Dear Diary,

There are few things worse than waking up disoriented—at least in my opinion. Those first few minutes … when I wake up and lay staring up at the ceiling, with my mind still partially asleep as I try to remember where I am—they always leave me feeling confused and somewhat… helpless… as I struggle to push aside the remnants of my dreams. Today was worse than usual; partially because of the jet lag I think, but mainly because I'd experienced one of the strange haunting dreams that hang on to my consciousness, making it hard to separate reality from illusion.

For as long as I can remember, I have had odd, disturbing dreams; ones that seem so much more than just fantasies weaved by my sleeping mind. Everything about them is brighter and more vivid … more lifelike than normal dreams—the scents, sounds and voices… everything is… clearer. It's hard to explain, really—the closest I can come would be to suggest comparing a high definition photograph to an image that is fuzzy and somewhat blurred. That's exactly how it is for me when comparing a dream that is brought on by vision to an ordinary sort of dream.

I never speak of them, not even when sometimes the things I have seen play out before my eyes while I'm awake. The one time I came close to mentioning it my grandmother silenced me with a shake of her head and a knowing, understanding look in her wise, dark eyes. She seemed to sense what it was that had been plaguing me—why I had dark shadows under my eyes and always seemed drained and tired, no matter how much I slept.

Her visions leave her drained too, though I don't know if she experiences the same sharp, piercing pain behind her eyes that I get—I've never been able to work up the courage to ask her about it outright. It's the pain that always wakes me, no matter how deeply asleep I might be. It pulls me awake as soon as it starts and makes falling back asleep impossible. After an hour or so it eventually starts to fade—not much, but to a level that doesn't leave me nauseous and dizzy. On the days following such dreams I tend to seclude myself away from everyone; otherwise it would be hard to explain why I'm less talkative than normal, since I can't admit my head is pounding, throbbing with each beat of my heat like it's trapped within a vice.

The dream last night was one of those dreams—the ones that leave me achy and fuzzy headed, but unlike the majority of the others that happen only once. It's the only one that has ever repeated over and over again. For three years it has happened periodically, always the same, every time I have it; one minute I am feeling lost and alone, standing in a crowded room speaking, yet no one seems to hear me, then the next a voice reaches me and I turn, but it's owner is hidden in the shadows. From time to time I get a glimpse of certain features—like his messy, thick dark hair, or the startling, brilliant color of his eyes—and as soon as I do… I am filled with a sense of… well… peace. It's a calm, warm feeling that reminds me of being curled up in front of the fireplace on a chilly winter day, when the house is filled with the scent of baking bread and the soft sound of Mama moving about in the kitchen. It's a feeling of coming home… of complete, heartbreaking perfection, like I've finally found where I belong—and I never want it to end. I think that's part of the reason I was so positive what I felt for Rolan was love—because something about him reminded me of the mysterious boy in my dreams. It was stupid of me really—that special feeling of peace and contentment was never there, but I wanted it so much that I just focused on the physical attributes they shared—like the dark hair and the beautiful, bright green eyes—until I convinced myself that he was the one.

I hadn't had the dream in quite a while—since before Roza came into our lives—so when I woke this morning and it lingered in my head, it added to my confusion. It took me a few minutes to shove aside the ache of longing that hit me, and even when I glanced around and remembered where I was—I couldn't for the life of me remember leaving the couch for my bed. By the time I was awake enough to actually move, my mood wasn't a good one. My head hurt and I was irritated—with myself for having slept away my first full day at court, but also at my family for not bothering to wake me. I thought that after I'd showered and dressed my sour mood would improve—but it didn't. If anything I was more prickly than before; my mother and Yeva weren't in their rooms and I had no idea where to find them. On top of that, since I'd slept through dinner I was absolutely famished, but my head hurt to much for me to cook and though we'd passed several places to eat on the way in, I didn't have any money. I didn't even know where my brother's apartment might be, so I was pretty much out of luck. Returning to my room I eyed the contents of the refrigerator, grabbing a bag of grapes to tide me over until my family realized they'd forgotten my existence.

I didn't have to wait long; about ten minutes later there was a soft knocking at my door—my brother come to collect me, accompanied by his charge. I studied the Moroi while Dimka introduced us, his amused expression making me wonder if I had something on my face.

"She doesn't seem irritable to me." The Moroi shot a pointed look at Dimitri, moving past me into the apartment.

"Excuse me?" I frowned, glancing at Dimka for clarification.

"I warned him you can be a bit… testy when your sleep is disturbed." He ruffled my hair as he passed, frowning at his charge.

"I am not! If anything I get angry when people don't wake me up—like you all did last night. I hope you had a pleasant dinner without me?"

"I tried to wake you up—three times. You threatened me the last time so I decided it was best to let you be."

"I did not! I wouldn't—"

"You did. And in a manner that was very… improper."

I frowned, searching my memory—but came up completely blank. I couldn't imagine what I might have said that would merit such a look of reproach as the one he shot me. "What exactly is it that I supposedly said?"

"You said if I did not stop waking you up… you would remove my…" his cheeks reddened and he dropped his eyes, shaking his head. "You get the picture."

I felt my own cheeks flush with embarrassment. "Dimka! I did not! I don't even want to think about that let alone—"

"You most certainly did—you said if I didn't leave you the hell alone and stop waking you up… you would cut off something that would make Roza a very unhappy woman." He scowled at me, arching a dark brow.

