Home. The word settled into Arwen's thoughts and for just a moment, she was at peace with it.

Then the world came flooding back in. The stable on the sixth level was quiet. It was far too quiet with the return of so many travelers; yet, it was the dead of night, and they were more than a bit weary. What bothered her was not the weariness as she watched the faces around her…it was the despair. It was eating them alive; she could feel it tearing at her soul as she eyed the looks of Legolas and Enguina. It had made the last few hours of the journey nearly intolerable for her.

There was something…something that she needed to do. Just watching Enguina made her want to draw her aside and have a heart conversation. They needed to have one; she could feel the storm brewing and there would be no stopping it. She had to step in; she had to do it. But was tonight the night? Was tonight the time to speak with Enguina when they had only just arrived home?

Better to let her sleep, Father. Better to let her find rest tonight and confront the demons during the light of day. Arwen frowned and sighed as she scratched Asfaloth's neck. Everyone around her continued to take care of their horses, and she suddenly felt so tired, so drained from this journey; she had not felt this way in a few months, and she could not tell if it was simply emotional or if it was that she was so physically tired, and at the moment her knee was paining her. But one thing was certain: she wanted her bed…and she wanted Aragorn beside her.

She felt his fingers on her arm. "I have said our good nights," he told her gently, and as she met his eyes she could see in them that he had heard her silent plea. "The rest of our companions are going to be a little while longer, and we shall see them for breakfast in the morning hours. Take my arm, melda, and let us take some long needed rest."

It did not take them but a few moments to be out the door. The two of them walked, alone, up the passage to the seventh level and were immediately met by Captain Mennev and Lieutenant Hildanir who grinned, quite happy to see them.

"My Lord and Lady!" cried Mennev, as Hildanir bowed to them. "It is so good that you are returned! And the Prince?"

"Safe," Aragorn replied with a smile, "thank Ilúvatar. We are grateful to be home, though very…very tired."

Mennev laughed. "I'm sure the warmth of a bed after nights of sleeping under the stars would make the evening much nicer as well."

"The others returned with you, yes, my Lord?" asked Hildanir, glancing behind them. "Are they still at the stalls?"

"Yes, they will be a few moments yet. If you wait here, you can greet them."

Arwen smiled at them both. "And what of Minas Tirith? Has everything been all right?"

"Quiet, my Lady," Hildanir replied. "We have been waiting for word of you."

"The Council will be delighted to learn of your return," added Mennev.

"Tomorrow will be soon enough," added Aragorn softly and the man laughed again.

"That's the truth! Take some rest; I am sure the announcement can wait until morning."

Arwen smiled, keeping her hand tightly on Aragorn's arm. "We are grateful for your generosity," she told him and Mennev bowed. "It is good to be home, Captain. Sleep well."

"And you, my Lady, my Lord." The two men bowed again and stepped back, allowing them to pass by and continue towards the King's House.

"By Heaven," Arwen whispered as they stepped onto the porch and her eyes lit on the gardens, "I forgot how beautiful they were by moonlight."

Aragorn smiled and laid his hand upon hers as he opened the door of their home. "Indeed; their scent is the sign of homecoming, is it not? It reminds me of Rivendell."

Arwen nodded as she followed him inside. "Yes, I remember the scent as well as you do; I remember it among the birches when I would walk there, or ride my horse along the narrow bridges and waterfalls." She sighed softly when the door closed and tugged him to a stop, turning him toward her and laying her hands on his arms.

"Your sigh…" he said gently, "you are tired."

"True," she agreed honestly, "and your shoulder aches now more than it has this entire journey." One of his eyebrows rose.

"Also true. One cannot escape the eyes of an eagle."

"Mmm," she murmured, leaning into him easily, but careful on his shoulder. "How do you always know, beloved? Was it because you knew what I was thinking? Or was it something you felt through our connection?"

He wound several strands of her hair around his fingers as he looked in her eyes. "These past several days something has been wearing on you. You have not been sleeping well." She hesitated, and then frowned, but he was willing to wait her out. "Shall we change as we talk?"

She tilted her head. "That much faster to bed?"

He laid their saddle bags upon the table and took her hand, towing her towards their bedroom. "Indeed! Why wait? We could be nearly ready for sleep."

She tugged him to a stop inside their bedroom door; neither of them bothered to look about, everything could stay as it was until the morning. Only then would Arwen think of the cleaning the House needed from nearly a month of being away and leaving in such a state of disarray. Instead, she gave him her complete attention.

