Gold. Silver. Frankincense. Myrrh. Gifts fit for a God, but what is fit for the King of Birmingham?
What is fit for a man that already has everything a man could possibly want?
A little bit of Gold created Chaos, perhaps?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Dreams for most people were nothing. Just a person with an overactive imagination, nothing from a dream ever meant anything.
Unless you were a child with gypsy blood running through your veins.
A child like Milly Dorothea Gold.
The Romany people; or rather just the Golds, had used dreams as a way of communicating with their passed loved ones and sometimes to see how certain things would plan out. But as fate was a fickle thing, these things didn't always work out in anyones favour. As the tides change with the moon, as do the ways things happen with each passing day.
This phenomenon in the shape of a dream had happened twice before, where her body would become overheated to a point of pure exhaustion and illness, where she would be cooped up in bed for days on end until something inside of her finally broke. Though, that night was rather different. It didn't start off like it usually would, she didn't come home from work a sweaty and blithering mess- no, she just returned with a splitting headache and an urge to shove fingers into peoples eyes if they made too much noise.
The violence wasn't necessarily unusual, she had always been a little more vicious than her siblings but they were always just idle threats. No one ever expected her to act upon them, and she hadn't— so far... but it was the tone of voice that she had used that made her sisters fearful.
When Milly had finally found moment where her brain was quiet and not even a mouse made a squeak, she found herself beginning to slowly drift off into a painless sleep...
Or so she thought.
Usually, the dreams she had were peaceful, of sunshine filled days and the feeling of sand between her feet but this? This was something else.
Something demonic.
Her eyes scanned the area, unable to focus on anything of use. The fields were bare, burnt and scorched ground surrounded her, the fires had been recent. The heat was fading, but still there.
The one thing that was still ablaze was a scarecrow, with a melting toy gun strapped to its chest. It reminded her somewhat of Thomas Shelby, the remnants of a black suit, eaten away by flames and the peaked hat that seemed to be relatively untouched—
Whatever had happened wasn't a warning for the Golds, but their momentary employers.
The absence of live brought dread to her, her body lurching forward without warning. As if someone had just barged past her- and they did.
A man with a hooked nose, and a funny looking hat. As she focused on the man, she hadn't noticed her surroundings change, no longer was she stood in a field, but rather a square.
A few abandoned stalls were still full of goods, meats- vegetables— it was all still there.
Another man came into view, but this one she recognised. It was Thomas, and he didn't look like he was ready for whatever was about to happen. She could see, and almost feel his anticipation for something bad- like the bad omen of death following men around like a bad habit.
