The dream begins with you and her at the base of an ornate staircase in a house you've only ever seen in blurred photos, taken hastily as the photographer runs for their life. She is talking to you but all you hear is your heartbeat, loud and tremulous and so fast you fear that it'll leap from your throat if you try to reply.
But of course she expects you to reply and grows impatient quicker than you anticipated. Before you can swallow your pulse back down to speak she's already five steps ahead and you're losing her to the darkness that seems to slowly swarm across the lobby.
You find her crouched down at the top of the staircase, desperately motioning for you to duck down and join her as she peers around a heave bookshelf to the hallway beyond. She hears something you don't and she looks utterly terrified, lips trembling as she turns her head towards you.
You strain your ears, desperately trying to hear over the sound of your heartbeat and failing. As you go to peer around the bookshelf she shoves past you and runs back down the stairs to an open door on the left that you somehow know leads to the ballroom
She's always in a ballroom when she dies. You're always at the doorway, frozen in fear and begging yourself to wake up. By now you know better than to rush to her like you usually do, you know you won't wake up until you finally hear something that isn't your heartbeat.
The moist rattle of her last breath pulls you awake no matter where you are in that bloody house.
But of course she expects you to reply and grows impatient quicker than you anticipated. Before you can swallow your pulse back down to speak she's already five steps ahead and you're losing her to the darkness that seems to slowly swarm across the lobby.
You find her crouched down at the top of the staircase, desperately motioning for you to duck down and join her as she peers around a heave bookshelf to the hallway beyond. She hears something you don't and she looks utterly terrified, lips trembling as she turns her head towards you.
You strain your ears, desperately trying to hear over the sound of your heartbeat and failing. As you go to peer around the bookshelf she shoves past you and runs back down the stairs to an open door on the left that you somehow know leads to the ballroom
She's always in a ballroom when she dies. You're always at the doorway, frozen in fear and begging yourself to wake up. By now you know better than to rush to her like you usually do, you know you won't wake up until you finally hear something that isn't your heartbeat.
The moist rattle of her last breath pulls you awake no matter where you are in that bloody house.
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