December dreamed

"We should be safe here," The old man stopped, nestled in the darkness of a tiny alleyway that littered Lower Zion, "from that Nightmare. But we got to get out of here before our dear Princess arrives."

"Before the Princess arrives?"

The old man smiled, "Yeah. I'm her worst nemesis after all. Wouldn't want her to catch me around."

November paused. His blood was surging through his veins in wild alarm and made his hands tremble. "What do you mean?"

The man raised a brow. The then smiled and tugged down his white collar revealing a telltale mark. He knew that mark, and November wanted to shout, but he didn't. The black tattoo of a snake devouring a crescent moon appeared as though it might jump off of his skin and lunge at November instead.

Slowly, he peeled his eyes away and gazed back upon the older man's countenance.

"Look familiar to you?"

"...Yes." November confessed.

"This is the mark of Kaleidoscope. You know of us?"

November furrowed his brows. Of course he knew, Kaleidoscope was that one evil terrorist group that the Princess fought against with all her strength. But despite her power and her might, Kaleidoscope was like a cockroach that didn't die. Wasn't that all there was to it?

The Kaleidoscope man laughed at the strange look on his face, "Now, now son, don't give me that look. I'm not some sort of crazy evil monster. Us folks at Kaleidoscope are just trying to find out the truth."

"The truth?"

"Yup. It's plain and simple. But right now I really got to run, sounds like Princess is wrapping up." There were sounds of battle nearby, loud crashes and shouts. November had done well till then to tune them out. "You coming with or not?"

Of course not! Why would November go with him? To incriminate himself? But for some reason, the words were difficult to say and he stood there in the alley like a fool, hands curled into fists.

The old man raised a brow, "There's no rush," he said. "Come find me in the Patch when you change your mind. All you have to do is search for Marilyn. The name's June."

He was handed a business card, a sleek white thing that had a nice fine-grit beneath his fingertips and a neat, clean print to match. "June" was all it read and November has no idea what he was supposed to do with this.

That strong heavy hand patted down his shoulder and June gave him a wide, hearty smile, "Good luck, son. I'll see you around soon." And off he went, disappearing into the winding alleys.

November would not follow him. Not this time. He pocketed the business card and went back the way they came, back the towering shadow in the form of a raccoon. Nightmares were as such, ugly and scary things. But with the Princess around they weren't so terrible. Not when she could defeat them so easily.

And when he saw the light of the main road, where colored tiles met with the monotone gray of the alleys he could hear the Princess's voice.

"These things really don't want me to rest!" She was stomping her feet and huffing, and her hair shined beneath the glow of day.

Well, she was a pretty person. That was something the entirety of Arcadia could agree upon. He stepped back onto the main streets, like emerging from night.

Princess Ceci took notice of him and twirled around, "Oh hey! November! Where did you go? I thought I caught sight of you earlier and I had feared the Nightmare had devoured you!"

November forced a smile, "I'm alright."

There was a man behind her with tanned skin and long black hair tied up in a ponytail. Was that her Knight? Because he was glaring at November in a way that spoke of suspicion.

Had he met this man before? Surely not. November turned his attention back to the Princess. He pushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear and straightened his disheveled blazer. "I just ran into the alleys out of fear. The Nightmare had me surprised."

She grinned at him, "I'm just glad you're alright!"

November nodded, as though all was right in the world, even as the innocent business card seemed to be burning a hole through his pocket.

…

December dreamed.

He dreamed of dark and terrible things.

They always began innocent enough, with pale fingers entwined with his. Sweet words. "I'm alright. You don't need to worry about me anymore." Her voice was low if perhaps a little raspy and he could listen to her for an eternity.

He couldn't quite recall who she was but knew with acute clarity that she was his heart and that he was hers.

She would guide his hands across her body. Her long, black hair pushed aside. He glided around her soft curves, the jut of her collar bone, her waist, hips. And then she would smile at him, languid if not a little sad. "It's okay--"

A soundless name upon her lips.

"I'm okay now."

Could he dare to believe her? His hands now wrapped around her neck. Her pale face slowly turned red, then blue.

Without air, she trembled and convulsed below him. Those thin lips mouthed, "Don't worry."

"I'm fine."

But she wasn't fine, was she? Because she was dying, and Va-

And December had his hands wrapped around her thin delicate neck.

His eyes flew open and December jolted up from his bed, breaths heavy. His skin felt sticky and his shirt clung to his body. It was dark. Crickets chirped outside. A wind slipped into the room, making sheer curtains flutter. But it wasn't cold, no. It was much too hot. The night was quiet and peaceful and stood in stark contrast to the screeching madness within his heart and mind.

December closed his eyes and willed himself to calm before slowly sinking back down onto silken sheets.

A frail, dainty hand slid across his chest. He opened his eyes again and looked to his side.

April hummed, her voice thick with sleep, and her eyelids drooping, "Are you alright?" She was curled up next to him, small and dainty with brown hair draped around her body in waves. April, who didn't know a day of hardship or of battle. So unlike the lean muscle he felt beneath his palms in those cursed dreams.

And no matter how strong his will, how long he prayed, that dream chased his thoughts and devoured his mind and his peace.

"I'm fine." He bit out a little too quickly. She frowned, not wholly convinced. Her little hand reached for him and touched his shoulder then traced a line down his arm to his palm. How tiny it was inside his hand, unlike that nameless woman's long slender fingers.

He blinked. December forced a smile and leaned over, planting a soft kiss upon her brows, "Don't worry Dearest. I'm really okay."

"Hmmm," she hummed lazily and nuzzled his side. He swept her up in his arms and waited for her breathing to even.

But sleep was not as kind to December. He pressed his face against his wife's soft hair and sighed. And he remained like that until the sun crept above the horizon and painted the sky with day.