This was a nightmare. She had had sweet dreams, dreams of a Pegasus and a place with a lake and a temple of the smoothest marble. Dreams of love and compassion and comradery, of belonging and purpose.
This was not one of them.
Icy fingers laced themselves between her own, tightening and jerking her forward a little forcefully, gasping as she stumbled forward into the darkness, until she felt the firmness of another body pressed hard against her own. Soft skin. The smell of cinnamon and exotic spices. The faintest sound of breathing against her ear. The distinct feeling of feminine curves.
Her heart quickened.
“Hello Clarice.”
She shivered.
The voice was low and silkily smooth, manipulative through and through, with just the hint of laughter lacing the introduction. The shadow knew the effect she was having on her. The gentle brush of silky blonde hair, cascading down over her shoulders, brushing her cheeks as she leaned in so close. The meaningful ocean-blue eyes washing over her back, following the curve of her body. She encouraged it.
Roxanne.
There was a subtle laugh against her ear, and the fingers tightened before loosening a little, dragging her prisoner’s hands slowly up over her head, letting them go to slide into place loosely around her neck before snaking her own around her waist. She tensed automatically, the motion so familiar. The hands on her waist tightened, pulling her closer in response, anticipating her pulling away.
“Is this how you treat an old friend?”
The dance had started. There was no music, but she could feel the beat that wasn’t there, her feet finding the places she was suppose to step without having to be told, the hands guiding her so well around the blackness of the stage. The harder she resisted, the faster the pace became. Spin. Chassez. She fought.
Go away.
“Ah, I guess you wouldn’t consider me a friend now, would you? Why so sour, sweetheart? You’re colder than normal.” Roxanne’s laughter didn’t echo – there were no walls. Instead, it was low and private, like some sort of terrible secret, and she promised not to tell. The blonde whipped her out, catching her hand before she could escape. “Did your girlfriend dump you?”
She wasn’t my girlfriend. No roses ‘n all. A tug. She slid back into those arms.
“Ahh haha, but you thought she was. Turned out she liked another woman, didn’t she? Now why does this sound soooo familiar…”
The dance didn’t stop. Instead, ghostly dancers appeared around them, mimicking their motions. One blonde, the other a strawberry-haired petite. A younger version of herself. And yet around them, every once in a while, her partner would duck out with a parting kiss, spinning her out to lace fingers with another shadow.
Her body tightened.
“Ah yes, I remember now. And it hurt you soooo bad. If I recall correctly.” The blonde girl smirked unsympathetically. She did recall correctly. “Your poor naïve little heart. Poor sweet baby… ”
A hand at the small of her back lead her on, nudging her to spin, their fingertips just barely touching over her head. Roxanne leaned close, easing her to a stop facing away from her, facing the scene of the blonde girl kissing someone else. Someone, it didn’t matter who. There were a thousand of them. She could feel that hot breath against her ear again, feathering over her skin, cruel and laughing. “You let me coax you back for years. Every single time. Even though you knew.”
She choked back the tightness gathering in her chest, digging her fingernails into the arms that held her. Helpless, she moved through the steps, her feet brushing over the ground as they twisted around and around, unable to escape. The dance was slowing, now. But it did not mean relief.
“And like a true emo kid, after all was said and done, you decided not to trust anyone with your heart again, didn’t you?”
The image twisted. There were no dancers any more – the scene was replaced by a night in the snow, and a lamp post that loomed dramatically, forebodingly over them. The hand at her back tightened again, and she felt her spine curve as she leaned back, supported only by the other. But when she looked up, she suddenly found it was Charys who had her, dipping her low, lips just barely brushing her own.
“But you did.”
She jerked back out of impulse, shoving out with her hand and connecting with nothing, stumbling away into the darkness, only half straightening to stare at the ghosts of her nightmare. Roxanne, laughing at the cruel joke. Charys, nonchalant as ever, unbothered and uncaring. And a third… an older woman… long red hair… piercing orange eyes…
A sinister smile.
“And look where it got you. All of it.” High heels she couldn’t see clicked along tile that was equally invisible, until the older woman was face to face with her. Long, dark fingernails smoothed over her cheek with a mocking sympathy. “Your team is weak, isn’t it? She was the experience, the support, and now it will all fall apart. Because you can’t keep them there. Can you keep them fighting for you? Can you? Can you?”
STOP.
Everything did. The image faded, those long slender fingers fading like smoke, that smirk lingering for a only a second longer. Blue and blonde hair disappeared just as readily, leaving her all alone on the darkened stage, collapsed in a small heap.
The air had changed: crisper, cleaner, sweeter.
For once, she did not push Helios away, even when she felt the subtle brush of feathers against her arms, the gentle, comforting weight around her.
