There was this memory he had. It must have been when he was very little. His mother's eyes, warm and loving. Her hands, soft and gentle. He would be frightened of something, some monster under the bed, some hobgoblin chasing his dreams. And in this memory, she is there; soothing away his fears with those caring hands and making him feel safe in the tenderness of her eyes. Later, it would be different. The nightmares and fiends that haunted him were not in the hidden, murkiness of shadows or dark dreams. They were sleeping in the room next to his.