Bray did not dream. As he slept next to his wife, the woman who had him, but would never really know him, he slept dreamlessly. Those dreams of blood, fire, sheep, and other things fled from his mind. He and Sister Abigail were now one perfect union of something unholy. Dreams no longer bothered him with his inner longings, and perfect fears. Now he was the master, a true master. The best thing that could have happened to him was Ruby driving him away. During his days, he could now concentrate on what he truly needed to do. He would have the grandest stage of them all soon, and his sway would reach the masses. He could create them in his image. Forge them, and ignite them. Perhaps he didn't dream due to his ambition. These things he did not know, but he did know that victory would be in his grasp.

Bray trained. He made himself strong in body as his soul was strong. He could feel the dark symbiosis between himself and Abigail, and he was driven to create a perfect temple for her within himself. One that would not burn, nor break. He would be the secret place where Abby lived. It freed him, even as she took over parts of his being. When his thoughts would inevitably drift to Ruby, he could hear Abigail admonish him from somewhere within.

"Do not give her thought right now. Look ahead. Wondrous things lay before us."

"Wondrous things." Bray would repeat, aloud. Perhaps others heard him, perhaps not. He didn't really care. Nothing mattered except this total desire to rise above everyone. The dark shepherd, who could strike down the wolves.

Ruby did dream. Every night, she would dream. The woods, deep, swallowed in gloam, surrounded her. Branches would scratch at her like claws. Running, she looked back, and saw the glowing eyes of wolves on her tail. How they howled as they gave chase, becoming a symphony of the hunt. They would always catch her in their teeth, dragging her to a stone altar. Before the altar stood a man in black robes. Face unseen, Ruby knew that this was Bray Wyatt. She was a broken mass of limbs, and torn flesh by the time she was placed on that altar. Maybe Bray would save her? The stone beneath her turned into a large tree stump, and Bray set the stump on fire. How he laughed as she roasted before him. She did not scream. She bleated like a lamb. Ruby could almost feel herself roasting. Not long after, Bray would start tearing into her, devouring her piece by piece. He would lick her, nibble on her, savor her. It would be almost erotic if it was not so horrific.

"I will not be your sacrifice, Bray. You'd best hear me!" Ruby would whisper as she'd wake up. Hands clenched in fists, she would not let him get the best of her. By day, she made her way through her chores. Cleaning the chicken coop. Milking the cows. Mending clothes. Helping prepare meals. Working on the beginnings of her garden. Lovingly tilling the soil, pulling up rocks, and stubborn weeds for hours made her happy. Calm. It was meditation. She knew she could use it to help her past the damned dreams. What else was there for her? She could not drive, never learning how, or needing to. There was no other entertainment save for a small selection of books, some bibles(Ruby wondered how they hadn't burned up yet), and knitting supplies she had no idea how to work. There was the phone in Bray's office, but who would she call? The only number she had belonged to Bray himself, and it was for dire emergencies only. This felt like a dire emergency. The need to run away.

She had done it once, didn't she? She had been but a slip of a girl. A stupid girl to boot. Ruby should have stayed, regardless of the circumstances. As she mindlessly ran her hands through the dry dirt of her garden, she thought of what prompted her to leave home in the first place. The strange thing was she could no longer remember. Had it been such an important thing at the time? Or did she block it from herself? Regardless, she nearly cried, then. How could she have been such a stupid girl? What she would have given to take back everything, and go home again. Have parents, sisters, friends. She remembered the vivid colors of dolls. The sounds of computer games. Running, laughing, chasing. School. Oh, what a dream life! She threw it all away far too young. Could she call her parents? Find the numbers for her sisters? She dismissed the ideas as they formed. No. What was done, is done. Ruby needed to make this life work for her. Despite being surrounded by a now dwindling amount of brothers, she was an island unto herself. She was not the shipwreck. She was the isle the ship wrecked itself upon. So it would be.