Sleep can be both a sanctuary or a nightmare, a thought provoking experience or nonsense of the waking mind, or even a gateway to the future for those who have the gift. Sleep had been so calm lately, nightmares kept at bay by the sweetness of current reality. Of course, happiness does not come without complication, but for the sleeping Fairest, any complication is worth it for this happiness she is clinging to.


Cassandra is seated on a backless bench, staring out into a beautiful, open meadow. Tall grass blows on the wind as the sweet scent of wildflowers fills the air. This is paradise, with everything she could possibly want. The sun touches her fair skin, fuzzy warmth radiating within her. She takes a moment to listen to the subtleties of nature. The sound of birds singing, the rustling of the leaves, the sound of little steps of creatures unknown.


Setting her hands in her lap, she leans forward and sighs a little. Her long white gown, plain yet flattering, clings to her body in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination. It is easy to play in, but it triggers anxieties about every change he's made to her. They're so subtle - the wideness to her hips, the thinner waist leading to a better hourglass shape. One would think those were just cosmetic, but they all had purpose for her playing. Anything to make sure she would master her instrument. Still, the worst subtle change has to be her pinky, broken and remolded to extend just a little wider. She never could hold her bow just right enough to please him.


She feels a touch on her shoulder, light and comforting, but she does not turn around. Instead, she smiles to herself and lifts her adjacent hand to touch his, entwining their fingers in the process. Her hand squeezes his briefly before standing up and turning around, her hand adjusting to continue holding his. The first thing that always strikes her is his eyes. Beautiful orbs of black that sparkle with prismatic color. His hair is second. Shining strands of pure black with just the right amount of bounce. Third is his lips that she never wants to stop kissing.


Butterflies fill her stomach and she leans forward to do just that, and in that moment, it feels like an eternity since she'd felt his needful lips on hers. After a long, blissful moment she feels his hot breath on her lips, a perfect, low melodious voice asking, "My dear songbird, what are you doing out here?"


"Inspiration." Cassandra says simply, kissing him one more time before pulling back to look at him again. She could gaze at him all day if he'd let her, but he'd never allow for that. If one is awake, then one is practicing or creating. That is, unless he has a separate need of you.


"And how have you been inspired?" Everything is always about how it affects her playing or her special projects.


"I'll show you in time," her voice is coy, flirtatious and she gives him a bit of a grin. She squeezes his hand once more before letting go and he begins to grin himself before shifting back into a more neutral expression.


"Will you now?" He starts, his own voice matching her flirtatious expression, "I think you should show me now," But that line comes out more commanding. Alexander never did know how to wait. He crosses around the bench and comes in close to her, highlighting their height difference. There is a series of ways that he gets what he wants, usually starting like this - sweet and amorous.


Again, she grins and closes the gap between them. Addictive. She'd always loved him, but some days she can feel the truth in his words when he'd say she'd surely rather die than leave him. What would be the point?


He kisses her again and she could positively melt. It is then that something clicks in her mind: this isn't right. And the moment she felt that wrongness, he grabs her wrists, holding them tightly to the point that it hurts. "You won't leave me again."


Cassandra wakes in a cold sweat, sitting up fast in bed. Her heart is beating out of her chest and her hand comes up to rest against her breast. Terror slowly fills her. She remembers dreams like these. Dreams of the better times, moments of sweetness. It took a long time for her to even resolve to escape. He must have thought gripping harder would make her want to change her mind, that pain was the way to retrieve what he wants. How long might she have stayed if he were better?


The Fairest hops out of bed, shakily walking down the hall to the kitchen to make herself some tea. Tears are already welling up inside of her as some of the realizations begin to hit her. Things she'd not thought of till now. He looks so much like Phillip, and by appearance proximity, like John as well. No, she just has a type. Her Keeper made himself to look that way because it is what she would find physically attractive. A trick. Right? It is a truth she'd cling to for now.


She lets out a slow, shaky breath as she sips on her quickly thrown together tea. It's not quite steeped right, but as long as she has something warm in her system, it would help. Things are fine. She's not there anymore. She is here in a reality better than she deserves, so why does she feel a tiny bit lost again?


I'll always have a piece of you. She always knew that he would.


It is then she realizes this is a dream she's never had before. A new nightmare. Was it a memory or just a reminder that she'll always feel that tug trying to take her back no matter what she does? And yet, something does feel different. She feels more powerful. Normally, she thinks she would have been far more torn up by this nightmare, but she isn't.


No.


She sets down her tea and slowly steps into her bathroom, almost afraid to go inside. What's changed? If her connection to the Wyrd is now stronger, what changes have occurred? She's heard things change about you, you become more like you were once upon a time. She's seen it in John too.


She hates looking in the mirror unless it is to dress herself. When she is applying makeup and dressing, she is taking control of being who she is. Just gazing into the mirrors though? It makes her nervous. She knows the dangers they pose on top of revealing to her things she never wants to see. It also makes her think of the fact that when she and John finally reach that point, he'll see every little change he made to her too and that makes her feel a little sick.


Will he still love you then?


At first, nothing strikes her as she gazes into the mirror. She's looking at her body, her hands, her coloring. It felt like she could be a hint brighter, but then, her brightness fluctuated constantly. No, that's when she sees it. Her eyes. Her jewel-like, emerald eyes now glitter with the same prismatic colors as her opalescent skin. Specs of light in her eyes constantly shifting in color. If her eyes were black, she'd have eyes exactly like his. They are like his. Just how much had he made her in his image?


She finds herself falling to the ground on her knees in front of her toilet and emptying what feels like a purge of shame. And then she begins to sob, crying over the toilet. She stays like that for a long time and wishes then that she could resolve to never look in a mirror again, but she knows she has to. Some of her contracts depend on it. After a while, she wipes her lips of the sick and sits back against her bathroom wall. Everyone is just going to see this as something else that is beautiful about her, even John will probably grow to love the way her eyes sparkle, prismatic hues flickering specific colors just for him. Will she be easier to read? Or will this make it harder? Wasn't it hard enough for people to understand her in the first place?


She hides her face, resting her forehead on her knees as she brings them up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as she begins to cry again. This is when he would have brought her tea, sat next to her, stroked her hair and rubbed her shoulders. One of the things that she loved about Phillip had been the way he cared for her after her nightmares. She's sure John would care for her just as well, but it doesn't stop that comparison. It doesn't shake the comparison that she got to live with Phillip, build a real life with him. Will she ever get that with John? If they keep things secret, they'll never be able to move in together, they'll never be able to spend too much time together. She thought she'd finally gotten to a point where that is fine, and maybe she is still fine with it, but this is one of those times she just wanted him here badly enough that she could care less about keeping secrets.


There is a debate within her if she should text or call him, ask him to come over, but she knows it's daylight and he's as dead asleep as she was. He needs the sleep too. No, she doesn't want to bother him with it. She'll be fine. She'll be fine. It does give her an idea though, thinking about him. Their oath is up soon and they'll need to renew it. Perhaps she'll surprise him with something, try to look forward to something to do to get her mind off of what is really bothering her.


She stands then, feeling a little wobbly before adjusting her nightgown and stepping out of the bathroom. On her way out, she catches that glimpse of her eyes one last time. It's just one more thing, but she'll survive. She's survived this far, eyes of her Keeper be damned.