Lissa never dreamed of Rose during those months they were separated by half a world and the harshest of parting words. Never. Not once.
She never dreamed of steady footsteps by her side - audible only because Rose was relaxed, playful, her own age for once - while she walked St. Vladimir's hallowed halls. (The school was always empty, in those dreams, washed with golden light and flickering shadows. Her footsteps echoed oddly, like they were uncertain of each room's shape. Sometimes, if she strained, she could hear whispers just beyond her comprehension. They always sounded inviting until she actually closed in, and then they were gone somewhere beyond her ability to follow.)
She never dreamed of the ease of a night in, preparing her hair and nails with half her attention caught on Rose as she primped. She never dreamed of digging through Rose's closet and wondering how Rose pulled off those cuts, those colours, those inexpensive materials with such flair. (Rose's closet was empty, anyway. Lissa's bedroom loomed larger than it ever could be in life, and when she moved to rearrange her bottles of lip colour and eye shadow, shades blended until they verged on an indistinct grey.)
She never dreamed of one pair of childish lips pressing on the other's cheek, clumsy and painfully earnest in the way children were.
She never dreamed of evenings bent over text books, Rose hovering between impatience and envy while Lissa worked steadily through the past three decades of Moroi politics.
You could just go without me, Lissa never said, her pen razor sharp and poised to continue its onslaught.
Not tonight, Rose never answered. Besides, it's kind of boring without you to deflect everyone's attention.
Lissa did wonder, when she woke, what Rose had achieved in Europe. Had Rose managed to find the ancient beauty among the shadows? Did Rose have the time to think about geometric colours and bold colours, when she was without someone she loved?
Lissa found it difficult enough.
(Sometimes Lissa did dream about Rose, and it was of a life where Rose had never antagonised their kindergarten teacher and firmly ensconced herself into Lissa's disaster of a life. In some ways, it probably would not be so different.
Rose would be brighter than ever, without the black mark of two years of running from the Moroi world. Rose would not have risked everything for her; she would not have lived by her wits since the age of fifteen, encumbered by a girl who drained her blood to stay alive. She would not be on that doomed mission now, because a Rose who'd never left the academy would not have needed remedial combat lessons; she would be the one teaching them instead.
Rose would never have met Dimitri. She would never have loved him enough to leave.
But maybe it was not a doomed mission at all. If anyone could do the impossible, it was Rose. Rose had always made her strong; it had been Rose's strength that had given Lissa the power to bring her back, on the worst day of Lissa's life.)
Lissa never dreamed of Rose. Not really.
And she was grateful she never forgot Rose was gone, if only to save herself from the horrible moment of realising she was alone again, every time she woke to find the room empty.