The Best Dreams are Nightmares

    Everything was black.

    Avangelene could not see an inch in front of her eyes in the dark…every shadow, every empty space chilled her to her very core. She was not afraid of it, she was afraid of what came out of it.

    The nights were the easiest. Granted the gloom still lurked, the pain persisted and she had not slept in weeks…and there was always the fear of a surprise visit. The darkness always remained, always taunted her, and every single second was a wait for a new day’s pain…but at least she was alone.

    And at least he could not see her.

    She was not really sure what were days and what were nights. She had long ago lost track of how long she had been here, and long ago lost hope of escaping. She simply endured for reasons she hardly knew any more.

    Something creaked in the darkness and she held her breath. For a moment, she thought it might be a false alarm…there were a lot of those. She was beginning to relax, or the closest she could manage, when the room suddenly became illuminated with a fire of a magical kind. Not good magic, not at all…it was too bright, so bright it hurt her eyes in its sudden appearance. That was its purpose.

    She clamped her eyes shut, praying that the Goddess might show her mercy.

    Let me feel no pain. Let me feel no shame….let me lose my sight so that I do not see his face…

    Let me die in peace, I beg of you…

    The Goddess did not answer her prayers. She never did. Avangelene’s begging was interrupted by her own cries, and a sharp, searing pain in her side. She struggled violently, her fragile body desperately trying to force away her bonds, despite that she knew it was useless. The bonds were dark magic, dark enough to weaken her the more she struggled and writhed.

    “You’re still alive, little Witch.” Said a growl of a voice. It was low and taunting, and she had heard it every day…or night, for what must have been months now. The pain worsened, she could feel the knife twisting, tearing at her skin…she cried out in pain, but he left the knife in so that she could not heal.

    She kept her eyes clamped shut. It was easier this way.

    She could hear though…the faint metallic swish of a smaller blade being unsheathed, the repetitive, calm scrape of it being sharpened. Her heartbeat quickened as she heard whispered incantations in a language long dead.

    Immediately she could smell the burning stench of magic in the air, and braced herself for the pain. She knew what was coming, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

    It was no use trying to mutter a healing spell, it would only give him more unscathed flesh to tear, and the knife was still protruding from her side. There was no protection she knew that he could not counter. No attack he could not evade. She was powerless.

    The pain came suddenly, always worse than she remembered. She bit her lip, but soon tasted the coppery flavour of blood as she tried hard not to scream. She could feel the burning, harsh drag of the blade slicing through her skin…slowly, always so slowly. It changed direction in a horrible, deep twist every so often, carving a huge bloody letter in her skin. She traced in in her mind’s eye, biting back the tears she wanted so badly to shed.

    With every stab and slice of that grotesque little knife, the stranger carved a series of old letters down her arms.

    He knew that she knew the language. All those that mattered were at least acquainted with its basic principles. She let her head loll to one side to hide the tears behind her hair, all dirty and covered in dried blood.

    The word spelled “Traitor”.

    Avangelene held her breath for a moment. She knew he had barely started…there would be long hours of this ahead and it would grow gradually worse…each new method of torture would become more twisted than the last. She despaired that they could find anything else to do to her…there was little they hadn’t already subjected her to…

    But she would not cry. Not in front of them.

    She sniffed and kept her eyes shut tight.

    She felt a hand around her throat, fingernails digging deeply into her flesh. “Open your eyes, coward.” The voice hissed.

    She shivered, making the grip on her throat even more unbearable, but stubbornly kept them shut.

    No. No, I won’t look! I won’t see what you’re doing to him!

    The grip loosened, but it brought her little comfort, because she knew that it meant only worse things to come.

    She tried to shout her protests, but her throat was dry. She was barely kept alive down here, a drop of water was a rare luxury…she tasted blood much more often.

    Suddenly a sharp pull on her hair dragged her head back. She barely noticed the tugging feeling over the agony of the deep gashes in her side and arm.

    “Open your eyes little Witch.” The voice growled, but she tried to ignore it. She trembled in pure fear, unable to see his next weapon of choice.

    She shook her head weakly, or as close as she could manage in such restraint.

    “OPEN YOUR FUCKING EYES AND LOOK AT ME, BITCH!” The voice roared.

    Another cut dragged from her cheek slowly down her neck…she writhed again, pulling at her bonds with new determination…she wished it would just stop.

    Just stop!

    That cut seemed to go on forever, and he was going to do it again and again…slicing with that knife as slowly as he could until she did his bidding.

    Reluctantly, her eyes flickered open. It took a moment to focus, but then she saw him. Not her torturer, but the horrified face of her younger brother, silently banging at a high glass window in front of her with his fists.

    They were not torturing him, not physically anyway. He was the picture of good health, even allowed clean, pressed clothes every day whilst the tattered remains of Avangelene’s dress she had arrived in months ago hung in rags.

    He always did this…he always tried to reach her through the impenetrable magical barrier, and it made her feel worse than anything her torturer could do to her. He kept hitting the window, despite a well-dressed Vampire guard trying to restrain him. Tirelessly screaming her name, over and over again. She could read it on his lips…Avangelene! Please, leave her alone….AVANGELENE!

    She couldn’t look at him any longer. She could hardly glance anywhere, for many mirrors reflected her sorry, bloodied state…placed solely so that she had to watch every cut, every burn, every humiliation…

    Instead, she stared right into the dark eyes of her captor. His eyes were all she could really see, peering out from behind a hood and painted mask, the face of a monster made to worsen her nightmares.

