@ Eld Cottage Hospital
Adonis has secured himself a seat at Nyla’s bedside, and even at Lavinia’s insistence that she could watch over Nyla and allow him to go home and have a rest, he’d refused to leave the spot. He felt achingly responsible, for one thing. But it also went far deeper than that, far deeper than perhaps he was quite yet willing to admit to himself. So instead he dwelled in guilt and worry, and perhaps a pinch of shame—all of which had mingled into the fruits of a fitful sleep he’d seemed to have fallen into in his chair as he waited for her to wake.
@nylasheartandsoul
Nyla frowned in confusion to find herself in a dream. She didn't recall falling asleep. But then it wasn't her dream. Though she didn't recall stepping into it either. In fact the last thing she remembered was being at the ball. Of getting into a heated discussion with Adonis. Him storming off. Then..... Her frown deepened because it all went blank after that.
This wasn't a dream she'd been in before. That much she did know. Even if something told her this was faerie. She started to look around, searching for clues as to who's dream this was. Or better yet the person themselves. Entering someone else's dreams, even for her, was not without it's risks. Really she should just leave but something was preventing her from waking. Next best thing would be to get back to her own. But she wanted answers.
Walking cautiously out into a grove she stopped still when she saw who sat on a bench within it. She was in Adonis's dream. Somehow that was even more confusing. After a moment she pressed on, slowly walking over to him.
Adonis didn’t dream often, and when he did he rarely found sense in them. But this one was different. He was back at the home of his youth, back in Faerie. And he didn’t need to question why he was there, for the reason was as plain as the text inscribed on the headstone before him. He was picturing loss, grappling with it even.
His father’s death was quite a deep wound for him, even now 6 centuries on. He was the first and only loved one that Adonis had ever lost… he would have liked to envision that to always be the case. He had distanced himself from romantic attachments and the like for that very reason, not that he’d ever told a soul as much.
And now? Now he’d been gripped with the same fear that he had that day his father fell beside him. Trembled in the same way, steeped in the same guilt.
He rested his head in his hands, leaning forward onto his knees as he did so. It all felt so achingly real, being here. He’d go there if he could, to speak to his father… if he could still hear him. And yet, if he could then, why not now?
“It should have been me,” Adonis said softly. And he laughed a bit then, in that dry and nearly angry way. “It should have been me, damn it!” He raked his hands across his face, cursing the fact that tears still seemed to fall even in dreams. But his focus turned to the headstone before him as he continued to yell. “You weren’t supposed to leave us then, you weren’t supposed to die in some bloody accident! You had everything to lose, and what did I have?!” He stood up, exasperated and advancing towards the stone. “I am left to the ravages of grief and meant to soldier on in your stead, be the man that our family needed, be the one that they lost in you… And I have, you know. I’ve done well by my siblings, by Mother, and I haven’t lost any of them.”
His throat clenched as a choked sob escaped him. “But now I could lose her, and I just—” Adonis shuddered, shaking the thought from his mind. “It should have been me.”
As she drew nearer it became clear to her that Adonis was in destress. Though when she'd become so aware of his body language to know that even without seeing his face wasn't clear to her. It was almost as surprising, in fact, as the twinge she felt for him. The way she had the sudden urge to make sure he was ok, to comfort him. The man who she wasn't sure she'd ever had a civil conversation with. The man who seemed to have an unnatural ability to annoy her. To make her say things she didn't always mean.
Their last conversation had been just the same. Her hackles had gone up and she'd been far harsher than she ought to have been. The remorse had instantly started mixing with her annoyance. And the way he'd just stormed off.....There was that blankness again. Why couldn't she remember what had happened after that.
Nyla found herself slowing as his words reached her. He hadn't yet realised he wasn't alone and these things were not meant for her ears. The shame of intruding on something private made her cheeks heat. It was the thing about her power she grappled with the most. Feeling like she was prying, almost like she was reading someones diary. It was the reason that ordinarily she didn't enter another persons dreams without permission, expect in extreme circumstances.
She should go. Just turn around and try to leave his dream. And yet her heart had started aching for him with the things she was hearing. The grief in his voice, the pain in his words. The weight he had carried. She couldn't help but wear it on her face. At last she came to a stop a little way behind the bench he'd been sat on. His last words felt like being hit in the chest. They could be able anyone. Anyone in the world. Why did her mind jump to readily to the conclusion that maybe they were about her? It was preposterous.
Despite the fact half of her was still convinced she should leave, she found the question voiced before she could catch it. "What should have?"
