Word Count = 900!

The room was always dim. There were no windows, minus the small one in the door they used to check in on him. It was bulletproof, incapable of being shattered. Had he tried? He couldn’t remember. All he could see when he looked through it was white, blindingly bright light. He preferred his room, even if it was dull. The walls were supposed to be white, but the padding was more of a light cream than anything. Anyone coming in wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but he could. He’d been staring at them long enough to know.

His back was resting against one of those walls now; he was staring up at the ceiling instead of that damned bright window, his eyes half-lidded and his breathing slow, almost as though he were sleeping. He wasn’t. He never slept anymore. Thick, dark rings had engulfed his lower lids, enhanced by his ever paling skin. Sleeping meant he would have to see him. He’d have to see those dead eyes staring up at him, that blood on his hands, his hands, his -- he glanced down, and a surge of panic washed over him as he saw the blood again, hot and fresh on his hands.

He wanted to scream. But his body felt heavy, so impossibly heavy it was a miracle he could draw a breath. That’s right, his breathing, it -- it sounded so loud in his own ears, almost painful, almost hot like the blood on his hands --

“Murrrrdererrrrrr, “ a low voice hissed against the shell of his ears. Even if the words themselves were hot, the lips were cold. He couldn’t move, not at all, but he could look over at the corner of his eye to see the warped features of the lieutenant, his jaw snapped and askew and his eyes hollow black orbs --

---

Lorne’s eyes snapped open, and he started to scream - but instead he forced himself upright and slapped his hands over his face. His palms were slick with a cold sweat that was becoming ever more familiar to him. He flipped over onto his stomach, panting as he wrapped his arms around his pillow to tug it closer to his face.

He’d been having the dream for months… sort of. It was complicated. The first dream had been… longer? It hadn’t just been a snapshot or a series of events or -- years. It had been years. And most of it had been spent tucked away in that padded cell, rocking back and forth in the wake of a murder. His murder. The person he had murdered. Only not, because Lorne had never killed anyone, he’d… it had just been so vivid. So complete. So real.

The rest of the nightmares were like branches stemming from that first agonizing night. Sometimes they were small, and it wasn’t so bad. But there were nights like tonight where the guilt manifesting into something more, something so much darker. Lorne knew it wasn’t real. None of it was. But…

He pulled himself out of his bed, his bare feet hardly making a sound against the cool wood floor. Lorne couldn’t help thinking that it was a sign. His pen appeared in his hand, and moments later, Mont Blonc took his place. It had been more than a year since he’d last transformed, and he breathed in the air like he was tasting it for the first time.

He kept meaning to go back; to use his sigil ring and send a message out, get some help to make sure he could reassure his parents that he’d be safe back in Destiny City. But it had been so easy to put it off, and time had slipped away faster than he ever could have imagined. A day had become a week. A week had become a month. It got easier and easier to forget, to put everything else first. His family. This new life he was building in France. The exhilaration of the boy who’d taken him out for coffee and promised him the world. The disappointment when he couldn’t follow through. The thoughts of college…

Time passed so quickly, and then guilt began to weigh him down. Even if they didn’t know it, even if he had a long way to go, people were counting on him. For a time, after the dreams started, he thought maybe it was a sign to stay where he was and be happy with it. -- but then they wouldn’t have kept coming. They were a sign, but it was one pointing him right back to where he’d started… and maybe warning him about the person he didn’t want to become.

Mont Blonc went to grab his sigil ring, planning to try for the first time to head back to his Wonder on his own power -- maybe clear his head, decide once and for all what to do to get back -- but something strange happened. Something came up; not a secret compartment or anything like that, but a pop-up? He jumped, although at this point nothing involving any of this knight business should have surprised him. “What the…” he mumbled, peering more intently at it. A blueprint...?

Man this was overdue. He took a deep breath and headed to his desk, switching back from Mont Blonc to Lorne as he grabbed a sheet of paper and began to scribble a letter.