These characters are not mine, they belong completely to joss and M.E.
Nocturne
She twists and turns and tries to escape, wherever she turns is twisted and painful, thorns tangle around her, piercing her pure white skin, deep red liquid falls from the scores, streaking down her flesh and gathering in a scarlet pool beneath her, she is losing the fight, her struggling weakens her, draws the life from her more quickly but she is alone and she cannot stop, she can never stop…
He sees her struggling in her sleep, plagued by a nightmare. He wonders what goes on in her pretty head. She's seen so much horror, so much pain, more than anyone ever should in a lifetime. In a thousand lifetimes. But for 147 days all that went away. Some nights she goes back there, she radiates calm. But when she wakes he watches her, watches her be wrenched from heaven and he witnesses the horror on her face as she wakes up, as she realises where she is and where she is not, realises who she is with… he sees the disgust, with herself… with him. She turns violently. She is not dreaming of heaven. He wants to wake her. But he is afraid to. Afraid she will leave, afraid of the old wives tale's of waking dreamers. Hokey superstitions count for more when you live on a hellmouth. Things get twisted. Come out wrong. Like him. Like her. They are both wrong. He reaches out a hand and places it on her shoulder, trying to calm her, to soothe her, a gesture she will never consciously allow. Scratches cover their bodies, lines drawn by the passion that consumes them when they are both so lost in each other they go places no other has taken them. He loves her, more than life, more than death and if he could do anything to sooth her pain he would do so in a heartbeat though his own stopped long before she was born.
The thorns dig deeper. She cries out with pain and she wishes, deep in her subconscious, for relief and rescue, comfort and safety. Things a slayer can never know. But something watches over her, sees her bloody and broken form entangled in the thorns. She is not alone. A pale hand reaches through, the thorns scratching, digging deep into its dead flesh. But it digs further, grasping her torn arm, she feels the thorns fall away, Freeing her from the pain, releasing her. All is white around her now. Her rescuer gently brushes her hair away from her tear stained face. He comforts her and she is safe. With him. Always with him, she will never be alone. Deep in her mind she knows she loves him.
She is calm now. Relief swells through him. She is safe now, safe from whatever is hurting her. She stirs, awake now and the look of horror returns. She is awake.
The white disappears and the world comes rushing in. It is harsh and black and cold. Horror fills her. Her dream fades and the truths that come to her while she sleeps fade beyond memory. She is awake.
