#(teagan.)

Some nights, Inge liked to improvise. She’d astral project from place to place, hopping around her surroundings to find a worthy meal and doing no prep whatsoever. Scaring people, at the end of the day, wasn’t that hard. It was doing it originally and in a way that invoked a lasting sense of dread that she could return to that was harder. Some nights, though, she cared little for the prep.

That’s how she ended in the bedroom of this stranger tonight, making her way into her dreams and intending to ruin the scene she arrived on. It seemed, however, that her meal was doing her work for her: Inge watched through closet doors as a horrifying scene unfolded in front of her. Not horrifying to her, but rather to the person next to her. She could feel it, feeding her ecosystem of fear as the sounds of screams and the red of blood filled both their instincts.

She moved from the closet, onto the scene — not quite taking shape yet, just observing. There were dead bodies, who shared similarities to her victim in the closet. There were others, too and Inge felt a chill travel up her spine: was this simply a nightmare, something the other dreaded? Or a memory? It wasn’t like she had any qualms with fucking with someone’s past, as it was something so easily utilized and transformed into something larger. Still, something seemed to press on her. If she knew better, she would call it dread. 

The scene changed, flashed forward or back, the others subconscious still in charge. And there it was, the thing that her victim dreaded: a figure, shadowy and obscured by the lack of light, and the glinting ax it held. The chill traveled higher on her spine and she took charge of the nightmare, her own fingers gripping the ax and looking down at her supposed victim. Inge twirled the object in her hand, not yet willing to bring the murderous thing down into the woman’s neck, wondering if she was down to play the role of what seemed to be the hunter. If she could do what had been done to Sanne, all those years. She redirected, pointing the glinting ax towards the closet. Her sleeve was red velvet, her stature changing into that of a shorter, mustachioed man, wearing a blood-red suit with gold tassels and black bowtie. Her voice bellowed, deep and manly and somewhat akin to that of a circus director: “Come out, come out, get a front row seat to the show.”

The nightmares of past memories rarely changed. When they did, it made sense. The sharpened and broken pieces of Teagan’s recollection shifted only slightly. Placed in the wrong timeframe or moving at the wrong pace, it didn’t make a difference. It all hurt the same, and it felt the same as Teagan remembered it. What was happening before her, though, was different. 

Her memories contained no man in a suit with a bowtie and gaudy tassels. He was a new and terrifying anomaly that she couldn’t place, nor did she have the time to search her mind. Because if he changed the scene, then maybe Teagan could too. Maybe she could stop him from executing the terrors she often wished she could have in the physical realm.

Despite the scream lodged in the young nix’s throat, she stepped closer to the closet door, warm blood on her feet bristling her skin. The sensation did nothing to jolt her awake. There was no waking up, it seemed. No taking the terror with Teagan back into consciousness with a scream. A dreamer so rarely recalls what they dreamt, but she always did. How could she forget? It was always the same. Save for this round. 

With a swallow and a choked sob, Teagan opened the door hesitantly, legs wobbly with the weight of her fear. “G-get away from her!” Efa was on the ground, gasping for air so loudly—far too loudly. It echoed and boomed, sending needle-like tremors all over Teagan. “Don’t-don’t-don’t touch her. I’ll-I’ll k-kill you.” She tried to sound threatening, but she sounded like nothing more than a scared child.

Inge couldn’t explain the form she took on: it was instinct, pushing her towards something bizarre and that didn’t belong to the scene. Whatever this was, this scene she had ended up in, she would make it into a spectacle. As if it didn’t affect her at all, to be holding an ax. To be taking the place of what she thought might have been a hunter, or at the very least a very determined ax murderer.

She refused to let it bother her, and so she brandished the ax as if it were an extension of herself. She had brandished plenty of weapons before in dreams, from swords to monstrous, dripping, bone-like actual extensions of her form. This was nothing but another piece in her game. A way to terrify someone and feed her urges. To respond to it any other way would be irrational and emotional, and Inge refused to be as much.

