"Witch," they say, like a curse, like she's evil.
It's a thing she internalizes.
A fear she holds close.
Am I evil?
Nimue has a dream.
Not every night, but often enough.
And though she tells Pym almost everything, she doesn't tell her of this.
She's in the woods, with the thunder of hoofbeats surrounding her.
The smell of smoke heavy in the air.
It's harsh on her lungs when she, involuntarily, takes a deep breath in.
Are you supposed to feel pain in dreams?
The next part she doesn't understand.
This is why she keeps this dream to herself.
He stands before her.
The Weeping Monk.
Not to kill her, this she knows.
They breathe in the same smoke.
His face carries a weariness she can feel in her own.
He mouths something to her and she can never tell what it is.
Something important.
She reaches for him, for his face, to cup his cheek. To wipe away the tears that spill from his eyes.
It's an instinct she follows, a murmur in her head tells her it's alright.
There's something else she wants.
It'll have to wait.
Their enemy thunders closer.
They draw their swords.
She awakes.