Rodolphus

He wakes up from a sleep he can not remember falling into, instantly realising why his eyes are now open instead of closed.

Screams.

Her screams.

He knows that he will be easily heard if he starts searching carelessly for the doorway into the room her cries are coming from, so silently stands from his bed. Every five steps he takes is accompanied by another piercing shriek, and before he can stop himself, he is running, running, running.

Suddenly the screams stop, followed by a muffled voice, high and quiet. He can only run in the darkness of the night; unable to see anything but black, having to put his hands on the patterned wall – though he has no idea how he knows it is there – to make sure he does not fall over.

Although he is aware of the almost-silence probably meaning his wife is no longer in danger, he remains terrified.

And then he wakes up – in reality, this time – covered in a cold sweat, hair plastered to his forehead and tears rolling off of his face.

At least she is next to him – even if she is staring at him like he is the mad one.