None of this was real, after all. That was the thing about being a mare: none of it was real. All the nightmares that had haunted her all those years ago had not been real. Figments of imagination. So if she turned the ax to use the wooden handle to press against the other gasping woman’s throat, it didn’t matter. It wasn’t real. It was just a dream. And so Inge pulled the woman up, feeling the dream-person struggle against the press of wood against her throat. Maybe she could finish her like this, rather than slam the blade in her neck until her head came of. 

She laughed, her masculine voice a boom. “You’ll do what?” She would like to see the other try. This wasn’t a struggle of power, nor was it some kind of fucked up murder fantasy: at the end of the day, Ingeborg was here to instill fear. Not to get off a sadistic urge to harm this strange woman she was restraining. She could just as easily discard her and change the scene, but she didn’t. This was proving to be a satiable meal, at least. She looked at the other in the room, the one with the empty threats. “Do you think you can save her this time?” This was an assumption, but if Inge could dream maybe she’d have a similar one as the woman across her: of the person she loved getting killed, over and over again. Inge smiled, pressing down the wood. There was a choking sound. “You can try!” 

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t the sharp end of the ax that met Efa’s throat. Icy fear stabbed into Teagan, and she stuttered forward pitifully. What could she do? She was ten years old, staring down a murderous villain while he held her sister captive, in a room already filled with dead bodies and blood. 

“I-I can save her.” Teagan croaked, taking a step and cowering immediately. Her foot made contact with her brother Aeron, whose body was contorted awkwardly. His eyes stared blankly up to the ceiling, all signs of life gone. Teagan’s chin quivered, the tsunami of tears threatening to crash. She was going to fail again. No matter what she did, the ending was always the same. 

Why couldn’t she change it? Why wasn’t she strong enough? Why did she have to survive?

“Stop it!” Teagan fell to her knees, thick blood pooling between her fingers as she crawled desperately to the killer. “Please! I need them! Take me! Take me!”

Getting into people’s sleeping minds was an intrusion in and of itself, and this was something Inge had made peace with quite some time ago. Her old self, that young creature who had only recently died had been morally opposed once, but these days there were little moral qualms holding her from her meals. Something about it, though, the child crawling towards her, the ax in her hands, the bodies on the floor …

They disappeared, as if Inge wanted there to be no distractions. There was just she, the girl on the floor and the woman in her arms and the ax. She wondered if she were capable of dreaming, whether she would dream of a scene similar to this. The hunters, holding back Sanne’s head so her neck stretched and the ax falling down in that shining flesh. She wondered if her guilt would come for her at night. Maybe it was a kindness that she did not dream.

But the other did. Ingeborg pushed the woman in her arms away, onto the floor and into the blood she hadn’t gotten rid off when she’d made the rest of the massacre disappear. “I am taking both you, I think,” her voice was contorted, booming with the crackle of an old microphone. “I can’t spare you, because you came out of hiding. And I can’t spare her, because she’s meant to die.” 

Because that was how these things were, weren’t they? Some people were meant to die. Her closest friend, her maker, her lover — beheaded as Inge ran. Her daughter, the pride she didn’t deserve — withered away from disease Inge couldn’t stop. Let this be a lesson for both herself and the sleeper. There were no different endings to some stories. 

The ax always came down, always met its target. It swung, like a pendulum, between the pair of them. “Who first?” 

Not everyone had the strength needed to watch as others suffered, wait for it to end and believe that there would be relief. Teagan had done so. Watched and waited behind a closet door, and it haunted her in her dreams. It was always the same. She tried to change the ending, but she always woke up, gasping for air greedily as she searched for her mother. And somehow, this nightmare was different. A scenario so far beyond grotesque, Teagan begged the heavens to amputate her mind just so it could never happen again. 

No one was listening. No one could answer. No one could grant her wish. 

Teagan scrambled to Efa. She was unconscious, unaware of what was to come. The monster had to take them both, and it was an ending she was beginning to come to terms with. But who would go first? Would it be selfish to ask to be taken before Efa? She’d seen the blade crash down with merciless force more times than she could count. Teagan’s own heart was waging war against herself and she let out a wail, begging one last time for the nightmare to end, for someone to turn on a light so the monsters could seek shelter under her bed once more. 

