A/N: A very short piece written late at night whilst listening to 'Wuthering Heights' by Kate Bush. Thoughts are much appreciated.
Only By Night
He sees her only when he sleeps. When it's late, and he's alone. She comes to him in the earliest of hours. Comes through his window, appearing with a bright, saintly glow near to his bed. Her red fiery halo surrounds her small pale face. He watches as she approaches him, her delicate bare feet ghosting across the cold dungeon floor, her emerald green eyes are so expressive. He sees the blame, and the betrayal, the pain, the sorrow.
How could you?
She reaches him now, her face is now serene. Her hand leaves her side and reaches out towards him. Without thinking he reaches to touch her, but before he can she gasps.
And then her eyes turn cold. Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
Like she was.
He has to remind himself that. It's not hard though, the guilt he harbours deep inside him is a constant reminder.
She decays in front of him. Her pale skin drips and melts off her bones, her fiery locks turn into dead strands of straw. She crumples into nothingness.
Sev
He hears her whisper in the wind.
And then its gone. Over.
He wakes in a pool of his own sweat. It mixes with his tears and glides off his hook nose, soiling his bed robes.
She's the ghost that will forever haunt him, for however long he lives. He doesn't mind though, because he deserves it.
