She does not realize that she is not alone in her dream. She does not see the way Azrael parts the willow to step further into the realm her mind as created. Her mind is so focused on the vision of her lover standing in front of her. Her heart yearns for Metaphor while her mind keeps telling her that this is not real, that she can simply wake herself. And yet, she does nothing but step closer to Metaphor until they finally touch.
Katniss let’s her eyes flutter closed as she feels the velvet of his lips on her nape, nipping at her skin in a loving fashion. She can feel the pressure, as if she is truly standing there with him. She gives into her desires, allowing herself to enjoy the feel of him touching her, a touch that she wished she could feel forever. His words are soft and soothing, easing her mind and making her heart skip a beat or maybe two.
But something distracts her. There is another voice in this dreamland, a voice she doesn’t recognize. She looks around her and she does not immediately see him. Instead, she sees the cloak of greenery fall back into place, shielding him from her view though she knows he is here. She listens to his words, shaking her head. “But he has died...” She looks around her to see that her mind has taken her back to moments before he is taken from her forever. This was the exact night her son was conceived.
She turns her attention back to Metaphor, a part of her thinking that perhaps this stranger as removed him from this memory. And yet, he still stands there, his body close enough to her that she can feel his breath on her skin. Eyes flutter closed as she enjoys the sensations, relishing them.
But then, even in the stillness of this moment, she breaks the silence. “We have a son, Metaphor…” She can feel the sting of tears as they begin to trickle down the slope of her cheek. “You never got the chance to know…” He never got the chance to know he was going to be a father because some cruel soul caused an explosion to take his life. “He’s your spitting image. He has a heart that rivals your own. And his magic heals! He wants to be a medic.” Each day her son grows more and more like his father. Each day she sees more of Metaphor as she looks into the eyes of her son. “I don’t know how to teach him to heal…” The warrior has always inflicted the injuries, not healed them. She doesn’t know the herbs to teach him about or what books to show him. He needs his father and he doesn’t understand how important that is to a growing child.
But perhaps what scares her the most is how much she needs Metaphor too. Her heart is fragile now, barely holding on. She needs to move on, but there is a part of her that doesn’t want to. She wants to stay right here in this moment but on the other hand, she wants to harden her heart so she doesn’t have to remember. These memories are painful. “No! I can’t do this!” She tries to wake herself from this dream, to run away from the feelings that her heart longs to feel. But there is something that keeps her from running, that keeps her legs firmly planted. Was the strange voice part of the reason she cannot leave? Who speaks to her? So many questions she wants to ask but she doesn’t know where to start.
@Azrael
