Dreams of Possession
As a child she feared the dreams.
At night, he came to her in visions, filling her with a longing she could not contain, an unquenchable desire she could not yet recognize. His cold eyes burned her body: goring her imperfect skin, reaching into her very core, taking possession.
"A live heart for a still one."
Each night brought her closer to the brink of sacrifice.
Then, something in her rebelled. She began to fight back. With each dream, she grew stronger.
Each night brought her closer to his defeat.
At times they fought with magic, other times with words, most often with flesh. Soon her mere touch could leave him aching for more. He was forced to recognize his worthy adversary. It was then she began to embrace the dreams.
As the war waged on in the waking world, her nightly battles grew more and more intense. With each defeat, he bent more and more to her will.
She teased him for his losses, egged him on, taunted him when he made a false move. He begged, supplicated, acquiesced, and reveled in her cruel mockery.
By day, he filled her and many others with terror and constant vigilance. By night, he was hers alone: her toy, her possession.
"Who is the pawn now, Tom?"
She dreaded his inevitable defeat. The last battle would mean the last dream of him, the last vestiges of her awesome power lost in the night. But dreams, like all things, must end.
In the morning light, she felt him fall.
Little Ginny, no longer a child, kissed the lips of her dreams one last time and wept quietly for a love that was never hers to lose.
As a child she feared the dreams.
At night, he came to her in visions, filling her with a longing she could not contain, an unquenchable desire she could not yet recognize. His cold eyes burned her body: goring her imperfect skin, reaching into her very core, taking possession.
"A live heart for a still one."
Each night brought her closer to the brink of sacrifice.
Then, something in her rebelled. She began to fight back. With each dream, she grew stronger.
Each night brought her closer to his defeat.
At times they fought with magic, other times with words, most often with flesh. Soon her mere touch could leave him aching for more. He was forced to recognize his worthy adversary. It was then she began to embrace the dreams.
As the war waged on in the waking world, her nightly battles grew more and more intense. With each defeat, he bent more and more to her will.
She teased him for his losses, egged him on, taunted him when he made a false move. He begged, supplicated, acquiesced, and reveled in her cruel mockery.
By day, he filled her and many others with terror and constant vigilance. By night, he was hers alone: her toy, her possession.
"Who is the pawn now, Tom?"
She dreaded his inevitable defeat. The last battle would mean the last dream of him, the last vestiges of her awesome power lost in the night. But dreams, like all things, must end.
In the morning light, she felt him fall.
Little Ginny, no longer a child, kissed the lips of her dreams one last time and wept quietly for a love that was never hers to lose.