It was like a dream. Surreal. Hazy. Unbelievable.
She wasn't sure it wasn't. But she wasn't sure it was. Either way, she had no control.
It was blurred around the edges; focused on something she wasn't so sure of.
Blue was black. Purple was red.
Not that she realised.
She wasn't scared. It was a dream. Wasn't it?
She was lost.
Scars etched up her arm. Red and glaring.
Nothing made sense.
Her fingers were tipped with midnight red; oozing and dripping, rolling down her palm onto her face.
Erratic flashes in front of her. She couldn't quite make them out. Red and purple and green and blue.
Fire everywhere.
Through the flames, he came to her.
He was saying something. But his words weren't clear.
She felt a pull towards him.
Her heart ached.
But she had no control. Dreams were always like this.
And like a dream, he came closer to her, until their faces were touching.
Her arm slashed at him.
Why did she do that?
Arm curled around his side, he stood up again. His face was sad.
He was saying something again. Why couldn't she hear him?
She wanted to wake up.
He approached her, dagger in hand.
He was going to wake her up.
You can't die in a dream.
"I'm sorry, Raven."
Red.
Blood red.
Night red.
Robin red.
…
"Do you think they'll wake up?"
"Not until the nightmare's over."