"I stopped you before because I was waiting to kiss you," she whispered low, leaning in close to him again. She closed the little bit of distance that was left as he slipped his arm around her waist and she pressed her lips to his. She felt such a surge of relief that she would never have been able to describe it. It was a good kiss…it made her feel warm down to her toes.

They undressed and, washing their hands and faces from a long day of traveling, then prepared the bed. Arwen stood near it, staring at Aragorn lifting his tunic over his wounded shoulder. It was still wrapped, and it was clearly hurting more now than it had been all day.

"How is your shoulder?" she asked, watching him wipe his hands and face on a towel.

He nodded. "All right. It could use some rest, just as the body it is attached to."

"Should I—"

"Tomorrow," he interrupted, not wishing to go far from the subject she had brought up.

She wrapped her arms about herself, sighing. "You are right, of course," she said softly. "I have…had a lot on my mind these past few days."

"Dreams?"

She tilted her head. "Yes…and no."

"What I am thinking," he asked turning back towards her, the light reflecting on his face from the lit candles near their bed, "or something different?"

"Yes," she admitted, looking down, "but I am worried as well as dreaming. Not all of my dreams have us in them…some of them play host to Enguina. I am…more worried about her than I can say."

"Premonitions?"

"I wish I knew," she said, but he continued to eye her, waiting for her to tell the truth. "Aragorn," she groaned, "I am serious."

"Oh, I believe you are serious, darling," he said softly, reaching across the bed and brushing a finger beneath her chin. "Seriously not telling the truth."

She sighed loudly. "I…perhaps they are premonitions, as the dreams before our journey. I do not know what to think. I am worried."

He took her arms and drew her down to the bed to sit beside him. "About Enguina? Legolas? Or them both collectively, as one unit?"

"Mostly Enguina. I cannot get her out of my mind. She has been so quiet these last few days, and Legolas has not been much better." She sighed and laid her head against his shoulder. "When he came to us the other night—"

Aragorn's face turned grim though she could not see it. "He was so distraught he could not think straight."

"I had never seen him more upset," she whispered. "He loves her so much and for her to shove him away like that…that was so awful. I was glad you volunteered to speak with her. I may have said some not nice things."

He hugged her tighter. "I will admit I was not at my most kind. The dead of night and seeing Legolas like that set my teeth on edge." He shook his head; he refused to mention the falls and how close Enguina had been. That had worried him, but he had easily talked her away from such foolishness. She would be all right, as long as Legolas was able to be with her. He knew that it was not going to be easy…things like this never were. "And you? You had another dream…and you did not wake me?"

"I am exhausted, Aragorn," she replied, her eyes closed. "Can we lie down?"

He paused, but easily did what she asked, reaching out to snuff out the candle beside their bed. She could more easily hide from him in the dark, and he knew that was another reason aside from her weariness. He, however, would not back down and let her go. "Why did you not wake me?"

He heard her let out a breath. "Because I should not be having them at all," she said softly. "I should have this settled in my heart but…I do not." His fingers combed gently through her hair as she pressed herself against him. She waited for him to refute her, but he did not, and she lifted her hand and laid it in the center of his chest, pressing her fingertips to his skin at the break in the tunic. "It seems as though my heart is still struggling to…accept. But that is foolish; we accepted this weeks ago. I have been living, yes?" Her voice was a soft plea; she was desperate for him to agree, even if it was a lie. "Tell me I have been living, Aragorn."

"Of course you have; we both have," he told her gently. "We have been surviving on Ilúvatar's strength, trusting Him for each day, each moment—"

"Sometimes every breath," she said, and he could almost feel her chest tighten with the pain in her voice.

"And we will continue," he agreed, pressing his lips to her forehead. "Yes?"

"I…I do trust him," she whispered into his throat. "I cannot understand him, but I trust him." "And I wish Enguina would realize that she needs Legolas as much as I need you."

He smiled, and though he knew it would never be easy, he was never going to let this crush them, beat them down forever. "We will not be shaken, Arwen."

Her throat too thick to reply, she simply nodded. As long as she could fall into her beloved's arms, everything would be all right; even when she would never understand.

Enguina's hand in his own, Legolas walked at her side as they, too, emerged from the tunnel into the moonlight on the seventh level of Minas Tirith. Not for the first time, Legolas noticed the utter beauty of it, bringing her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. He wondered for a moment if she could see it, and then he decided he would not ask. She eyed him, but said nothing as her fingers tightened in his hand.

