12.0 The Night Before

by Matt P.


The world swirled about, confusing shades of gray and white. They rolled in clouds that threatened to overwhelm Antigone as she tried to force her way out of them. At once it had a great weight and was weightless, binding her from moving until she thought that it was a dream—once she thought that, she could move through it effortlessly.

Shapes passed before her eyes in the land she knew was a dream, and she considered them. Green pastures, and a tree the size of the world. A flock of ink black ravens, one at the heart of the flock as white as snow. A splash of red on the winter snow, and blood red flowers growing through the fields of summer. A sword of flame, of ice, of star iron, and of the concept of death. Each one held by different hands, each one important in the days to come.

She walked through a door, deep in color and leading to a room of billowing emptiness. Within it she found figures she knew. She knew they needed her help, but she couldn’t get to them yet—it wasn’t the right time, and she was only seeing their shade.

She saw her sister, clad in dark with a brooch of pure white on her dress. When she saw her sister the dream faded, and she fell back in to the normal dreams of a restless night. Siobhan began to dream, gasping quietly in her sleep and almost waking Lacey on the air mattress in her room.

Siobhan saw men with hands of fire and dark heart coming, and she knew that if they took her it would end badly. They came with their eyes burning with rage and want, and she would have to cast them away from her if she wanted to have a chance. If she wanted any of them to have a chance. And in the distance, she heard a large hound baying.

She saw her father. He hung from the tree by one ankle, and then by his neck. But the dream did not pass to him, because he could not dream it yet—but he would. She knew that. Not soon, but he would know how the dreams soon and it would not be to any of their benefit.

Off in the distance she saw two figures, watching quietly. She did not know their purpose, but she felt like they were familiar. Reflections, waiting on the other side of the mirror to be reunited with themselves. It would be good when they were, but it would also bring crimson danger to the people she loved.

Antigone and Siobhan both awoke at the same time, drawing the same breath. They looked at one another, separated only by the frame of the open door, and their eyes met. Fear danced across both of their faces—tempered with the knowledge that they didn’t know what any of it meant or how they could do anything about it.

“I hate this town.” Siobhan mouthed to her twin.

“Me too.” Antigone mouthed in return, before they both flopped back. Each of the twins stared at the ceiling sand prayed for normal dreams, quiet sleep, or the wisdom to know what the hell was going on.