Log:Sweet Dreams are Made of This
When she takes the first aware breath that snaps her into new reality, the young brunette laid in her bed is naked as a jaybird save for a cross on a leather cord around her neck. She doesn't wake with a start so much as she rouses with touches over herself to the confusion of being healthy and whole and one. Just one. There's no babes in turns at her chest anymore. There's no swell at her stomach with the lift of the blanket. She tosses the sheet back and rises to look at the unfamiliar modern room with confusion. Did they take her to a fancy city hospital? No. This is different. And she knows she died. She knows what she gave to send those boys healthy into the world. They were her future, afterall, it was always meant to be that. They were the future of herself and Pierce Colton, hard fought, hard won. The final victory.
It's not the differential of being no longer with the children they made that stabs her with grief. She only had about an hour with them. But she still knew them. She carried them. She knows they're alright. They had family to see to that and every ounce of strength she could give them when they came into the world. Every single ounce of heart and fight. No, it's the memory of Pierce Colton withered and helpless there at her bedside when it happened. She wasn't sure if he knew. She tried to say it with her last breath, she thinks. It's all kind of fuzzy, the parts before him, the parts after him, but she knows she tried to say them or something like it-- not leaving you. Just taken. Happens. Some things just are. I love you.
Maybe nothing came out. She's not honestly all that sure she was able to get any of those things out for him at all. And that's with assuming out of continuity and necessity that he could still hear her. It's suddenly odd to her what she can remember with a fire down to the very detail in contrast. The times when they were very alive. She still knows the subtle salt tang of his skin with a drifting kiss, what he smells like, leather and ride and man, the heat of arms around her, her breath warming his shirt buttons with her face buried in his chest... all those tiny between the lines things she had and memorized before everything fell down to be rebuilt.
It's been a matter of roughly three hundred sixty seconds and already, she's terrified. There's a full length dressing mirror on the door to the closed adjacent bathroom and all she can do is stare for a moment at her naked form, her hair at dark sheen once more, all the health in the world lighting her features. She doesn't know who she is. Yes, she feels like Eilis still, but as she steps closer, she puts her hand flat on the glass as if trying to reach herself on the other side too. Like someone's trapped. Who? If she's dead why doesn't it feel like death? If she was dreaming, why does it all feel so real?
She looks at the door to the hallway. There's noise on the other side of it. She cracks it open. She doesn't bother dressing, she just wants to listen. She just wants to look even though she's scared to do just that. There's music from the television, though she doesn't know that's what it is drifting down the hall, it sounds odd and synthetic to her. She kind of likes it. She kind of doesn't. Mostly because it's the words that sound scary to her right now. Eilis McTavish Colton could handle the nightmare. But she as she is now, she can't handle it being just a dream.
Sweet dreams are made of this, who am I to disagree?
A shadow passes along the hallway and she closes the door to watch the figure walk. She knows them. She knows the next one she watches too. No one notices she's watching. Who they are is irrelevant. They died once when she knew them. They're ghosts. They're trickery. Is her head still a little broken? No. She's as blossoming on the inside as she is on the outside, she knows she has that piece of her back.
Everybody's looking for something.
Not everybody. She's afraid to look too long even though she knows what and who she's looking for. She doesn't know the next figure she sees, but that doesn't help matters any, it just makes them more confusing. Strangers blending in to live among family. She shuts the door with a click and turns the lock. She can still hear the music faintly through the door as she puts her cheek against it. It sounds like a warning. Who are 'them'? She knows who 'they' were, once upon a time. Demons.
Some of them want to use you. Some of them want to be used by you. Some of them want to abuse you. Some of them want to be abused.
Definitely demons. And all she can do is breathe out one very heartfelt, "Fuck."
She's not ready to open that door again. In fact, she very much wants to hide under the bed. She can't do a second round with them. Eilis McTavish Colton was strong. Eilis had roots. Eilis had family. Eilis had love.
This woman just has a dream she doesn't know how to shake. At least, that's what it feels like right now. And given the context, that kind of realization is an awful kind of thing. Then she feels that cross against her neck to clutch.