The first morning is unexceptional. She conjures her dream up from morning fog, then gently releases it. In it she recalls someone familiar. A man who did not survive. A figurehead, tumors cutting down his time and purpose, stealing his daughter's innocence. Dragging fingertips across her chest, Integra can't help but wonder about her own path.
The second morning she flexes her fingers, grasping the bed linens. Her knuckles are bruised. Last night she broke glass, shattering it with her fists. Small pieces burst from miniature square planes, tinkling as they hit the floor. All around her pieces shone with a bright intensity that even the thin-fingered dark retreated.
She awakes panicky, heart thumping, brow sweating, on the third morning. This time circumstances forced impossible, asinine miscalculations on the job, and her family's organization was leveled. She exited the church of her youth as two middle-aged men slid from the shadows. She found herself dragged toward an unmarked sedan. Unarmed, in the dark, she fumbles for keys in her coat pocket, her stoic voice ringing out, "you wouldn't dare." She maneuvers keys between fingers, crouches her body in a fighting stance. The man closest backs away, palms open waving no, as though he wants no trouble. She steps past the trunk of his vehicle. He shrugs, giving up, as she continues to slide back. She missed his signal to the one with graying hair to come around the car. Delayed reaction, time slowed down, the sound of a match lit like thunder. It flies into the open collar of her coat. His smirk touches her eyes, as she realizes too late she is alight. The smell of open flame burning blonde locks.
Months pass. Days phase in and out of each other, like plumes from her father's cigars. She is vaguely aware of the Gothic hospital where she stays, her dreaming mind fusing a care center with the towered church. If she looks outside, the window is black. It is always January. Always night. Her skin surprises her; right side, neck and shoulders marred by scars from grafts, where flames licked red. A knock from the black window. A smile. A wave. He is genuinely happy to see her. Pursuing her still, biding time until her release. She bolts awake, clutching her throat.
Three days, nights, dreams.