–.
"Oh, Jon. You can only hide for so long, you know. Dreams don't last forever, not even nightmares. You have to make your choice. We all make it at some point. If you must know, then I suppose I can regale you with when I chose mine.

It's not like you have much choice in the matter.

Everything always comes back to her, you know. I could say she forced me, or that I didn't have much of a choice. I remember though when I let it happen to me. I was having a panic attack in the bathroom stall. The awful thing about those is they feel endless. So there I was, trying to heave out a lung, and someone came into the bathroom. I could feel it then. At that moment, I sent them away. For the first time, I had done it without being made to. I was just so angry with the termination of my ability to be humiliated and broken without interruption. Then, I was terrified with what I had done. That's when the change came. I made my choice, Jon, and I chose to live. None of us would blame you for wanting to live.

We aren't on the edges of humanity anymore. There is no going back at all for us, and the world is so much bigger than you think. So what, people suffer? That's life. It's torment or be tormented, and sometimes it's both. You cannot go on like this forever.

You have to decide.

Are you really going to have let Tim die in vain? Maybe, you could do something good with yourself? Don't trick yourself or deceive yourself, Jon. That is not a hole worth digging. It will kill you, and if that's your path, you might as well choose death now.

I don't want to be your enemy, Jon. I'm telling you these things because I like you, and I think we could be friends. I would like that, you know. And what about poor Martin? I'm managing a lot with you taking your time and Elias away, and I can't keep Martin from being touched by the Lonely. Peter wants both of us, I won't let him have Martin and I, but I can't do this alone, Jon.

Jon, come back home. You're our archivist, plus I hate doing your job on occasion. I think I understand why you're so rude now. Just, don't wait around too long, okay?"

I.
Sometimes you have a horrible dream that you don't remember, and you wake up feeling back in the past. I wake up sweating and gasping for air with a fading vision of my past torments.

There was a time she punished me by locking me in a chest. Another time, she locked me in a closet. She put me in a room with no windows. She left me alone in a restaurant after hours. She was always looking for ways to prove to me that I could only ever be alone. I remember her saying to me once that I have no place in this world for me that is not where she asks me to be, that I am her daughter, and I have duties toward her. My mother beat that lesson into me in so many different ways.

It is times like this that I truly hate what I am. I wonder what things would have been like. Could I have had something more like a decent life? I am no longer human, and I do not know when I stopped being human, but I feel the loss. I am indescribably furious and deeply unsettled with the world for doing this to me. I am so hurt for Elias giving me a feeling of something I had so desperately craved and then not being here. It hurts to live, and it always has. I am bitter, but I cannot bring myself to stay angry.

During moments like these, I have to fight the cold sinking into my skin, my mother's influence and Peter's weigh over me, and now Elias does not stand between them. I have to do this on my own. I can do this on my own, but I still wish you were here. I'm not weak. I won't be. I will be something more, something else. Whatever it takes!

I am trying so hard, my fingers are tormented by the effort of clinging. My breath fogs in the air, and my ears pop. My phone rings. I answer it to a terrified Martin. Jon is in a coma in the hospital. Tim is dead. My breath is visible in the air, but it does not warn of my own loneliness. Oh, Martin. We are not so different after all. The thought brings me comfort. I feel myself anchoring again; Martin's solitude provides me with company. I can work with this. Peter is going to work so hard to usurp me, I have to keep a loose grip on Martin. It will be better if they get a bit close, but I can make sure there's enough distance for him to leave. I've already given him something to help him, and now I have something resembling a plan in my mind. Well, here goes nothing, Elias!

II.

I dread the things that haunt me in my sleep lately. With Elias gone and Lukas nearby, my mother's presence is a thought that hangs around the corner. She is a shadow that torments me, chilling me to the bone.

Her cooking was the worst. In my dream, I find myself seated at a table with her, two bowls of something that can only be described as slop sit before us. There is more in her bowl than in mine. I eat actual slime. There are two options before me: this only has nutritional value, or does not have any.

"Eat." The look she turns on me fills me with the same dread as if I am living through this exact moment again. It is far too real. I guess I should just go through the motions. I run my spoon through the sludge, scooping a viscous lump into my mouth.

It tastes like the color gray, and it sticks to my tongue and my throat. I can't speak. I can't breathe. I try to choke it down.

I swallow it, and it rolls down my throat thick and heavy. "Why can't we eat, I don't know, pasta?"

"Indulgence is only going to weaken you." Right. No flavors. No sugar. No enjoyment. It would separate me from the Lonely too much, and I have to destroy the world. I have to send it all crashing down, with people lost and wandering and empty for the rest of forever. Subject everyone to this nonsense. I hate her. Is it so much to ask for a cup of tea that doesn't taste like a wet sock? I can only dream of the things I have been deprived of, which is exactly what she doesn't want me to do anyway.

I tell her that I do not want to eat this, and she lunges at me. I press a hand over my mouth, here it comes. She grabs at my wrist, tearing my hand away from my mouth as she spoons her gruel down my throat. I can't breathe. I cannot breathe. My chest is heavy, and she is forcing the bile down my throat as it rises back up. When did I ever have a choice?

Everything goes dark, yet I do not remember it being so short. There was more, surely there was more dream left.