There was no reprieve. Teagan’s mind was a dark bedroom, a tomb that she could not escape. She was shut inside, waiting for the end. “Take me first!” She pulled Efa into her chest, sobbing uncontrollably as she rocked back and forth. “Take me! Take me!”

She wanted the nightmare to be over, to be done with this weeping child, with this memory that was pulsing with desperation and guilt. Inge had little interest in reflecting on why it bothered her so, but she did know that the coming nights she’d focus on more abstract dreams. The experimental types, the one that could perhaps not work out as well as she wanted to — those of threatening shapes, skittering sounds and creating impending doom with minimalism. This lacked artistic charm. But it certainly fed her well.

The ax kept swinging and she tried to keep her mind from traveling away from this room, that pulsated with a light that moved in tandem with the ax. She wasn’t sure what her plan was, just yet — whether she would listen to the other’s wishes or go against them. 

The sisters seemed to melt together as the youngest rocked, holding her as she sobbed. Inge was reminded of Vera’s screeching for a moment, whose lungs had always produced more sound than she had thought humanly possible, especially as a child. And she chose for the least painful option: to die before having to witness someone she loved die. 

Inge tossed the ax in the sky and moved down, onto their level, snarling into the young face: “It doesn’t work like that.” The circus director’s hands moved forward peeling the unconscious woman from the other. “You don’t get a choice.” But she did, and she chose to rid herself of the ax in the last moment, to opt for something that sat better with her own tortured memory. She had never claimed not to be selfish, though. From the pool of blood, Inge produced a knife, which she dragged across the soft throat of the woman. Warm blood poured and she watched the young girl for a moment, before pushing the woman aside and crawling to her, bringing the same knife to her throat and then making it all go black.

The wails appeared to do little in regards to dissuading the ringmaster, did even less in convincing him to commit to the choice Teagan had given him. How could she be so stupid? He was right. She didn’t get a choice. She was doomed to watch her family die endlessly because that’s how the story was written. Even in her sleep, Teagan was destined to watch her family die. And even when the knife sped toward her, there was no end to the pain. 

With a loud gasp, Teagan bolted upright and screamed for what seemed like forever. Her vocal chords were raw by the time sobs took shape in her throat. At last, the nightmare was over, but the unrelenting grief was only beginning to climb into uninhibited sorrow. Her wails echoed in the empty home, a prison of her own making. Her phone lit up as she hovered a thumb over the screen, but it became a black mirror just as quickly. 

She would fight her demons alone, as she always did. As she deserved to. 

There would be no safe harbor.

Inge didn’t stay long. When she broke the connection she was gone, into the astral plane, where the screams would not reach her. Objectively, this was a job well done. She had gotten her fill of fear and then some, had increased the terror of an already existing nightmare — but then why did there seem to be a tremor to her hands when she reached the earthly plane again, into the living room of her apartment? 

She inhaled and exhaled, pressed her hands on the cool of her kitchen island and then one of them against her forehead. It was wont to happen, from time to time, the nightmares of others affecting her — and yet it came as a surprise each time. 

The sweet smell of currants filled the house, the Welsh cakes just about done. Teagan tapped her fingers on her counter as she waited for the last of the bakestones to finish up. She had made entirely way too many, but that was fine. A few of them could be gifted to Arden, or maybe even that Alex lass. It really depended on how many Wynne would eat considering they hadn’t had the treat in quite some time. The two of them could very well eat the whole batch. 

“Hmm…” Teagan hummed to herself and pondered on what to do. Bringing a few treats could be a good excuse to see the journalist again. What was she doing? She groaned, dropping her head onto the counter. The coolness did well to soothe her mind, making the decision to box up a few of the treats that much easier. With that done, she plated the final cakes and sigh, plopping herself down into a chair. 

All there was left to do was wait. It was only a matter of time until Wynne arrived. About five minutes or so, give or take. They sounded like the type to care about punctuality. At least, Teagan hoped they were. Welsh cakes were best eaten fresh and warm. 

