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She was sure of exactly how many days had passed. Honestly!
It had been 3 and 1/2. A half because it was barely past noon, but already Belladonna was hunched over her sewing machine, the contraption whirring louder then the thoughts in her head. If she kept herself busy, if she kept her hands moving and her fingers unceasing, if she kept her brain occupied with any number of thoughts but the ones she didn't want to face, then she would be ok.
But the moment she stopped, the exact second her mind started to wander, she knew with the certainty of the pumpkin sun rising that the whispers would start.

The dream 3 and 1/2 days ago had shaken her more than she had expected (or wanted), but Belladonna fought it. It had been 3 and 1/2 days, but she had worked herself to the point of exhaustion each night just so that her body would be so tired it wouldn't have the energy to dream. She worked spells, she made charm bags to put under her pillow and she even prayed to her witchy goddesses every night, but every morning she woke with a soft hiss in her ears.
It was enough to drive a girl mad.

And that was all before she even thought about Mort! Hecate in Hell, that was a whole other kettle of onions! After her crying session that had left the witch drained of every emotion until she felt grey all over, she crawled to bed and watched him die in her head because of her. So if that wasn't enough to make a girl loose her mind, the witch wasn't sure what else could happen.
So she kept busy. She had the time to waste and besides, all her old clothes had gotten too small in the bust so why not fix them.

Belladonna had just started ripping out the seams in a black lace shirt she could salvage in other ways when her phone beeped. Glad of a break she tossed her materials down and snatched up the phone, but blinked at the message.
Errrrr....



"Though I doubt it." Belladonna mumbled to herself. Something about it bugged her, but that didn't mean she had to be a b***h. "Sorry." She added with genuine regret for prejudging someone. But the regret grew to worry so she sent another one.

Whatever anger or worry or strange mix of all her emotions that currently resided in the witch were hastily picked out with the sharp motion of the seam ripper she gripped in her hand. Normally she would have been careful with the lace so that she could use it as an overlay for a skirt or something, but there was too much invested in a simple text message for her to let up. And besides, she always liked the torn edges of lace anyways.
When her eyephone pinged in reply she shouted in surprise, but grabbed it up nonetheless. There was no mention of her first text (Oh jack-it-all, that had sounded rude hadn't it? Batshit! She needed to be more careful...), but the second text took only a hasty read before the witch was bolting out the door.

She only made it down the hall before she had to double back and redress, realizing a little belatedly that she was still wearing her baggy black sleep t-shirt and striped bloomers. After she dressed with care (but still quickly), she snapped up her phone and was out the door again. It didn't take long for her to spiral down the Reaper dorm vast staircase before she burst out of the building altogether and ran pell-mell across the school grounds. Anyone who didn't know better might think she was just late for a sale at the maul, but her fists were still clenched when she ran down the stairs of the Undead dorms.

It only occurred to her when she knocked on his door, her chest heaving wildly from running so quickly, that maybe she should have sent Mort a text message first...

"I ran."
OK. That was dumb, start again.
"What's wrong?" A little better, but the witch only shuffled inside when the door opened a little more. There weren't too many words she wanted to say, mostly because she was still trying to catch her breath (jackdamn, why had she worn heels?) but she looked up to Mort with pleading eyes. While she was glad he had been able to text her with his concerns, they still worried her in a horrific way. Had he gotten worse? Why? Had she not helped as much as she thought she had? (And wouldn't that be just like her? To have mucked things up instead of fixed them.)
But more then that... Had he been having nightmares too?

The fact that he had yet to touch her rankled with the witch, but she concentrated more on being conflicted about whether she should touch him first or not. Could it hurt all that much?
So with a shaking hand, Belladonna reached out and squeezed Mort's arm.
"Is everything alright at home?" That probably wasn't what was wrong, but it was worth asking.

And finally, after what seemed forever, Belladonna realized the impropriety of it all.
"OH MY GIDDY AUNT!" She shouted as she slapped her hands to her mouth. "I'm sooooo sorry for barging in like this! I just got worried and last time you really needed someone to help you and I promised I would and I didn't even stop to think I am such an idiot, Oh my Hecate!" One hand curled into a fist that she knocked against her temple while she winced. Ugh, what a mess she was making of this.

If Lanna had not chosen that particular moment to lavish her attention on Belladonna, the witch probably would have grabbed Mort and shook him. And cried. Very most likely cried.
When he shrugged her off, tears immediately pricked at the corners of her eyes, but Belladonna only swept down to grab up Lanna, making sure to wipe them away quickly before Mort could see. Never before had the foxfire been so very demanding for attention and after a few pets Belladonna discovered why.
Singed fur? Whatever could have happened that would cause... But the thought filled itself in. Hadn't Mort once mentioned his FEAR was lightning, or something of the sort?
But no, it wasn't possible for this boy to have taken a shot at his pet. Not one he favored so much! But it had to be something else...

