Mother Nightmare

The room was bathed in an ethereal glow, the moon casting a soft luminescence through the curtains that danced with the night breeze. In the stillness, Gabriella lay sprawled across the bed, her tangled locks cascading like dark silk over the pillows. 

Her face, usually a portrait of serenity, was now etched with distress. The lines of worry furrowed her brow, and her lips trembled involuntarily as the nightmares unfolded in the theater of her mind. 

"Mama…." Gabriella called in her nightmare. She had haunted by a woman, dressed in white like those of the nuns in Sta. Catalina nunnery. Even though she couldn't see the face of the woman, she had that confidence that it was her. "mama…"

The sheets clung to her form, a sanctuary and a shroud all at once. Beads of perspiration glistened on her forehead; evidence of the internal struggle waged beneath the surface. The room seemed to tighten its grip on her, as shadows played on the walls, mirroring her nightmare.