The prospect of having pice bach again was something strange, something that made Wynne equally giddy and sad. They were a piece of home they had been unable to recreate themself, somehow feeling like it wasn’t something they ought to. It had been their mother, after all, who had always heated the bakestone. They lacked the right utensils and maybe the bravery too, to make them.

So this invitation had them arriving a little early, heart fluttering a little in their chest. Meeting people they had gotten to know online was always a bit scary, what with all the warnings people gave and monsters roaming around town. When they rang the doorbell, they rocked back and forth on their feet, drumming their fingers against their leg. 

Once the door swung open, however, it was becoming clear that this wasn’t a complete stranger they were meeting. Wynne’s mouth fell open, slightly, and they only closed it when remembering this might be a bit rude. They had seen this woman before, in their own apartment, roaming the halls at night — Wynne had even offered her some water, which had apparently not been entirely appropriate. “Oh!” They tried to look very normal. “Hi again. It’s me, Wynne. Sorry that I’m a bit early.” 

Teagan blinked. Then, she blinked some more. Words clustered in her head, yet none were willing to spill out. Fates, she had a way of working her magic. Who would’ve thought that the strange roommate who’d offered Teagan water would’ve been the very same person she’d invited over for tea and treats. She really needed to stop being so nice. Why was she anyway? She disliked people. Then again, she was trying to be different. 

“Hi. Yes, again. Wow. S-sorry.” Rubbing her eyes a little, Teagan finally managed to form an actual sentence. “Wasn’t expecting Arden’s roommate to be on my doorstep. Small town, I guess, eh?” She chuckled lightly, shoulders loosening as she forced herself to relax. “Well, come in.” Teagan opened the door fully and waved Wynne inside. “Like I said online, I’m Teagan. Welcome to my home.” Her smile was small, but still had a hint of excitement. It was refreshing to have someone in her home who knew what bach was and could fully appreciate it. 

“The kettle is hot and I just finished making fresh bakestones, so let’s go on into the kitchen. Best to eat ‘em while they’re warm.” Teagan all but danced to the kitchen, joy bouncing off every step now that the anxiety was swept away. She practically jumped into her chair when they both got to the kitchen. “Sit, sit. I’ve got all the fixings.” Teagan pointed at each one on the table. “Butter, jam, raw honey, and creamy honey. The works!”

There were strangers over at the apartment aplenty, and while Wynne knew somewhere that it was not etiquette to always greet them the way they wanted (especially in the middle of the night), it was a habit that they had yet to unlearn. Hospitality was an important trait of Proterians after all, who opened their doors to all willing to receive and belong. Besides, it felt good to be welcoming, did it not? Still, it had been a little awkward when they had eagerly offered to get Teagan a drink, and now they relived that embarrassment.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be Arden’s …” They frowned a little. “Friend. But yes, it’s a small town.” And Wynne did trust Arden’s judgment, as she seemed to be a very levelheaded person and, most of all, one of the smartest people they’d come across outside of the commune. “It’s so nice of you to have me, though. And you live here very beautifully, too.” Complimenting where people lived was part of the routine, now, whenever Wynne visited others. 

Teagan’s energy was contagious and soon enough Wynne was smiling brightly. The scent that hit their nostrils was familiar and brought a sense of comfort as well as nostalgia, but it was easier to let themself be picked up by the other’s energy than get sad over the fact that there no longer was a home with freshly baked pice bach any more. “That’s amazing. It smells so good.” They sat down, tucking their legs under them on one of the kitchen chairs and looking at Teagan with a hint of awe. “I don’t meet a lot of other Welsh folks. So this is great.”

The pause between Arden’s name and what Wynne was going to deem Teagan made her throat go dry. She’d gone on one date, which ended in Arden’s room, and the last time she had visited the Worm Row apartment, she was falling apart. Being called a friend seemed justified, and if Teagan were honest, she was relieved that was the word Wynne used. 