"Not sleeping well?" The witch echoed and it all clicked. A little too loudly she asked "Have you been having bad dreams too!?"
Immediately she regretted that action because it meant she had had them as well. And that was the last thing the witch had wanted to talk about. Curse her and her flippant mouth!
Whatever, it didn't matter. It was out there now, no use trying to take it back. So when Mort asked if she was ok, Belladonna didn't feel like keeping up the charade. For the past few days she hadn't bothered, so why bother now? Besides, he obviously hated her so what else could she do to further damn herself?
In the space of one heavy sigh, Belladonna let her shoulders drop and the mask of solidarity fade. If he cared to really look, he would see she was tired and her fingers were covered in sparkly-pink band-aids and that she hadn't properly brushed her hair, so instead of having nice clean curls it looked a little fuzzy and very much wayward.
"Not really. But its whatever." Was all she said She waved at a hand in a manner that suggested it wasn't something to concern himself over. They were here to discuss him, not her.

It had probably been the most damning thing Belladonna would ever do. After this moment, there was nothing she could do that would ever possibly hurt as much as this.
Though it was cruel, Belladonna hastily put Lanna down on the bed and crossed the room to Mort. There was no where else to go but up, so she didn't even hesitate with her actions. He had shrugged her off already, but it didn't matter. There were some things you did for other people and some you did for yourself and some you did for both.
This was one of those.

In a flash Belladonna had grabbed him, her arms locked around his neck as she held him close.
"No." She told him, her voice strong but tears already in her eyes as she pressed her cheek against his. "This is not your fault. And I don't give a jack-damn about what you say it only happening because of you. Its not just you. The whole school is infected most likely. It was them, not you." She said it with finality, but frailty too.
If her dreams had been bad, she didn't want to even imagine how terrible his must be. Her's was only a second-hand infection, so she couldn't even fathom what it was that he had dreamt. Surely, it had to have been ten times worse and therefore more trying.
No wonder he wanted to go home. If he could just get away for a little while, then maybe things would get better. The whole school probably was infected, but home couldn't be.

And though she didn't plan on doing it soon, Belladonna would let him go. She wouldn't try to convince him to tough it out or even stay here for her. There was too much to be confused about already and she didn't want to add to it more then she already had.
So instead, she held him tighter and hoped that at least this would help.

At first when he grew so cold, Belladonna was afraid something very, very terrible would happen.
This was about as terrible as it got.
When the initial descent began she almost cried out, but she only folded down with him and carefully rearranged herself so that she half in his lap, but touching as much of him as she could. And while she didn't know in that very moment that he was crying, she knew she was and just let out all the things she had kept pent up.
She cried for him, mostly, but for herself too.

"Its alright. Its ok, it was only a dream. It wasn't real. No matter how real it felt, it wasn't real. This is real. Right now. That's what real." Could he possibly be listening? Or was she just talking to soother her own sobbing?
Though she shook a little, Belladonna only pressed harder.
One hand found the back of his head and her fingers laced with his hair as she cradled him.
And though she wanted to speak, what else could she say? There was no way she could tell him of her own dream, not when he was like this.
"It'll pass. This won't last forever. You're stronger than this, you'll make it through. Just..." And now she really broke because she was so raw from worry that her voice cracked when she said, "Just please come back to me."

There wasn't anyway she could say anything else, so she buried her head into the side of his neck and cried. She hated being so weak that this sort of thing happened, but she was just so tired. And, even if she was only imagining it, he needed her.

One day, Belladonna would gain the ability to read minds. And she would use it in moments like that, so she could tell Mort that yes, those terrible things were just awful, but one had to move on. The people of the Isles were certainly moving on and one day the Hunters would be stopped. As for the rest, he was pleasant to see and touch, else Belladonna wouldn't be cradled in his lap, holding him as though she might shatter into a million pieces if she didn't. And of all, he most certainly had a heart.

So finally, when he was able to stammer out a few words, the witch wasn't sure what she could do or say to get him to understand that that wasn't real. What could she do? What could she say?
With a sudden jerk she had pulled back from him, free of the suddenly too-tight hug that in a few moments might have actually choked her. For a moment she stared at him, her face splotchy and streaked with tears. One hand clenched his shoulder while the other reached over and snatched up one his hands. Belladonna tilted her head at an odd angle before she slammed his hand to her exposed neck.
"Is that my heartbeat?" She asked as she maneuvered his fingertips over her pulse which surely seemed frantic. Her voice was soft, but stern. "I'm still alive Mort. You didn't kill me."
Sometime later the witch would be touched by the fact that such a dream had so shaken the boy. Later, she would analyze it and use it for fuel to continue her flirtations and reasons to see him. However slightly inaccurate they may be, Belladonna still saw the reason in clinging to what hope she had. After all, she certainly didn't mind fighting fate a little.

"And of all things... I could never hate you." Belladonna whispered that ended in a soft choked sob. So instead of have to face him further, she left her hand placed over his over her neck and bent her head forward to rest her forehead on his shoulder as she shook slightly. "I could never, ever hate you." Was all she could manage before she dissolved into more crying.
And it was true, whether Mort believed it (or knew it) or not.
The past 3 and 1/2 days had given the witch a bit of perspective and after carefully viewing all her options, she had decided that no matter what happened, some part of her would always care for Mort. There was absolutely no way she could ever possibly hate him. Even if things were horrifically awry and he chose some other girl (hell forbid!) or even never came back to school, Belladonna was positive she would never come to hate him.
It just wasn't in her nature.