As soon as he said it something clicked inside my head, reminding me of the discussion and him helping me to bed—but he'd totally mistaken my meaning, taking it in the worst way possible. "For God sakes Dimka—I meant your hair!"

A burst of laughter sounded from the couch, making us both jerk out heads in the direction of Dimitri's charge. "Sorry, but I have to side with Dimitri on this one—Rose might be pissed if you cut off his hair—but she'd be absolutely homicidal if you cut off his—"

"Enough!" Dimka shot the Moroi a warning look. "A misunderstanding then. Still…you were quite harsh with me, yes?"

"Maybe so—but it was probably due to the fact I was tired and hungry. I haven't eaten since breakfast yesterday you know."

He gave me a fond look, smoothing back a strand of my hair. "Ah and you are just wasting away I suppose? Would you like me to take you down to the café? You can probably still get… " His voice trailed off as the Moroi jumped up, heading for the small kitchen. "Christian… No. I will buy her—"

"It's no problem. Better than having to watch her eat the crap they'll still have up for grabs. It's been sitting in grease for hours."

I shot my brother a quizzical look as he sighed and shook his head. "He's more head strong than Ivan was… but he's right. You'll enjoy whatever he prepares much more than you would any of the meager left overs they'll still have for sale after the breakfast rush. Come—maybe you can learn a thing or two to surprise Mama with when you go home." He guided me over to the long counter that ran the length of the kitchen, shrugging off his coat and tossing it over one of the stools, watching his charge with a faint amused smile, as if having a Royal cook for him was an everyday occurrence.

Me? I was taken completely aback—this was as inappropriate as having the Queen unpack my things. "You really don't have to Lord Oze—"

"Christian." He cut me off, pointing a pan at me. "I just broke him of the habit of using that stupid title—don't make me go through it again with you."

"I'm sorry… it won't happen again." I looked over at Dimka, wide eyed at the outburst but he just shrugged.

"Headstrong." Leaning closer, he lowered his voice to whisper. "There is one thing to remember when it comes to getting along with Christian—he's very much like Roza. Treat him the same way you would treat her and you will get along just fine."

"I heard that—and I'm nothing like that she-demon." The Moroi didn't look up from whatever it was he was stirring, though his brow wrinkled with irritation. "Not to mention the fact that if you treated me the way you treat Rose… it would be extremely disturbing."

"He's right Dimka—that's really not a very good comparison." I giggled as a faint blush crossed the top of my brothers tan cheeks.

"You know what I mean… both of you."

"Yeah well if you start looking at me the way you look at Rosie—I'm making a run for it." Christian glanced over at me, raising his eyebrows. "Any food allergies?"

The unexpected question startled me. "Um… no?"

"She's sensitive to dairy."

I gave my brother an exasperated look. "That was when I was a baby—I drink milk all the time now."

"Still, better safe than sorry, yes? Unless you want to risk having an upset stomach and ruining your day?" Smiling fondly, he reached over, stroking my cheek with his fingertips. "I remember how it used to hurt you—it drove me crazy, listening to you cry and being unable to take the pain away."

Christian frowned down at the pan, rolling his eyes. "So is cheese ok? I don't want to make you sick—I have a reputation to uphold here,"

"For… cooking?"

"Some would say he is the most talented chef at court—and they would be right. There's a reason Roza is always raiding his fridge, Vika."

I didn't respond, my eyes drifting back to his charge, wondering exactly how a Royal Moroi developed such a talent. I wouldn't ask of course—that would be rude and would imply I doubted his skills. "From what I saw of Roza when she lived with us… she'll eat just about anything Dimka—though she may glare at it and sniff it a few times first."

His smile faltered, and I instantly regretted mentioning the time he'd been… away. That is what we called it in my family, amongst ourselves, none of us wanting to think about the type of things that might have gone on in his life during that dark, dark period. "Dimka… I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"

"Shhh… it's all right. I just wish I had been there, to introduce her and show her around our home. It was something I always dreamed of, back before…never mind. You should eat up—you have a busy day ahead of you." He watched his charge load up a plate for me—and judging by the amount of scrambled eggs the Moroi had prepared, he was obviously accustomed to cooking for a dhampir's appetite.

A groan escaped me and I turned to face him, giving him my best puppy dog look of pleasing; in the past it had always worked like a charm, but I had a feeling that might not be the case when it came to my training. "Dimka! I am supposed to have two weeks to enjoy myself first!"

"Oh he's not talking about training." Christian slid the plate in front of me before turning his attention to the dishes he had used, piling them up in the sink. "It's something a whole lot more draining than that."

"What could be more draining than physical activity?" I took a bite, making a sound of pleasure that earned me a smile. The eggs were delicious, perfectly prepared—I owed him an apology for doubting him.

"Shopping." His smile widened at my look of confusion. "With Lissa."

A/N Quick question. I already have quite a bit of this written, but my writing style is rather... odd. I write the chapters as they come to me then put it in chronological order. I could actually post much more of this story right now, but it would be with... time skips, so to speak. At the beginning of the chapter I'd notate Vika's age and location so no one would get confused... or I could just keep posting this way and letting the story unfold in the time frame it occurs without skipping around. Which would everyone prefer?

I'm just wondering because my friend Sophie read some of the already written 'future' chapters, after Vika returns to Saint Basil's and then later when she has graduated and moved home... and she loved them, so I thought maybe I should go ahead and put them up even though their not in order, so to speak. Let me know what you guys prefer!

Not proofed or edited because I have a killer headache and didn't want to end up adding another thousand words. ;o)