“Yes. Friend.” She understood that the girl meant no harm—hell, she offered Teagan a glass of water when she was sneaking out of the apartment—but the last thing she wanted to be mistaken for was someone’s significant other. “The beauty here is all to do with that magnificent lake out there.” Teagan jutted her chin toward the body of water, getting out a few spreaders to accompany the items she had out for the bakestones. 

“You and I have that in common then.” With a light sigh, Teagan picked out the butter and spread a healthy portion on her cake, quickly adding the creamed honey on top before taking a bite that was a bit too large. She chuckled, covering her mouth as she spoke with a muffled voice. “Where abouts is your family from then? We’re from Hay, like I said. Miss it every damn day, but I think I’m finding a new home here.” Her tired eyes locked with Wynne’s and she swallowed, yawning soon after. Fates, she needed to get more sleep.

Wynne wasn’t very familiar with the lingo used to describe romantic relationships. They had read a few articles on extremely pink websites that attempted to explain it to them, but even so it all seemed a bit backward to them. They were glad, then, that Teagan didn’t correct them and that they hadn’t called her Arden’s lover or something of the sort. (They wondered what Ariadne was to them for a small second.)

They let their gaze drift to the body of water, smiling a little. This, too, brought some kind of nostalgia to them. The commune had sat on the edge of Moosehead lake, after all, using its water for plenty of things. So many fond memories were connected to that body of water. “It’s very beautiful.” They were quiet for a moment. “I used to live near a lake, too.” There were thousands, if not millions of lakes in the world. That hardly seemed like a dangerous detail to share.

They reached for a cake and spread some butter on it too, but nothing more. That’s how Wynne had preferred them back at home, too. They chewed and swallowed before answering. “My family comes from Llyn Brenig, but we’ve been in the States for quite some time.” For about a century, even. “I’ve never really been. There’s just always been a … stark grasp on our Welsh culture back home, you know? Didn’t really mingle with the Americans.” They hoped that explained enough. “These taste very much like the ones I used to have.”

“Oh ya did? I bet it was magnificent! Haven’t lived by a lake in a great many years, so I’m happy at this change of pace.” Teagan took another bite of her stone, already preparing another on her plate. “Maybe you and I can go for a dip some time. This side of it is usually pretty quiet–which I prefer. Less people means less pollution.” She smiled, wrapping her cardigan tighter around her as she adjusted her seat. Taking a sip of her tea, plucked the honey from the table and lathered her stone in it, giggling all the while.

“Can’t get enough of sugar. ‘Specially local honey. Oh…it’s delicious!” Teagan licked her lips and quieted down to listen intently to Wynne. It was a shame they’d never gotten to visit their family’s hometown. It made the cakes that much more special. “Llyn Brenig…believe that was about three hours north of Hay. Beautiful place–but really, what place isn’t in Wales? Gwenny little place that you can get lost in with friends during a ling-di-long. Specifically in the woods. Lots of trouble we got in–my siblings and I.” 

The smile on Teagan’s face began to slowly fade, but she shook the heaviness in her chest away, hiding the hint of grief with a bite of her cake and Wynne’s compliment. “Oh, that’s so good to hear, lass. Family recipe. My mum taught me. They’ve always been my favorite treat.”

“It was very nice. I loved the first warm days of the year, to go swimming when the water was still so icy. Or even in the winter, when there was ice? Warm up by the fire.” They looked at Teagan with a look of preemptive excitement. “That would be very nice. It’s getting so warm out, so a dip in the cool water … And I like quiet and less pollution.” Wynne did miss the lake and the times they’d have with their peers, but maybe there could be new lake-based memories created.

They smiled. “I definitely have a sweet tooth, I get it.” But they’d just never had their stones with honey, was all. Wynne listened to Teagan speak somewhat melancholically. It reminded them of the way some of the people had spoken — all of this reminded them of home, almost in a way that made them want to turn their back and run off from this too. “I have seen pictures and paintings, and they are very beautiful. I really like it here too. The woodsy areas are gorgeous. Do you have many siblings? My brother and I definitely liked getting in a bit of trouble.” 