On the other side of him walked Faramir, holding Éowyn's arm as she carried Annî, who was fast asleep in her arms. Faramir had asked to carry her, but Éowyn told him she had the girl, even though she seemed as though she herself were about to collapse. The exhaustion in the group was evident; the journey had taken its toll on each of them in their own way. Even Gimli walked quietly along, ready for sleep. Mennev and Hildanir headed back to their posts; they had followed them from the stable and returned to their duties.

"It is nice to be home," sighed Éowyn. "I was hoping to be saying that about Ithilien at this time." Faramir looked at her guiltily.

"Well, I cannot say we did not try…and I can say that I am glad that none of you were there when the attack was made."

"Whaddya mean?" hollered Gimli suddenly, raising his fists and glaring at Faramir. "We could've helped! Neither of you would've been taken and everything would've been fine!"

"I meant the ladies, Gimli," grumbled Faramir, holding up his hands in peace. "Not you."

"I wish I had been there," sighed Éowyn. "At least there would have been five of us. Much better odds."

Faramir stared at her. "You? Fighting at eight months pregnant?! I think not, Éowyn!"

"Do not argue," Legolas said softly as Éowyn lifted her chin, ready for a defiant reply. "Faramir would have been so distracted worrying about you, he probably would have been dead. And I, for one, was thinking that perhaps something good did come of this journey. I am wondering if we did find something." They all looked over at him, even Enguina, who had clearly been preoccupied with her own thoughts.

"Did we?" she asked, and he nodded.

"I think so. We saw many nice places, but there was only one that caught our most serious attention." He smiled at her. "I am certain that I can find it again after we are wed. I think…it would make a good place for a home."

Her eyes brightened, one of the few times that day. "Really? The glade? Do you really think so?" He could tell that she wanted it to be true. "I thought you did not like it."

"Like it?" he said, as they all drew to a halt outside the guesthouse. He reached up and ran a hand along her face, letting his fingers rest against her neck. "I think it is perfect…even if we did mourn a Ranger there. I could see our future there. Can you?"

For a moment, she forgot about everything and everyone else and focused on his words. She thought of that glade, of lying in the grass with him there, laughing. She thought of the river that flowed nearby, the trees that their children would grow up between, the rich grass that their horses could feed on, the quietness they could be part of. Would Ilúvatar protect them there? She shied from that question, unable to answer it when she felt so unprotected now. Instead, she smiled and leaned into him, resting herself against him and laying her head upon his chest.

"I can, Legolas. It would be…almost perfect." He kissed the top of her head, and refused to ruin the moment by asking what she meant.

"I suppose we should be heading off to bed," laughed Gimli, and Legolas loosened his grip on Enguina so they could say their goodnights. Éowyn one-arm hugged Enguina, as did Faramir. Gimli grinned at her but did not move to hug her as Legolas remained standing at Enguina's side—perhaps he thought she would not want him to, she was not sure. But the dwarf hesitated when Legolas did not begin to follow him. Enguina's fingers clung tightly to Legolas's hand.

Faramir suddenly lunged toward Legolas, laughing as he looped an arm around the elf's neck and tugged him towards the street. "Come now, Legolas!" he teased. "You have but two weeks to wait! You can bear one night or two without her!" Her grip on his hand broke as Faramir began tugging him down the street. "Come now, come on!"

Legolas looked back to Enguina, unsure, helpless to fight Faramir's teasing pull. Éowyn laughed tiredly at his antics as she shifted Annî in her arms. "They are very silly," she said. "As if either of you were negligent of propriety." She rolled her eyes. "If anything, it would be Faramir doing something improper, not Legolas. Legolas is always proper."

Enguina stared after him, feeling all the warmth sucked out of her body. Was it possible to go from depressed to downright miserable in five seconds? She wanted to call him back and beg him to remain right in front of them. She wanted to curse and rage at Faramir and tell him what a fool he was and why would he take Legolas away and what was the matter with him? And Éowyn making a comment about propriety! What did propriety matter when she was in this state? How could they not know how changed she was? It took everything within her not to reach her hands out to him, not to run to him as fast as she could and beg him to stay.

Stay…god, please, stay… How could she be alone? How would she make it?

"Yes, he is," she whispered softly, and how she kept her voice steady she would never know.

"Enguina, are you all right?" Éowyn asked gently, touching her arm, noticing how still she had become.

No! Can you not see?! "Fine, Éowyn," she said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. "I will be fine."

She smiled at her and squeezed her arm. "Do not worry; it is only two weeks before you will never be alone!" she laughed. "And then there will be nights you wish you were when you are so irritated with him that you want him to go away for five minutes of peace. I am sure it is difficult to be parted when so much has happened, but it will do you both good to get some rest."

