Poison and Bane

7. Nightmares awaken.

I dream of my mother.

I've never dreamt of my father for some reason. He only ever appears in my nightmares. For some reason.

She's smiling at me, like she does everytime in my dreams.

She's always happy in my dreams and I like her that way. It helped me pretend that it could have always been that way.

Until she died. Until I killed her.

She walks towards me, her arms inviting me in for a hug. And just like that, I'm a child again. Braids slapping against my back, skirt billowing in the breeze, as I run to her and jump into her embrace.

It's these dreams that I fear. The happy and perfect ones. The ones that leave me sobbing over a fantasy, that could have been true, when I awaken from it.

But that's as long as it lasts.

The scene changes and my mother is feeding me something. Or someone who resembles her in looks alone.

I'm seated inside an outline chalked into the ground, cross-legged and as apprehensive as a child could be. It's an odd figure consisting of several lines criss-crossing each other and I'm sat at the very centre of it.

I keep refusing the pungent smelling paste that she is insisting me to swallow. She doesn't listen and continues to spoon me mouthfuls of it. Until I retch. And then I cry. Or rather shriek.

The pain arrives. Full of purpose. Coursing from the inside out. Pulling me apart. But only the ghost of it. Or rather I am the ghost. Watching from the shadows as the child, that is me, spasms in agony. The lady, who is my mother, wields a masked expression as she regards my suffering.

What happens next has never followed in this particular nightmare before. That was another one of the curses I was bestowed with. I remembered every single nightmare.

My younger counterpart is still screaming, and the lady's face is yet impassive. Then there's a blue light. An electric shade of it, which startles both the lady and my astral self. It bathes my corporal self in it. Or its coming from my 7 year old frame. It's difficult to comprehend, but I've never seen this happen.

I hear the voice of a man yelling my name, and then my mother's name, which I don't remember but can recognise. I don't see the man, but I know he is my father.

The blue light fades but the scene has changed.

I'm still there. In the body of the 19 year old me. My present self. But I'm now seated in the place where my mother had been. And I have the same stoic expression on.

The rune, as I can now recognise, is a pentagram. And it isn't empty. My earlier position in it, is now occupied by Woo Bin.

He's the one in throes.

And I'm watching.

He's the one suffering.

And I'm the one who put him there.

His eyes then open abruptly, mid scream, and capture mine. My expression never changes. But fear bubbles within. I can feel it. But I have no control over my body. I'm frozen in place under his glare. The malice in his eyes, the way his lips turn up into a sneer.

I watch it happen in slow motion, as his joints twist abnormally, and he launches himself at me. Snarling and fingers curled into claws.

I wake up.

The first thing I notice is that I'm not sprawled in the couch. I've been tucked under the covers in my own bed. The next thing, is the sunlight blasting through the windows. Weren't the blinds drawn when I entered the house this morning? It seemed like it was morning, judging from how bright the day was.