The other looked somewhat sad, though, Wynne thought. They hoped they didn’t look sad and that they were infecting the other. They chewed slowly on their stone. “My mam would also make them. She wasn’t Welsh, though, but she married into it when she was very young, you know? She learned from my father’s mam. And she from her mam before her.” But their mother had never really taught Wynne with the intention of the recipe being handed down again. They had both known that wasn’t in the stars for them.

“Well then, Wynne, you’re absolutely invited as long as you respect the water. I take care of it as if it’s my own.” Teagan had a look of fondness in her eyes, the mismatched hues landing back on Wynne. She knew there was no harm in saying she took care of the water she lived by. Hell, people managed their lawns and ensured their community was neat and tidy. 

Teagan could pretend she was just a caring citizen of Wicked’s Rest. Besides, Wynne gave no indication that she was anything but human. And now, sadly, the subject of family grew deeper than the nix would have liked. “I, uh…” Teagan tried to breathe, but the ball in her throat made it sound more like a choke. She took to taking a rather large gulp of her tea, the warmth soothing her enough to speak again. 

“Sorry, lass. Bit of a touchy subject. Does a tidy job of making my heart heavy.” She shrugged, “Lost a few of ‘em, but that’s all I wanna say.” Offering a tired smile, Teagan shifted the conversation back toward the cakes, hoping to move on quickly enough before tears were able to form. “How ‘bout I teach you, eh? Get you all sorted and you’ll be a master in no time. Teach you all my tricks on how to get them perfectly fluffy. Make a day of it. Start with some baking and then end it with a splash in the water.”

They were beaming a little at Teagan, who spoke with such ease and warmth that Wynne wanted to be embraced by her way of speaking. “Of course I’ll respect it. The fact that so few do is very sad, I think. And so it’s good that you keep an eye out.” The sight of the beaches had been so special to them, up until the fact that they’d seen the litter spread over its shores.

But that warmth dissipated and turned into cold regret the moment they saw Teagan’s features twist. There was some sorrow there and Wynne had brought it up, had pressed into the wound and made their kind host sad. They felt heavy with guilt. “No, no. I’m sorry. Didn’t want to bring up anything that was hard to talk about.” They gave a little awkward smile. “I get it, I think. It’s hard to think about my family too. I’m not in touch with them any more.”

They fiddled with their cake, rolling a small bit of it between their fingers before popping it in their mouth. The change in topic was welcomed, slightly. Wynne didn’t want to make Teagan sad, but they did want to talk of their mutual families, if some comfort could be found there. “That sounds like a lovely idea. A great way to spend the day. Do you wanna do it now, or another time?” They looked at all the cakes in front of the two of them. “Might be a bit of a cake overload, though.

It was endearing the way Wynne felt sorrow for the lake despite being human. Well, probably human. Regardless, it was rare for anyone besides a nymph to care much deeper about an aspect of nature. “Good, good.” Teagan smiled, waving away the apology Wynne offered for the topic brought up. It wasn’t their fault there was always a twinge of pain with the mention of family. They even shared the sentiment, having been estranged from their own family themself.

“Ain’t the easiest, is it? Even if it is for the best.” Teagan took another bite of her stone, offering a sympathetic smile. This wouldn’t be the last time the two would connect, she wouldn’t let it be. “Perhaps we should save it for another day.” A flutter consumed Teagan’s stomach and she bit the inside of her lip at the idea in her head. “Arden could join and it’ll be a small party. In the meantime,” She leaned in, “Why don’t we find a movie to watch on the telly, eh?”

It was as if Teagan could read their mind, or at least their history. Because she was right: it wasn’t easy, but it was for the best. Every day separated from their family was a day lived longer than expected. They just wished they could have lived while still being with them, that there could have been a reality where their family had tried to find a way to keep them alive. They let their eyes travel, something heavy in their chest but something warm, too. Because they weren’t alone. Even Teagan, who Wynne had only known for a short while, was making them feel better. “Yeah. Even then, it’s hard.”