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It was one of those rare nights when the pair set aside their responsibilities to steal a few hours for themselves. It had gotten a little warmer of late but at zero degrees the air still held quite a bitter bite though, compared to the temperatures of the past winter it was definitely warmer. The orange flames danced behind the heat proof plane of glass and the soft crackle they made as they consumed the wood that fuelled them was soothing in the quiet. It was nights like these, wrapped in her husband’s arms as they talked that made everything else worthwhile. They would talk about their pasts, the present and the future and do so for hours on end, stretched out on the floor bathing in the warmth of the fire. Perfect contentment.

She loved hearing about him growing up. Sharing in his hopes and dreams. Learning more about this man that she could never get enough of, no matter how much time they spent doing exactly that. Tonight though, the conversation turned to sadness as he recounted a part of his childhood that would change his life forever. He had told her before of his mother. How close they were, the things she had done for him despite being a single mother who worked hard for the both of them and the pain and anger that came when he lost her. But tonight it was different. He was more open, his emotions were almost tangible as he spoke and her heart went out to him. If there was any way for her to have been able to be there and somehow ease the pain even a little she would do it, without question.

She listened quietly. There were no words, nothing she could really say so she lay in his arms, her physical presence and comfort all she could really offer until silence descended upon them. It wasn’t an awkward silence but more a mutual understanding of quiet togetherness and that is where they stayed until sleep came to claim them.

Velveteen’s dreams had always been very vivid and she would often dream of people she didn’t know and places she had never been. That was usually attributed to the strong connection she shared with the spirit world though dreaming had become something that didn’t happen terribly often since her turning and the fact that the connection she did have seemed to have become lost. It would be no surprise, however, that tonight she would dream.

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The dark haired woman stood by the fire at the base of the Eyrie rubbing her hands together against the bitter cold. Every breath hung like a thick fog in the still night air and she pulled her jacket tight about her. Why she was standing out here in the cold she wasn’t quite sure but she had the feeling she was waiting for someone. Though who or why was still unknown. Something stirred in the trees above her and she tilted her chin upwards to peer into the darkness the world around her shifted in a seamless yet surreal motion.

The darkness became a white blaring light and she brought a hand up to shield her eyes from the glare. The mist that had swirled about her feet dissipated and revealed a white linoleum floor and she could smell something though it wasn’t actually scent rather than a tickling of her senses. She knew without knowing that it was disinfectant and that she was now in a hospital room. It took a moment or two longer to realise she was not there alone.

She looked at the woman lying in the bed and something told her that she should know who it was but she didn’t. That single fact alone was nothing unusual...what was unusual was the nagging feeling that she shouldn’t be there. She felt like an intruder and that was something she had never ever experienced before. She stood in the corner as if trying to blend into the wall though curiosity would force her to stay, to watch the scene unfold. She turned her gaze toward the window, the sky beyond was darkening though remnants of light still lingered along the horizon where the sun had set. She looked back to the woman only now her view was obstructed by the shoulders of a younger male who sat by her side.

Velveteen shifted from the corner to stand closer to the foot of a bed as she watched. An aging doctor stood close by and shook his head. The woman was dead, there was no more he could do and without a word he left the room pulling the door closed behind him. No one seemed to notice her. She wasn’t a part of this dream but merely a spectator and even in her unconscious state she was lucid enough to decide that this was the result of the conversation that Micah had shared with her. Her own subconscious creating mental images of what was described though wouldn’t she be a part of it if this was her dream? And if it were then wouldn’t she be able to change it?

She stepped closer to the young man and placed a hand on his shoulder only to be surprised when it passed right through as if she wasn’t even there. He didn’t move or even flinch and she brought her hand up to look at it. It looked like her hand, felt like her hand and she frowned a little, only at that point noticing yet another in the room. This one, however, seemed to see her as he looked right at her. “Micah?” She asked, confusion evident in the question.

He’d been thinking about her a lot as of late. Some nights he swore he could hear her talking to him and thought he was going insane. It didn’t happen often but once in awhile, when he was really dwelling on all of the mistakes he made Micah could hear her voice. It hadn’t changed. Soft spoken, kind, that same thick Southern drawl he had grown up with but there was a heavy amount of disapproval and disappointment hidden behind that drawl that had once been so comforting to him. Now when he heard it he felt ashamed in a way that only she could make him feel. And why not? That’s what mothers were supposed to do weren’t they? Voice their opinions and make sure you knew when you were in hot water.

