She does not feel happiness anymore. The fire within her soul is no longer burning bright, barely even smoldering coals. She just doesn’t feel alive like she once had. After spending so much time away from her home, her welcoming here had not been pleasant, only filled with anger and questions. She felt alienated and so very much alone. Even her son was nowhere to be found. The young colt was growing each and every day, branching out and away from her. He was growing into a fine young man and Katniss could no longer coddle him. He didn’t need her and it seemed as though Denocte didn’t need her either.
Katniss could feel herself falling into a deep depression, as if the lights were slowly fading all around her, leaving her in complete darkness. Even candy apples and hot tea could not make the draft mare smile. Even her own son could not seem to ignite the fire that once flickered within her. The was perhaps the most depressed she had ever felt, coming in a close second was when her other half left this world.
The day had been filled with seashell hunting and volleyball and laughter and games. Katniss tried to participate, but she fell more into the sidelines, watching rather than participating. But as the sun began to set, Katniss settled in the sand to watch the bonfire. It was supposed to be soothing, but it was the picture of nightmares. It reminded her of the pyre Metaphor’s body burned on, the way the flames seemed to reach for heaven. It made her shudder. But she tried to ignore it, to listen to some of the stories being told. It did not take long for the sound of the crackling fire and the steady lap of the lake against the sand to put the mare into a steady sleep.
Sleep was restless, but as the dreamland seemed to call her, Katniss gave into its steady pull. Even the loud music of the party could not wake her. Perhaps it was for the best.
At first the dream was nothing but a blurry landscape, slowly forming into a place she knew so well. Amare Creek began to come into view. The closer her steps took her, the more formed the vision seemed to make. And then up ahead, there was a figure wanting for her. Her name was called out on the wings of the wind, beckoning her to come forward. But she hesitated. She knew the figure that stood before her and she fought the feelings that had so long been pushed away. He was standing there, watching her, calling her to come to him. Metaphor. Her sweet and perfect Metaphor. Why was this dream being so cruel to her? For years she fought to repress his memories, unable to handle the pain that came with them. And yet, the sandman seemed to taunt her, showing her a figure that could not be real. “You are not alive…you can’t be.” She tossed her head, shaking it almost violently from side to side. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be. He had to be a figment of her dream, something that surely she could will away. And yet, he beckoned her closer, his voice growing louder and louder with each breath he took. She resisted, trying so hard not to lose herself in the moment. Unfortunately, she was losing this battle. Her heart yearned for her lover and it overrode her mind’s ability to turn away. So closer she stepped towards this figment of her dream. Closer she stepped, unsure of where her dream might be leading her.
@Azrael
