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When Tabitha woke up with a start and gasping for air, she couldn’t remember what exactly made her wake up in such an abrupt manner. The dream, quite possibly, but the thing was -- she didn’t remember it. Not really; everything was a little hazy. She does remember talking to that Waters captain about someone and, she didn’t know why, Oliver’s face flashed through her mind especially when she’d remember the dream!conversation she’s had with the Captain.

It was all a blurry haze and, the more she tried to remember the dream, the more she forgot it. It was as if one tried to hold water steadily in one’s palms, but no matter how hard one tries, it always finds it’s way to slip though one’s fingers -- the same it was with that dream.

Miranda was more than aware it was all a dream. The faces she saw, especially that of the ex-queen Tasmin, were mostly the ones that bothered her still, in a way. But that dream, that strange, mind shattering dream was something else entirely. She was a demon. A creature of the night, doomed and cursed to slither and destroy everything at her wake.

For once, she could remember every detail of the dream. Usually, it would fade moments after waking up, but this time she managed to remember fully. Tasmin came to her and Miranda, (though it wasn’t really her, was it?) observed her through a veil -- she shielded her eyes, but for the love of God she could not remember why.

Ever since she woke up with a start a few nights ago, Mareena Beasley wasn’t as keen on going to sleep as she was before those pesky, unnerving dreams. She was still staying at the inn, considering how the docks were closed and she didn’t really have a place of her own, other than the ship - but that was out of the question. 

Her dreams weren’t exactly a nightmare. She didn’t dream of anything that would scare her, but it was the general feeling of the dream that made her pucker up her lips in thought or stare blankly at the wall, toying thoughtlessly with her dagger, twirling it around her fingers and observing the fine blade as if it was the first time she’s laid her eyes on it.

The dream consisted mostly of the people she’s knew, which is why she’s discarded it as a mere fruit of her mind. She was quite determined to forget her by the end of the week. Mareena never believed in dreams anyway, but a sense of familiarity surrounding these dreams, annoyed her. She felt like she dreamed it before, a long time ago. It felt like deja-vu, like something which happened, but it couldn’t be. That’d mean her pirate friend Tristan was her son, and that sure as death wasn’t the case.

She could understand why would she see Phillip as her husband. He annoyed her to no end, that was true, but around him she felt that certain safety and familiarity which she felt around that Po-something that bore his face. Everything else was slightly blurry, but she also recalls seeing the king, and herself being quite friendly with him and his wife, that concubine of his.

Yeah. Like that would ever happen. Only another indication that it was nothing but a dream with almost no hidden meaning at all. Her mind was just tired by the land and the constant revolting to dream something relevant, or to dream nothing at all.

It seemed weaving was sometimes the only thing which could soothe Tabitha Peter’s racing mind. She was alone in her new home, with only a couple of servants to keep her company, but even with them she felt so alone. The dream she’s had awakened something in her - an old sensation. Something strange was lingering in the air as she awoken with a gasp mere hour ago. It was still dark outside and to calm herself, the heiress sat by the large oaken table, taking a needle and the thread to finish working on her dress. Still, she seemed so consumed by the feverish dream she’s had. She was all alone, that feeling of loneliness and resignation, but also a strong will, hope and passion intertwining throughout the entire duration of her confusing, mind racing dream. In her strange dream she has recognized someone - someone she thought could never appear in those dreams. That pirate, Oliver. Perhaps she’s dreamed of him because of the intrigue she felt around the man - he was so far from those who were courting her and it was a refreshment in her dull life filled with small lies and routine. Her dear friend Alice also appeared and it seemed that the respect she felt towards her was only magnified in her dream.

Her imagination was always running wild, but this seemed to be too much even for her. Phoebe was sitting in the gardens, watching the early birds chirp and sing, the familiarity of it making her racing mind slow down just a little bit. She was still dwelling on the confusing dream she dreamt that morning. The darkness and a certain feeling of belonging to that confusing place. People called her queen, but other than that she didn’t quite remember much. Neither the faces not the voices, but she did remember her sister; Dot was with her, only not in that particular place, and she seemed angry and resigned most the time. Well, that was classic Dorothy, but there was something more darker to it than she could remember. Phoebe brushed it off as a simple dream, not even the weirdest one she’s had in the past few years, but she mostly didn’t take it seriously because of another figure which happened to be at the very center of her emotions and dreams - Godric. 

Blood. Heartbreak. Guilt.

