The Dreamwalker

The witch led Cleo into her cottage, shutting the door behind them with a thump.

"Have a seat," said the witch, pulling out a chair.

Cleo sat down as she watched the raven-haired woman dig through her overflowing drawers of random magic trinkets. Finally, she found what she was looking for: a small, glass vial containing a swirling, sparkling indigo liquid that looked like the night sky. The witch carefully poured the liquid onto the table, starry droplets spreading out to form a miniature galaxy pool.

"So, uhm, about my request-" 

The witch cut her off before Cleo could finish her thought. "Come, and I will show you what he dreams of. Each and every night." The witch mumbles words that are lost beneath the furious humming of the starry pool. Then, an image appears in the center of the pool, far too blurry to make anything out.

"Reach into his dreams, and you shall see all that he sought to keep from you."

Cleo nods, warily stretching out a finger to touch the magic puddle. But the moment her skin makes contact, she is sucked inside what the witch claimed to be Cecil's dream.

***

Cleo opens her eyes. She is in a familiar room. It appears to be one of the academy dorms, with the large, lofty bed, wispy curtains, and large balcony doors. But something about this room is different. There could only be one explanation. This was not her room.

A strong arm grabs her form behind, flipping her over onto her back and pinning her onto the soft covers of the bed. The motion is so fast, the air is knocked out of Cleo's lungs. She gasps for breath, as her eyes lock onto his.

Blue, like the endless sea.

Cecil.

"Cleo," he breathes, air rushing over her neck.

"Cecil, what-" her voice catches in her throat as he leans in and sighs into the soft skin of her chest.

"This is a dream, isn't it?" he whispers, as he presses his lips to the base of her neck. "If this is, then I hope it never ends."

Unsure of what to do, Cleo lies frozen beneath the sturdy weight of Cecil's well-toned body. His collar was undone, and he brings her hand to his bare chest, pressing her slim, trembling fingers into his warm skin.

His heart is racing.

Cleo's eyes rove across his body, landing on his chest.

"The demon's mark. It's real." Her hands traced the dark, swirling pattern that began near his heart, streaming down his body like ink-black tears dripping out of his soul. "You-"

"Shh," Cecil replied, pressing a finger to her lips. He leaned in, warm breath caressing her cheeks, lips almost touching hers.

"Cecil, what-"

Before she could finished, he pushed his lips up against hers, as his arms wandered down the sides of her body, searching, reaching for something that did not belong to him.

Startled, Cleo stills, unsure of what to do or how to react. She remains frozen in place as his hand reaches underneath her shirt, brushing lightly against her stomach. With his other hand, he rips open her collar, exposing the warm softness of her chest. Cleo can barely move beneath his gentle touch, feeling each movement he makes over her body. His lips leave hers as they slide down her neck, all the way down to her chest. Meanwhile, his hand slips up her thigh and up her skirt. He moves sneakily, but she feels his hands in places on her body where she'd never been touched before.

Cleo screams, and the magic around her gathers into one blast, throwing Cecil across the room. He spits blood, red staining the cold, pale skin of his face.

Cleo sits up and scampers off of the bed, making her way to the door. Her hand holds the neckline of her shirt together protectively, and her body throbs with the desire for him to touch her again.

She is barely halfway to the door, when those same strong arms that pushed her onto the bed wrap around her shoulders and pull her back towards him.

"Why do you run from me, Cleo?" he asks, warm breath flitting softly over the back of her neck. "Do you not want me as I do you?"

She doesn't respond. Not without lying and saying that she doesn't want him.

Without waiting for an answer, Cecil twists her around to face him. He gently brushes a lock of hair from her face, wiping away the few rebellious tears that had refused to stay behind her eyelids.

"I know you as well as I can know anyone." He cups her face in his hands. "And I know that somewhere inside," he presses a finger to her chest. "You want this as much as I do."

Then in one swift motion, he grabs her head and presses her mouth to his. His tongue slips easily past her trembling lips, but despite her struggling, his grip holds firm. The world turns fuzzy, and the last thing Cleo remembered was lying bare on his bed, his icy blue eyes locked on hers, before she was pulled from his dreams.