When dreams come true: We've all had dreams that we would swear were real, this is your muse's dream. Tell us about it. Will they remember it when they wake? If so, show us it's affect on them.
At first, Vivian didn't wake to her cries. Choosing to bury her head beneath the crisp white cotton of the pillow, airy light feathers crunched in their luxurious egyptian casing as they moulded to the nape of her neck. Shrill impatient cries rapidly escalated into relentless distress though, and the comforting caress of dreams no longer offered sanctuary from her daughter's insistent calling.
Unexpectedly cool floorboards chilled her naked foot as she forced herself from her goose-down refuge, the retraction of her foot bringing her one step closer to unwelcome consciousness. Wearily she pulled on the white robe, tying a lazy knot at her waist and slid into the nearby slippers. In the half light of approaching dawn the room was swathed in deep blue shadow, only its edges and peaks tinged with hints of pink where the promise of a glorious day slowly cut through the darkness.
Vivian turned to place a hand on his shoulder and kiss the sleeping man beside her, but her touch was met with... nothing. Fingers drifted through empty space and slumped to the duvet below with abrupt descent when expected flesh did not stop their fall. Time did not afford her the opportunity for concern though, as her palm met with the cool cotton of the bed the resounding crack and echo of gunfire pierced her daughter's cries with a sickening finality.
She ran. A panic stricken sprint, flinging open the door to the adjoining nursery with such force that she heard the wood split as it struck the armoire behind.
Relief flooded over her in waves of weakened spasm as she was greeted by tiny kicking limbs and never more welcome cries for milk, the sound of gunfire having only ceased her distress momentarily. Then she was running again, the warm distressed bundle of blankets held tight to her rapidly thumping heart. Down corridors that seemed in her panic to be far longer than they ever were before and strewn with obstacles she hurdled with ease. Away from the gunfire, away from the heat of the flames that licked at her heels and blistered them, away from the thunderous barks and threatening raucous laughter of madmen, and over the corpses.
She had strode over dozens before this one, mindless to their identity in her escape, but now... Now she paused and saw the distorted face of a child, eyes still open, but instead of terror captured in their last waking moment, a sadness beyond her years lingered on her porcelain features. Vivian crouched by her side, softly drawing her free hand over the girl's eyelids and tucked the stray auburn curls behind her ear as she shed a solitary tear for a life, an innocence so callously stolen. It was all she could do, there was no choice, she was beyond saving and the deep voice she knew so well growled behind her, ever nearing, ever threatening.
Back on her feet, babe still in arms, breathless and soaked with sweat, Vivian urged herself to move faster. Doors that flanked both sides of the corridor blurred into walls of angry fire as the flames edged towards the end of the corridor faster than she could, overtaking her in their unforgiving savagery.
And there he was, appearing from nowhere, standing in front of her, a diabolical glint of amusement in his eyes. "Mine" he laughed, eying the bundled blankets. Skidding to a terrified halt, Vivian spun on her now raw burnt feet. Behind her, the wolf was hurtling towards them, snarling as it fixed its hazel eyes on its target, bounding with unwavering fury.
Vivian sprang to sitting in panic, tossing the suffocating duvet that had tangled in her legs and gasping in a petrified horror that threw open her eyelids in its ferocity. Beads of perspiration glistened on her skin in the dim light, highlighted by the reflections of neon colour that seeped through the cracks in the curtains.
There was no baby anymore.
As trembling fingers reached for the bedside light, none of the events had slipped from her mind as they so often easily do. She clung to every moment of the panic stricken nightmare, knowing it was more than a meaningless dream. As still shaking hands reached for a cigarette and the bottle of luke warm water, she knew it had not been her or her daughter the wolf had been hunting.Muse: Vivian Ward
Fandom: Pretty Woman
Word Count: 751