These were the feelings which flowed through her veins, poisoning everything she touched, everything else she felt. It poisoned her love, it poisoned what was between her and the icy blue eyes which seemed to stare into her soul. There was no face to place on this man, who she knew was important, the only feature she could clearly see in her mind were the blue eyes - the eyes she knew as belonging to her fiancée, but they seemed different somehow. They belonged to Damon but they belonged to someone else, she was sure of this. In her nightmares, she could never solve the riddle of the blue eyes. The closer she got to the truth, the less she started to care. She was cursed with a tiredness, which seemed to paint the world around her in grey until she simply stopped looking for the beauty around her. The only place she could look for beauty was inside, yet she seemed to fall short, not finding anything but a terrible darkness. What beauty could be found in a murderer? A murderer who no one truly loved because she was not able to love herself. She was left with not only a broken heart but a broken soul which seemed to dissolve slowly and destroying everything good inside her.

Despite knowing she had someone to care for, someone who needed her, she was not able to let go of the one she let down. She could not let go of the ones who had let her down. She was both victim and the one at fault, she had sacrificed everything for the wrong person, she had sacrificed someone important - an innocent soul despite the horrors which had unfolded in a dark labyrinth. She could remember all the circumstances, the feelings which they brought to the surface, but there were never any details. She could only remember eyes of all these people she had once loved, one who was still in her life, but one she would never be able to truly please. She would never be enough for the blue eyes, she could see it clearly in his gaze. She was not his salvation and he was not hers, but oh, how she loved him all the same. This love was not able to save her, the thread tying her to his world became thinner and more fragile every passing day until she decided to cut it and put an end to her misery.

The weirdest of things could make Natalie Dowell frown in thought and forget the breakfast that lay on a table in front of her. She wasn’t feeling too well, possibly because she hasn’t slept too well either. The dream has tormented her, the weirdest of dreams. She rarely dreamed and even more rarely remembered the said dreams, but there was something so disturbing about the one that plagued her that night. Plagued her enough for her to contemplate on calling for that priest she couldn’t organically stand, Nikolai, to help her decipher them.

She remembers fear. Anger. Depression and isolation. Burning hatred and then disappointment, blame and worry, all mixing and overwhelming at the same time. She recalls seeing her husband, Harold, in one of those dreams. God, how he has suffered. How they all suffered a terrible tragedy, or was it war? Accident? She couldn’t recall all the details. She saw Aurora Britton, the young lass she has took under her wing, a broken little thing from the brothels. And there were Hadrian Leclair and his sister Orena; the three of them called her mom. Perhaps it was only her imagination toying with her cruelly, as bearing children was not in store for the lady. 

Natalie sighed heavily, leaning her head on her palm, and looking out the window, waiting for Harold to return. What disturbed her the most about these dreams was that she could really discard them as nothing. Something inside her won’t let it be neglected, always scratching and scratching at the back of her mind. Something told her it was all true. But, she’s refused to believe it, like any other rational person would. 

She watched him for a moment. Watched as her chest rose and fell, watched as her fingers twitched when she was in deep slumber and the way her hair fell over her forehead. Her youngest was a mess, but she was peaceful, something she could not experience in the night. Rhodes fingers lightly grazed her daughter’s cheek as she pulled herself away from her warm embrace. She wanted to stay beside her, wrap her arms around her and have her be the one thing keeping the nightmares at bay, but she couldn’t be that. Her daughter wouldn’t be the one to know about the darkest moment in her life. She couldn’t know of her mother’s pain nor would she tell her daughter that her father may never return.

Rhodes kissed her forehead and left. It would only be a few hours. However many hours it took to see the sunrise; if it would rise. It was raining lightly as she stepped out into the night’s dim light, slowly starting to be overtaken by the rolling grey clouds that only in a matter of minutes or hours would unload the water that was stored inside of them.

If it had been any other day, Rhodes would have gone back inside and reached for the one that would keep her warm. She would show him the rain and how peaceful it was. He would laugh at her and complain about the cold and the water but she always managed to make him stay. When did the ones that she loved begin to slip through her grasp like the rain that fell? Her eyes took in the sight of the calmness that started to form when the rain started. The colors in the sky changed as well as nature. A light metal grey, almost fog like color, took the shape of anything in its’ path as it descending down. It was beautiful and the ideal weather for her to be curled up in bed with. Maybe if the feeling in the pit of her stomach went away she could enjoy it, but a maybe was far out of her grasp. Unattainable now. 

Rhodes walked to the shore where the two had first met. She passed by the mango trees, the cracks where the hot spring formed, and the trees. She could almost forget her troubles that kept her awake. She could almost imagine that this was her state of dreaming. Most importantly, she could imagine that he was there, sharing in everything that went on in her head. A small shudder passed through her as she continued. The images formed in her mind from the day that turned into an endless night. She could still feel the weight on her shoulders, how just one thought about that day paralyzed her. Her hands balled into fists and her eyes shut tightly as she tried to stop the shaking. Tried to stop the sobs before it began. Nothing, not even the pressure from her fingers would help to rid of the pain that tormented her. Her legs could carry her no more so she fell to the earth. There were no hands to catch her nor sun to keep her warm.