I am static, more alive than a corpse, but I cannot bring myself to move. A cool hand presses against my forehead. It burns. I feel like I am burning alive. I am dying. Is this how I die? My vision is blurry and soft, but the hand that rests against my forehead is one I am familiar with. I can make out his eyes, and I am drawn to them like a moth to light. The ceiling is not mine. Oh, I am still dreaming. I am back at Elias's house. His fingers brush a hair clinging to my skin out of the way. "Helen, can you hear me?"

This didn't happen. "I am sorry." I would have remembered. This isn't real. I am grateful though that the specter of my mother did not last, instead replaced by some kind of desperation. Elias, wouldn't. I could almost mistake the feathered touch of his for care, yet Elias doesn't. This is just a dream.

He leans forward, hovering over me for a moment. "Hang in a bit longer," he says, and then his lips press themselves against my temple. A kind gesture, one that even my mother never spared me. A strange comparison considering Elias is some kind of love interest of mine I suppose, but my point is, I have never felt such tenderness until him. It scares me. "I will fix this."

I wake up crying, but I cannot quite pin down why.

III.

This dream is different. It is haunted by the cold fingers of the Lonely that grasp at my heart. I have only been working at the institute for two weeks, and I must have taken a wrong turn on my way to artefact storage. All the halls look the same, I don't remember this hallway being this long. Shadows soften every corner, and the walls are closing in on me. I turn around in an effort to retrace my steps. This is so ironic. I choke back a laugh that morphs into a sob. I have spent so long tormenting people just like this, but this time I am lost on accident. I didn't mean for this to happen.

Everything looks the same. I can't find anyone. Maybe if I can find Martin? No, I think he is away on something Jon asked him to look into. Is anyone here? The panic is rising in my chest like a tide, threatening to suffocate me. My head is spinning, the walls are shifting. This can't be real. I lean against the wall, and it does not move. I clutch at my chest, my shoulders are heaving, my breath is dragging against my throat. Not here, please.

I stumble forward, a hand gliding against the wall, but everything is pressing in against me. I sink against the wall, my knees buckling beneath me. My breath is rushing away from me in currents, and my heart crescendos.

"Are you alright, Helen?" Elias's voice cuts through my panic like a beam of light.

"I-," say something, if I could just get my voice to work, "I'm lost," I finally manage to choke out.

"It happens to the best of us, especially in a building as old as this." He extends a hand to me, "Let me give you a hand."

My hand is light in his as he pulls me to my feet, "Come on. I'll make sure you find your way." In a moment of weakness, I grasp at his sleeve as he starts to lead me away.

He falters for a split second, but then alters his stride so that his steps are shorter. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed. He glances back at me, "One step at a time, Helen. We'll have you back where you belong as if you were never gone." That was the first time I knew that my end was in sight, and that he may very well be the root of it.

IV.
Some nights I am haunted by my mother's face, and other times the smallest of moments with Elias make their appearance. Tonight, I find myself walking to my flat after work. It's not too terrible of a walk, but for some reason it feels darker than usual this evening. Shadows dance at my vision, not brave enough to face me. I ignore them to the best of my ability.

The sound of my shoes seems to echo, making another pair of steps set in behind me. My apartment isn't that far, but I feel awfully lightheaded tonight. "Do you always walk home?"

I startle at the sound of his voice, he always seems to find me at the most vulnerable of times. "Most nights," I say, turning to see him standing at the steps of the Institute. Wow, his voice can travel quite a bit. I swear he was closer. "It's not far, and I don't mind the walk."

He studies me for a moment, his gaze piercing through the shadows that seem to cling to me. "It's not safe. Let me give you a ride."

I pause, torn between the stubborn independence I desire and the comfort compelling me to accept. Would it be strange to accept a ride home from my boss that is also a monster? "I appreciate the offer," I say, forcing something like a smile, "but I'll be fine."

"You are a very capable individual, yes, but," he pauses, his eyes seem to glisten in the night, "there is no shame in accepting help when it is offered," he says as he approaches me. "It's late, and," his voice quiets as he gets closer, "I would feel better knowing you got home safely."

I consider his words for a moment, the weight of exhaustion settling heavily upon me. Perhaps a ride home wouldn't hurt, and it would certainly be faster than walking. With a sigh, I nod in reluctant agreement. "Alright."

A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he gestures toward his car, the headlights cutting through the darkness like a beacon of safety. "Come on," he says, his voice warm with reassurance. "Let's get you home."

How often has he done that for me? I wake up with my stomach turning and flipping. I am so helpless around him. How many times has he led me out of the darkness?

V.

I toss and turn in my bed, the remnants of the dreams still clinging to my mind like cobwebs. The darkness of the room presses in on me, suffocating and heavy. It feels as though the shadows themselves are whispering, taunting me with their elusive secrets.

I reach for my phone, the soft glow of the screen illuminating my trembling hands. With shaky fingers, I scroll through my contacts until I find Elias's name. The urge to call him, to seek his comfort, overwhelms me.

But the reality is that Elias is gone, locked away indefinitely. He said he would be back, but when? The thoughts send shivers down my spine, a bitter reminder of the darkness that lurks within him.

I stare at his name on the screen, nothing more than a painful reminder. How could I have been so foolish to believe in his kindness, to seek solace in him?

With a heavy heart, I set my phone aside and bury my face in my hands. The weight of my own loneliness bears down on me, an oppressive force.

As the night wears on, the echoes of Elias's words linger in my mind. "One step at a time, Helen. We'll have you back where you belong as if you were never gone."

Soon.