Maybe it was Zoey’s binding but Micah was sure that it started before then. He’d been hearing his mother’s voice for weeks, right after his and Vel’s anniversary if he had to pinpoint a starting point. At first it had been the barest hint of a whisper that came and went before he realized he was hearing things. In the beginning he’d shrugged it off and went about his business but at the nights passed it grew, the whispers becoming words that ever so slowly he started be able to understand. Then the dreams had started.

Micah figured that maybe if he revealed more of his past to the one person he trusted the most, it would help. So he tried it. More and more he revealed something new to his wife until one night he let as much of it out as he could. It had worked. Or so he thought it had because when sleep had finally claimed him he felt at peace. He’d been wrong. The dream started again only this time there was something different about it.

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It was the smell that hit him first. Always the smell. Disinfectant that from that night on would always remind him of death. Thick and cloying it threatened to choke the life right out of him only he wasn’t alive anymore was he? No, he wasn’t but in the dream he was. He was younger as was evidenced by the lack of tattoos, hat and the sunglasses that he never left home without. Some might say it was a security blanket and in a way maybe it was.

Micah knew he wasn’t really there, just in spirit as he stood in the corner observing the scene in front of him. Savannah Andrews lay on her deathbed, struggling to breathe as she fought to hold on for her only son. He could remember sitting there at her bedside night after night telling her it was ok to let go, that he understood and didn’t want to see her suffering any longer. She was stubborn and refused. When she was coherent enough to open her eyes he could read it in the way she looked at him. There was no doubt that he got his stubborn nature from her.

The machines that were beeping in the background continuously were annoying. While they reassured him that she was still alive, the sound was grating. The monitor keeping track of Savannah’s heart rate faltered once and Micah drew in a breath he didn’t need. He knew what was coming next as it was something he saw night after night in a vicious cycle. The steady beeping became one long continuous sound and his head turned to look at his teenage self sitting on the chair at her bedside. His fingers were curled around her hand and he was staring at her. He knew she’d lost her fight. She was forever lost to him and there would be no bringing her back. On cue the door opened and the doctor came in checking for a pulse even though they all knew there wasn’t going to be one. A shake of her head and the beeping ceased to exist as the machines were turned off. The doctor offered his condolences and left leaving him alone to say his goodbyes.

Normally this was where he woke up. But it was different this time. A very familiar voice called his name and when he looked he saw that he wasn’t alone. “Vel? How did you get in my dream?”

“Your dream?” She might have laughed though if she did it didn’t make a sound. The space between them was lessened as the woman moved closer to her husband who seemed rather out of place in this scene. The doctor had left and she could tell that the boy continued to sit by the woman’s bed even though as she moved everything fell out of focus except for her husband. “I think if this was your dream I’d like- ....” She looked down as she spoke, and continued her sentence though with far less certainty. “....ly be .....Well look at that. What happened to my clothes?” She knew this had to be a dream because she wasn’t shocked or embarrassed by this discovery and nor was Micah trying to cover her.
The sleeping vampire stirred, the weirdness of what was happening in her head was making her feel a little strange. She felt the familiar sleeping form of her husband beside her in a moment of lucidity before she settled back into a deep slumber, certain that the dream she had been experiencing was merely a manifestation of her own subconscious and a direct result of their conversation earlier that night.
The strangest part of this was that she was seeing through her own eyes. Usually in her dreams she could and would see things from all angles at once like a spectator watching herself but not now. She had to shuffle a little sideways and her gaze followed that of her husband who looked toward to bed and the woman lying here. She could see her face now and it looked peaceful, despite the obvious signs that she had been sick for quite some time.

Velveteen had questions. She had questions for Micah and the kid who sat by the lifeless body of the one that she instinctively knew to be his mother, but she didn’t ask them. This was not the time, nor the place. He answers would come if she was patient. They always did, though if this was what she thought it to be then why would her subconscious put two Micah’s here? That...did not make sense.”
Her usually smooth brow furrowed, he wheels of her mind at work when they should have been resting. Puzzling dreams were not uncommon to her. The spirits used to like to be cryptic and most often she enjoyed the challenged but the sombre, realistic feel of this dream was too... real. Again the woman stirred in her sleep, perhaps she should have tried to wake herself but her inane curiousity was not about to allow that.