Is rest even possible? "I…do need rest," she replied softly. "As do you, Éowyn. Go, take your daughter home and sleep."

She smiled, adjusting Annî in her arms again. "Sleep well, friend. We will see you at the King's House in the morning."

"Good night," she said, and turned away into the guesthouse.

Once inside, Enguina fell back against the door, crossing her arms tightly against her chest. She stared into the darkness of the house and remained silent, standing there for Heaven-only-knew how long. Her heart beat was rapid, but she tried to breathe normally, desperate to return to a state of being that felt it was all right to be alone. Yes…that is going to happen, Enguina. The moment she opened her eyes, the darkness consumed her, and she shoved herself forward to the hearth where she worked for nearly ten minutes to stop her hands from shaking long enough to light a fire within. When it was lit, she clutched the stone around the hearth and dropped her forehead to her hands.

"Eru…" she whispered, and it was so quiet she was not even sure she was speaking aloud. "Eru, where are you? Where are you in this complete mess? Why have you not come to rescue me? Why have you not given me a way out? Why have you not stepped in and shown me the way of your love? I do not see you as Legolas sees you, as a strong tower, a bulwark of guidance; as Arwen sees you, as a light in the darkness, a beacon of hope; or as Aragorn sees you, as a loving father, who never gives us more than we can take. This is beyond me, Ilúvatar…beyond me, further than my trust in you can go. How can you ask me to depend on you, when I am traveling blind? When all I see before me is darkness? Legolas tries to be my light, and yet I cannot follow him to morning…I get lost in the dark along the way."

She felt tears on her face and she wiped them angrily away. "What do you want from me? Have I not trusted you far enough? When you told me to go to Minas Tirith and see Arwen before I traveled to the Havens, I followed you. When you told me to give Legolas my heart, I did it when you asked me to trust you. When Legolas asked me to marry him, I agreed, knowing that it was your will for me to choose him and live forever with him. And now…now what is it you are asking me to do? You are asking me to cope with fear, to look for you in the darkness where I cannot see you, to trust when there is nothing left to hold me up, to step out of the fear and find you. How? I ask you, Ilúvatar, how? It…it is just too much. You are asking too much. And I am so tired of this agony I feel, these dreams that haunt me, the feel of him. I want it to end. It is just too much."

Enguina shoved herself to her feet and stared into the fire, tightening her arms across her chest. Even as she stood there, she felt the exhaustion taking her. At least her hands had stopped shaking, but she felt worse than she had several hours ago, even several minutes. She wanted to cry out for Legolas as she left the fire and headed towards her bedroom to dress in her nightclothes, but she could not. Yanking the tunic over her head, her ribs pained, but she ignored them. Removing the undergarments she wore, she stopped dead when she caught sight of herself in the mirror, light reflected from the window.

Immediately, she lit a candle and stopped to really look. Her face was full of sadness, the set of her shoulders low and tired. Crisscrossing her upper body were bruises and several lines of scars across her stomach and ribs—where he had pressed his knife as he held her hip to enter her, his attempted thrusting causing the knife to slice into her over and over again. She felt bile rising up in her throat as she stood there, eyeing bruise after bruise lining her breasts and collarbone along with rows of red welts where his teeth had pinched her. Her fingers just brushed one of the scars and she nearly vomited, the moment coming back immediately to her mind. Turning quickly, she yanked down the rest of her clothes and prepared for bed.

No, calling for Legolas would simply not do. It would do nothing to help now, and she had no intention of going to him and begging him to come and sit by her bed when he had slept less than her the last few nights. He needed rest as well…and she wanted to keep the very little bit of pride she had left. She would not beg.

And she was determined to make it through tonight even if it killed her.

Legolas had gone home with Gimli, just as Faramir had suggested, and had prepared for bed, just as Gimli had suggested. But lying on his back, facing the ceiling and thinking of the dwarf's words was not easing him to the rest he wanted. In fact, he was quite sure that he wanted something much more desperately than he wanted rest.

He had spoken with Gimli about worrying for Enguina. The last thing in all of Middle-Earth that he had wanted to do tonight, their first night home, was leave her alone in the guesthouse, completely unattended. Yes, should she have been sleeping on her own? Certainly! But knowing if she was capable of that was much less clear. Faramir and Éowyn had no idea the depth of the pain Enguina was carrying, and so they would see what he was doing as something inappropriate, but he wanted to be at her side, to be holding her as she slept. Yes! Even sharing her bed if necessary!

