It started as a series of sensations. First there was the cold, a cold so severe it cut through to the skin, making her feel naked, numbing her fingers and toes. It was so cold she could taste the frost in the air between her teeth and on her tongue. She was vaguely aware of the ground beneath her feet. It was soft and gave way beneath her feet, though she felt like she weighed nothing.

Then it became a progression of perceptions. It was impossibly dark, dark as pitch. She realized she was outside, and she looked up as the stars slowly introduced themselves, glittering wanly against the black velvet sky one or two at a time. The moon woke more slowly, its subdued silver glow strengthening without hurry. She looked ahead of her, and on the tenebrous horizon, she could make out figures standing there like sentinels, straight and solid.

She moved towards them instinctively, as though unable to command her own movements. They gradually became clear, morphing from rigid blank soldiers into people she knew. She stopped suddenly. Something was wrong; they were all gazing at her as though with eyes already dead.

Peter. Claire. Bennet. One by one, they fell, deep distinct slices straight across their foreheads, blood seeping down and obscuring their faces.

Suddenly she felt paralyzed by a shock of electricity, running across her spine, jolting her to her very core. Pain seared across her forehead, an unexpected warmth flowing down her own face. Her hands flew up to her cheeks, her fingertips delicately dabbing at the sticky liquid her forehead was exuding - her own blood. In a moment she, too, hit the soft, soft ground.

In the same moment, her eyes shot open, hands flying to her face to discover no blood, no cut. She took a deep breath, slowly inhaling, then exhaling, trying to bring her heart rate down, and trying to clear her mind so that she could think about what just transpired. She placed her hands on the desk in front of her, its solidness assuring her that it was real. She glanced around her, taking in the bookcases, the chairs, the assorted files and trappings of her office. None of it had actually happened. Her son was safe, her granddaughter was safe, Bennet was safe.

It would have been reassuring for most people to realize that it had all been just a dream, but a dream of Angela Petrelli's is never just that.