. No one else knew about that song. No one could know. She hadn't thought about since before his death.
Death.
He hadn't died. The Malkavian was right. He had just left town, and here he was now, singing their song on a stage not thirty feet from her. She was elated, and the love she had tried to box away came rushing back. Her soul soared.
Except...
He had never told her that he was leaving. Never told her that he loved her , that if he never spoke to her again that it would be his greatest regret. That was a manufactured memory from the Malkavian. The warmth of her refreshed love washed out of her soul. A pervasive chill frosted over her bones.
She met the eyes she had dreamed of so often and so lovingly. Equal parts of her vied for supremacy, fought over what to do next. She was unable to choose whether to run forward and embrace him, to wait for his cue, to weep, to scream at him for doing what he had done, or to fight him and feel his bones crack in the palms of her hands. Instead, she stayed stone still.
He beckoned to her, smiling around the lyrics she thought she had forgotten.
She rose to her feet.
She approached the stage.
She took his hand.
She woke up.
She slept.
She dreamed.
The bar was just as awful in the dream as in life as she walked through the door. There was a seat in the back corner that was perfect. It gave her the security of having her back to walls without interfering with her view of the stage.
A spotlight clicked on, illuminating the microphone stand and turning the shoddy platform into a grandstand. Footsteps echoed offstage, slow and measured footfalls on wood. The gnawing dread clawed its way back into her stomach.
Familiar sepulchral chords stretched from an invisible piano. Someone started vocalizing in a voice that was terrifically familiar, a voice that had echoed in her thoughts since she had first heard it.
No.
He took the stage and began the song. Those icy eyes of his found her effortlessly, freezing her to the spot.
The fear in her gut clawed its way into her chest and nestled around her heart. It was him. No one else knew about that song. No one could know. She hadn't thought about since before his death.
Death.
He hadn't died. The Malkavian was right. He had just left town, and here he was now, singing their song on a stage not thirty feet from her. She was elated, and the love she had tried to box away came rushing back. Her soul soared.
Except...
He had never told her that he was leaving. Never told her that he loved her , that if he never spoke to her again that it would be his greatest regret. That was a manufactured memory from the Malkavian. The warmth of her refreshed love washed out of her soul. A pervasive chill frosted over her bones.
She met the eyes she had dreamed of so often and so lovingly. Equal parts of her vied for supremacy, fought over what to do next. She was unable to choose whether to run forward and embrace him, to wait for his cue, to weep, to scream at him for doing what he had done, or to fight him and feel his bones crack in the palms of her hands. Instead, she stayed stone still.
He beckoned to her, smiling around the lyrics she thought she had forgotten.
She rose to her feet.
She approached the stage.
She took his hand.
She woke up.
♠ ♠ ♠
Short, but I'm not leaving you here. Go on. There's another chapter.As always, review or suffer my wrath.
~J