And that was Legolas's response to Gimli's question: was it appropriate for him to be there. It was not, of course it was not! But how could he do anything else? She was in pain; her dreams were dark. What if she hurt herself? What if she left and did not say goodbye? Gimli had asked if Legolas really thought she would do something like that. How could he know? The whole world had been turned upside-down!

He could not possibly stay in this bed any longer without knowing if she was all right. Rolling out from under the covers, he yanked on his boots and hurried out of his room, down the hall and out into the night. There would be no sleep for him at all until he could assure himself that she was all right. It took only minutes for him to arrive at her front door; thankfully, there was no one in sight, not even a guard. This gave him relief, as he did not want someone to question why he was on her doorstep at this hour of the morning. Leaning into the front door, he listened carefully for any strange sounds or crying. He heard nothing…and realized there was no way that was going to be good enough.

Legolas resigned himself to what he was going to do. There was no way around it; he needed to be inside, to see her for himself. Deftly, he began working on the lock and within moments it was open. He slipped inside, making no noise at all as he passed the smoldering fire and carefully sneaked his way down the long hallway to her bedroom. Coming to a stop in her hallway at the threshold to the bedroom, he hesitated and looked in.

Ah, damn it to Utunmo…Unable to see her fully, he threw caution to the wind and stepped into the room, coming to stop at the foot of her bed. If he woke her, well, she would throw a fit and probably go crazy to see him standing over her in this creepy manner. She appeared to be sleeping quite peacefully, lying on her side, her golden hair lit by the moonlight, her breathing smooth. Enguina was asleep…and here, he had been panicking for her. She was fine…sleeping peacefully…and she did not need him to do it. The thought both delighted him and upset him; delight, because it meant that she was not having a nightmare, and upset, because he wanted to provide his comfort. The delight outweighed the sadness of being unable to provide for her.

I should go. He wanted to stay at her side, but she had not asked him to stay and contradicted Faramir and it was inappropriate for him to do so, close to the wedding or no. Even though he wanted to stay with her for the rest of the night, he would leave. She was sleeping peacefully. He looked up at the ceiling and said a silent prayer for her and over her for protection and strength and sweet dreams for the evening. Slowly, he turned to make his way out, hoping that when he came in the morning, she would have had a good rest and be feeling a bit more ready to take on the day.

It was hard to leave her, but he managed to force himself outside. Once again, he had to trust Ilúvatar to take care of her, to remain beside her when he could not. He stalled on the front porch, debating whether he should sleep right there on her doorstep, simply in case something went terribly wrong. But no, he could not do that either. So, he closed his eyes as he slowly made his way back to the house where he hoped he would actually find some rest.

Feeling the sheets shift, Aragorn knew immediately that Arwen was awake. Once asleep, she did not often move unless she snuggled closer to him or was dreaming. Tightening his arm around her waist, he propped himself up on one elbow, still half-asleep, ignoring the ache as his shoulder protested angrily about the abuse it was taking from him leaning on it.

"Is everything all right?" he asked softly, and she sighed and turned into him, her eyes looking quite tired. She fingered his chin.

"I was trying not to wake you. I woke, suddenly…for no reason at all…and I cannot figure out how to fall asleep again," she said a bit miserably.

He smiled. "Have you tried counting sheep?"

"I tried counting everything," she replied dryly, "even the hairs in your beard. It has not worked."

"Were you dreaming?" he asked softly, a bit of worry behind his voice, but she shook her head.

"No…this was just…sudden. I am simply awake."

He dragged his fingers slowly across her forehead and her right eyebrow and eyelid. "You look tired."

"I may look it, and my eyes may close, but I do not feel it." She sighed. "Something is…something, somewhere, is not right. I feel strange."

"Strange?"

"Something is not right," she reiterated, but she tickled his beard again. "I do not want to keep you awake; perhaps I will just take a walk about the gardens and return in a few minutes. Perhaps it will soothe my racing heart and then I will sleep."

He noticed that her heart was racing. "I will come with—"

"No," she said with a laugh. "Please, rest, Aragorn…you need it, and I am not blind to how much your wound is paining you." She kissed him gently and sat up, keeping the sheet over him. "Beside that, I will be back in moments. There is no reason for you to get up."

"Arwen," he said, catching her arm as she slipped from the bed, "why is your heart racing?"

She shook her head. "I do not know…I just…something is not quite right. Somewhere, and it is keeping me awake. Do not worry; short trip to the gardens and I will be back. Perhaps I just need a walk in the moonlight."

