A/N: This is something I wrote just after finishing AoD. It was the beginning of a story that I eventually decided not to pursue. Sorry about any mistakes. Me ugh no native speaker ugh. Just tell me what you think!
DREAMING OF BLUESometimes she dreams she's walking back into the shadows, following a trail, like in a fairy-tale, only the trail is not made of breadcrumbs, but of blood droplets. She dreams him standing there at the end of the trail, never smiling, but watching her movements with mild curiosity. She likes to imagine that if she dreamed herself bare-footed, walking ever so softly, so as not to disturb the trail, soundless, never missing a step, breaking the rhythm, never staggering, he would speak to her again.
His voice is a blur now. He spoke to her, but she can't remember what it sounded like. So she searches for his voice in her sleep, in her dreams where the only sound is the echo of her boots.
Sometimes she dreams that the shadows are so deep that she can't make out the trail. In those dreams, she doesn't see him but feels him standing somewhere nearby, in the dark, always just one step away. She likes to think that if she were able to ignore the darkness clinging to her face like soft dense cobwebs, if she just stood there in acquiescence instead of running in frantic circles, he would let her touch him.
He touched her, but she can't remember what it felt like. So she tries to get hold of him in her sleep. For only in a dream will a ghost let himself be touched.
What she still remembers is the blue. It's the kind of blue she's only seen in those delicate figurines cut out of Murano-glass, or in the minute wild flowers that grow in the ditches. A dreamlike shade of blue. A blue that's not really there.
His eyes were that shade of blue, and they are still vivid, although they were closed when she found him. The blood trail was real, the darkness was real, his eyes were closed. He was past talking, and she didn't dare to touch. He looked like he was just sleeping, lying still in a pool of semi-coagulated blood. She likes to think that after the first agonizing pain, it went fast and clean, but sometimes she wonders if after the pain came the realisation that he was dying all alone.
Alone, like every time she wakes up. Do the dead dream?
She never dreams of him asleep. She clings to the hope that the blue will eventually fade out, but it will not.