    Eventually, she managed to croak a question she had asked a thousand times, or what seemed like it: “What…do you want…from us?!”

    She could tell from his eyes that her captor was smiling behind that horrible mask. A low laugh came from the depths of the hood. “I don’t want anything from you, soothsayer.” It growled, “I don’t want anything but your pleas for mercy and your begging for death.”

    Avangelene could not say anything else. She could not even cry…she just waited for whatever happened next, and tried not to look at herself being torn apart all over again in those god-awful mirrors…

    She smelled the new spell before she realised what it was. It was that filthy, burning smell again…it was something so dark, it filled her nostrils as she tried to hold her breath, making her gag repeatedly.

    “So you don’t want to see, is that right?” The masked man said slowly, picking up a small bottle that appeared to be the source of the stench with his black gloved hand, “Then have it your way.”

    So that is what it was…

    She tossed her head, trying to evade his grasping fingers, but it was useless as any other attempt. He held her still, forcing her eyelids open. She could see the bottle coming towards her, the smell becoming ever worse and the blur of the thick, black liquid coming closer and closer as she tried and failed to blink.

    Then she saw nothing at all, but she did not need to.

    The burning was in her eyes, more agonising, more painful than anything he had ever done to her. It kept going, getting worse and worse for what seemed like an eternity.

    She could hear her own screams echoing in the empty room. She screamed harder than she had ever screamed in her life, incoherent wails and curses and pleas, none of them decipherable beyond an ear splitting racket.

    And as the burning made her struggle and scream and writhe, however useless…

    She could hear his laugh.

 

***

 

    “Avangelene! Avangelene, wake up, dammit! You’re scaring the hell out of me!”

    Avangelene took a few moments to realise she was still screaming. She opened her eyes and choked a little, the screams turning into a sob as she slowly realised where she was.

    “Oh Goddess…” She wailed between sobs, “Oh Gods...I…I’m sorry, Edward, I…”

    “Shh.” He said softly, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close, “It’s alright, I know. You’re home now.”

    She could feel that his heartbeat was almost as erratic as her own, but she kept her eyes open and focussed hard on her surroundings. On the feeling of his arms around her and his breath on her neck…on the warm, purple glow of the magically tinted lamps in her own room…on the sound of the distant London public outside, and the crying of…

    Her baby was crying. That brought her down to earth.

    She took a few deep breaths and eased out of her husband’s tight embrace, sitting up and pushing her messy blonde hair out of her face.

    “You had me worried.” Edward said after a moment. She felt a little guilty now, his voice was so full of concern…she wished he didn’t have to see her like that, at her weakest.

    She shook her head and reached for a large shawl, pulling it around her shoulders. “I’ll be fine.” She said quietly, “I can’t help old memories…it’ll pass.”

    She stood up and padded across the room to where the baby was wailing. The crying continued, but seemed to lessen when Avangelene leaned over the cradle. “It’s alright sweetie, I’m here.” She muttered, although she didn’t know how she intended to comfort the poor little boy when she could barely get a grip herself…

    It didn’t matter now, she had to comfort little William, regardless of her state. That was her job.

    “Ange, you’re not well.” Edward said softly, getting up and crossing the room to stand by her, “They’re getting worse lately.”

    Avangelene shook her head bundled the crying baby in her arms, humming quietly and kissing his forehead, all red and sweating from the crying.

    The crying slowly subsided to a sniffle, and she sighed. “I’m sorry darling.” She muttered.

    Edward shook his head, knowing his wife’s stubbornness and allowed a silence to linger in the air for a few moments. “I wish I could make it stop, I honestly do.” He said eventually.

    Avangelene gave a long sigh, “There is nothing anybody can do.” She said, “It’s just something I have to carry on my own shoulders.”

    “That front you like to put up doesn’t work with me.” Edward replied, “I know it’s hurting.”

    “Of course it is.” She said, but she could hear her voice wavering and shut her mouth quickly, gulping back a potential new stream of tears. She replaced her brave mask, and continued, “But you know, the best dreams are nightmares…they remind you of what you have…I…” She shook her head, not trusting herself to continue.

    “I saw it.” He said after the pause, “What they did to you…you project things in your sleep.”

    Avangelene grimaced. “All of it?” She whispered.

    “Much of it.” He choked, trying to keep himself composed. He turned her face to meet his eyes and said, “Honest on my soul, if I ever find that man, I will rip out his heart. I promise you.”

    Avangelene opened her mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Part of her longed for the opportunity, but part of her just wanted to forget. She had tried every spell, every incantation, and nothing could ever erase those memories burned into her mind. They would stay there, as vivid as ever, for as long as she lived. She knew that for a fact.

    She said nothing, and shrugged away, looking down at the tiny creature in her arms.

    Such a tiny little thing, helpless…completely dependent…only crying because he could hear his mother’s screams…

    She felt a stab of guilt as she realised for the first time what she had done.

    She had not intended it, though she loved him, and tried to always find ways to shelter him. Though she would never be able to shelter him from what he was, she could at least let him live in the day, be normal to some degree and protect him from at least some of the Night’s shackles.

    But that did not change one thing. It did not change the fact that she had brought a life into this world that could not fend for itself.

    ...A poor, helpless little life, and into this world that had brought her nothing but misery and hatred, and shown her no mercy for so many years.

    Perhaps she had been selfish. Perhaps she really was a monster…but if one thing was for sure, she was responsible.

    …And that terrified her.