"Could it be Enguina?"

She frowned. "It could be, but I am sure Legolas is still at her side, even sleeping in a chair nearby. I do not think thoughts of Enguina are keeping me awake." She smiled at him. "I really will be right back you know."

"I know."

"And you do not have to worry."

"I know."

"And you can go back to sleep, as I am certain I will wake you the moment I come back."

"I know."

She leaned down and swiftly kissed him. "I will be back presently," she told him. "I love you."

He sighed, trying not to cling to her. "All right." She watched his eyes close and he laid his head immediately back upon the pillow. "If you need me, please—"

"I will."

"And I love you."

Darkness. Pain. Aching hands filled with blood. Aching limbs stretched to their limit. Her legs were held in his hands, and then pressed to the ground, extended and bent at an angle that was excruciating, terribly unpleasant. Her head was pounding; something wet trickled down from her forehead into her hair, sweat or blood she did not know, but she kept her eyes tightly closed, her face a grimace of pain and her lips so clenched they were white with the strain. Her nostrils flared with the attempt to take in more air, but there was a struggle between her brain and her body—clench the mouth closed or open it for life-giving oxygen?

A hand twisted on her breast, and she lost control of the ability to keep her mouth closed, crying out in pain. There was no pleasure in this—how could there be? This was for his gratification and his alone. He did not care if she writhed and wriggled beneath him; he did not care if she was in pain. His only thought was for his own pleasure, to take from her and give to himself. Her skin was pinched between his teeth, over and over, and every time she tried to pull away, pain speared through her hands and down her arms. His fingers crushed her hip between them. Her jaw ached under the pressure from the hand he had clamped over her mouth.

"Look at me."

The command was whispered in her ear, but harsh, nasty in that ugly voice he used when he made a demand. She could not reply; she had no voice. She was so weak that her head swam, but there was no way she could open her eyes. He released her chin and sneered down at her.

"I want you to look in my eyes as I enter you, fair love. Look in my eyes."

She blinked, but there was no way she would ever look in his eyes; it was impossible. He growled at her, taking the knife to her stomach where it began to dig in as she tried to pull back, fright and pain driving her.

"Hold very still, and this will not hurt so much."

She knew what was coming; she knew that pain—had experienced it in every nightmare for nearly fifty years. She felt his hips thrust forward and then she was crying out as he made several attempts to thrust into her. The pressure from his body, his hips bearing down on her as he held her still between his knees and hands, keeping her tightly pushed against the ground made her want to retch. Pain seared through her, and there was screaming that was not only hers…and she opened her eyes…and looked into his face and…

Legolas? No! It was impossible! Impossible!

She blinked, screaming as the pain tore through her as he pushed against her, hollering about taking it all, and she opened her eyes again, seeing Legolas's face above her, Legolas's head leaned back with passion, and she could only lie there, screaming into the night—

Enguina was retching before she even hit the floor, tangled in the covers, and shaking like a leaf. She had no presence of mind to catch herself, hitting her head and shoulder and then hip off the floor, her elbow digging nastily into her smarting ribs. She rolled over, still tangled, and retched again, barely able to hold her head up off the ground.

Freedom…she needed it now. Scratching and clawing at the blankets to release herself, gasping, choking on fear and desperation. OutOutOUT! The blanket tore and she rolled and thrashed and stumbled to her knees, crashing headlong into her dresser.

Bang! SMASH! The mirror atop the chest of drawers hit the wall and tumbled forward, hitting her on the back and smashing against the ground around her. She crawled forward, unable to feel the cuts to her hands and feet as she made her way blindly out of the room, whacking the doorframe and the opposite wall outside the hall before she broke down into tears as she tried to drag herself to her feet. The darkness was closing in; the shadows were snatching at her clothes, almost as though the guesthouse was alive as she threw herself down the hallway, knocking into the walls and doorframes.

She stumbled through the kitchen, running into the table as she cursed and sobbed, desperate now to be free from the dream. The hands, the thrusting, the knife, the screaming, that face! His face! Oh, it could not be borne! Unbearable! He would never…he would never do that to her! She would run! Run and run and run until she could not breathe or the memories faded…If she ran it could not catch her! It would not find her, get her; she would make it stop! Get out of the house! Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout!

Weeping and stumbling, she fell into the door, hands fumbling around the lock, nails snagging along wood and metal as her hands shook so terribly. Finally, her weight against the door dumped her out into the street—

And she ran.