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Rated: 18+ · Prose · Fantasy · #1685258
The Dream that inspired Fatale, Monster Hospital and Waiting History.

Dream Sequence.

Based on a dream July 2008

There is a man curled up, foetal, sitting with his back to me. He is just talking. He has chosen me, called me to this private, cold sanctuary. I cannot see his face. He is cold so tentatively I rub his back to warm him.

Rubbing his back becomes running my hands over his upper torso. It is smooth and white like marble. Yet his back remains towards me.

He talks of music. I play the piano as wonderfully as Lorenzo. He shakes me away and tells me to next time sit beside him on the piano stool and play for him. Something that reflects me and how I have felt since he called.

Everyday I am sent back to an academy, sneaked in and out daily.

I have chosen my peice. I play and after, as I move away, he says he’s cold and I shift so I am pressed against his back, embracing him and moving my hands across his chest and stomach and arms and upper thighs. He leans back into me and tilts his face so I can see the plain of his cheek, the closed eye and his parted lips as he whispers to me.

He starts to thake me to secret places, shows me his haven first, his dark home. He says he used to light the place, keep it warm but he gave up since he rarely had visitors and he had become used to the dark if not the cold.

We go to Gripe Manor/House. He discovered it after over a century of beingforgotten. He tells me the story of the owner who also was forgotten. The man had dismissed all his slaves and servant but for one woman, a frail maid that refused to leave. He was old and dying at the time but continued to live until she was old and dying too. She refused to die so long as she served him. One day he lay down in bed, in full black regalia and died, covering her face with an embroidered napkin. When He was there before he had unwittingly raised the napkin only for her body to vanish which was worse.

We went outside and the gardens were wild. We clambered, or I did, and fooled around like children. He laughed. And showed me a view of another house visible from between the hills of fields. It was Dark House and I remembered it. He told me not to enter but I knew it from another dream and it was terrifying.

His house was beautiful. He said he loved me and I was his. He was a vampire.

We emerged. There was a dance which he knew and I didn’t. He deserved a better partner. But he chosen me. Us and two others (R & H) began the dancefor a reason. It was a traditional, hold hands/jump/dip dance. He led it.

People spoke to us. Him and me. They wanted us to fight for them because there was an enemy, backed by Dark house. And we were the most powerful, the most able to help.

I had thawed him. He was no longer cold and bitter. He had kissed my wrists where the scars of my youth remained.

R, H and I went to a shop. It was like Zara stained with Camden. I wanted to look fantastic for him and everyone else he seemed to think stylish or beautiful was in partly strange, entrenched in dark gothicism. I bought a red leather jacket and red shorts and black everything. I bought blue UV ribbons with hair junk and nail junk. But the shop was raided. We were captured and thrown into jail.

Not long passed by. The white haired woman who we had been talking to was there.
“I am the greatest!” She said then: “My darlings you are here! The mighty will free you!”

We were freed but still in prison. I saw him. “We’ve seen him cold but not like this!” We screamed. He was killing in cold fury. Stabbing, slicing, using his power and strength. Tears fell. The woman blamed me for warming him. But he had been like this before. Seen like this but not for many centuries. I cried.
“He’s like this because you were captured. You’re his mate. He would do anything to free you.”
I was held back as I tried to run, “Let me go to him!”
“He is too valuable to us like this. We cannot free you.”

How could I understand? I tore free with my magic and chased him.

In red and black I found him and he looked at me in shock, “I wanted to impress you. You always admire these people. I wanted you to admire me. Don’t do this anymore. I’m free. I’m sorry.” Everything comes out.

“Did it not occur that I loved you the way you are?” “I was scared of losing you.” “You’re my mate. I cannot ever lose you. Or stop loving you.” “Then don’t fight... Or I lose you. They want to use you and keep me away from you. Plot but don’t fight.”

© Copyright 2010 Dr Matticakes Myra (dragoon362 at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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