Rosalind dreamed of a man who looked just like her. His name was Robert and he touched her long fingers that knew only of the piano's song. He took her into his arms and danced her into the light.
She stayed up late at night until he was with her. Her bones grew sharper, etching into her flesh. Her voice was an echo and her eyes hollow, only seeing what they wanted.
He was her, a different version of her. And she was him.
"I dreamt of you." Robert whispered. They were in bed. Her nylons were rolled down to her knees. "I dreamt horrible things about you."
Her hair was frizzed and escaping its bun. Strands of it fell to her shoulders and tickled her skin. She touched the back of his arm, trailing faded freckles. Her skin was consumed by him, her lips made him hers, but her pale eyes looked through him, into a quiet world where only they existed.
He didn't say what he was thinking. That this, that they were a bad idea. He didn't have to. It was in his kiss. He grabbed her by the hair and bit her bottom lip. He was desperate to possess her, but he knew he couldn't hold onto her.
"You don't have to worry."
"Don't I?"
Yes.
"No." She kissed his brow.
They were two sides of the same coin.