Dona Nobis Pacem
It's not like she hasn't had nightmares before. When she'd first returned home and was still settling in, the events of her ordeal, fresh in her mind, would frequently replay with every nerve-chilling attention to detail.
And she'd wake up with a start, breath coming in gasps, on the verge of tears and Hewie would always be nearby to jump from where he was sleeping onto the bed so that she could put her arms around him for comfort, the only thing in the world that made her feel safe anymore, and eventually she'd drift off again until morning. As time wore on the gaps between nights of restlessness would widen until she was barely troubled by them at all.
Recently however, the old patterns were coming back with a vengeance. The dreams had returned with an alarming frequency, the events playing out in worse ways. Where before the danger was always inches away, now there seemed to be no last minute reprieve, no waking up before she succumbed to a terrible fate. Not even Hewie, tugging at her sleeping form, nuzzling sympathetically, seemed to ease the torment.
...bear-like hands seized her with an iron grip, shaking her about and tossing her around until she crumpled like a boneless ragdoll...
...she walks into the center of the room not heeding her companion's warning growls, looking around at the dolls pinned to the walls adorned with hundreds of eyes, a click accompanies her footfalls and the eyes all blink open, a hail of iron darts shoot out toward her, painting the opposite wall crimson...
...the castle maid, porcelain-like skin, broken clockwork movement, slashing at her over and over again with that giant shard of glass gripped in her bare hand, crouching over her as her life bleeds out, hands straying to Fiona's abdomen, gripping, tearing, pulling...
...trapped within an iron maiden, a rather poor choice for a hiding place, as the device is locked shut and, with once smooth motion, the lever is pulled, sending dozens of sharp metal spikes inwards...
...or treading barefoot in a bloodstained gown through the dank basement of the water tower prison, feeling a cold invisible hand around her neck, she tries to break free and slip away but now he forces her down, forces his body against hers, she tastes his vile breath as for a brief second his face appears, the scarred, twisted visage of her father's twin-clone, only this time there are no scars, just that unblemished face she knew so well, eyes fixed on her with one single sickening desire...
...Lorenzo, the previous generation of the clone family line, transforming from decrepit, ancient ghoul to an even younger version of her father, then climbing out of the pit a howling, burning creature, relentless, his touch causing her skin to blister and crackle...
It's not like she hasn't woken up screaming before.
And she'd wake up with a start, breath coming in gasps, on the verge of tears and Hewie would always be nearby to jump from where he was sleeping onto the bed so that she could put her arms around him for comfort, the only thing in the world that made her feel safe anymore, and eventually she'd drift off again until morning. As time wore on the gaps between nights of restlessness would widen until she was barely troubled by them at all.
Recently however, the old patterns were coming back with a vengeance. The dreams had returned with an alarming frequency, the events playing out in worse ways. Where before the danger was always inches away, now there seemed to be no last minute reprieve, no waking up before she succumbed to a terrible fate. Not even Hewie, tugging at her sleeping form, nuzzling sympathetically, seemed to ease the torment.
...bear-like hands seized her with an iron grip, shaking her about and tossing her around until she crumpled like a boneless ragdoll...
...she walks into the center of the room not heeding her companion's warning growls, looking around at the dolls pinned to the walls adorned with hundreds of eyes, a click accompanies her footfalls and the eyes all blink open, a hail of iron darts shoot out toward her, painting the opposite wall crimson...
...the castle maid, porcelain-like skin, broken clockwork movement, slashing at her over and over again with that giant shard of glass gripped in her bare hand, crouching over her as her life bleeds out, hands straying to Fiona's abdomen, gripping, tearing, pulling...
...trapped within an iron maiden, a rather poor choice for a hiding place, as the device is locked shut and, with once smooth motion, the lever is pulled, sending dozens of sharp metal spikes inwards...
...or treading barefoot in a bloodstained gown through the dank basement of the water tower prison, feeling a cold invisible hand around her neck, she tries to break free and slip away but now he forces her down, forces his body against hers, she tastes his vile breath as for a brief second his face appears, the scarred, twisted visage of her father's twin-clone, only this time there are no scars, just that unblemished face she knew so well, eyes fixed on her with one single sickening desire...
...Lorenzo, the previous generation of the clone family line, transforming from decrepit, ancient ghoul to an even younger version of her father, then climbing out of the pit a howling, burning creature, relentless, his touch causing her skin to blister and crackle...
It's not like she hasn't woken up screaming before.