part 19 : the dream

The room remained still, bathed in the quiet hush of early morning. The moonlight was fading now, chased away by the first hint of dawn pressing against the horizon. Fiona slept, curled beneath the sheets like something delicate and folded away—guarded, even in slumber.

And then the dream deepened.

It wasn't like the others—the nightmares stitched together with chaos and guilt. This one was soft, woven from memory and hope and the ache of wanting.

She was barefoot in a field that stretched farther than the eye could see, every inch of it swaying with blooming lavender. The petals shimmered beneath the starry night, the sky overhead an infinite velvet canvas lit with stars so bright they blinked like souls trying to reach her.

The air was warm. It smelled of salt and honey and something achingly familiar—her childhood, perhaps. A memory of safety she could no longer name.

She looked down and her dress was light, flowing, like mist caught in moonlight. She twirled once, instinctively, and the flowers around her danced with her.

And then, in the distance, she saw them.

Two figures, tall and unmoving, standing back to back in the middle of the field. The lavender didn't sway near them. Time seemed to stall in their presence.

Damein stood on the left. His dark hair ruffled slightly in the breeze, but his face… his face was all firelight and storm. His eyes held questions, unspoken confessions, and something fierce—like he wanted to pull the whole world apart just to place her at its center. His fists were clenched at his sides, not out of anger… but out of longing. Of restraint.

Dominic stood on the right. Still, poised, cold. His face was unreadable, a mask of control and composure. But in his eyes… there was a flicker. A fracture. Regret shimmered there like fog on glass. He looked at her not like a man who wanted to possess, but like a man who had already lost—and couldn't forgive himself for it.

And between them, a forked path.

To Damein's side, a small stone cottage stood by the sea. Warm yellow light spilled from the windows. There was laughter inside. Music. Joy. A life built with hands that had once been bloodied. Redemption.

To Dominic's side, a forest stretched out—dark and glimmering, the trees scattered with stars. It called to something wilder in her. The unknown. The danger. The depth of emotion that scared her.

She stood between the paths, frozen. Her chest ached with the weight of indecision. Her feet refused to move.

And then—

"Fiona."

The voice behind her was soft. Familiar.

She turned slowly.

It was Adam… but not quite. His features shimmered and shifted, as if her mind was using his form to speak to her. His presence wasn't real—it was a thought, a truth she had been hiding from.

"You don't have to choose anyone but yourself," he said, smiling gently.

Her lips parted. "But what if I never feel this again? What if I'm alone forever?"

Adam's image tilted his head. "You won't be. Because you'll finally have you."

And then he was gone.

The men were gone.

The lavender stretched endlessly once more.

She looked down—and now, floating before her chest, was a glowing orb of light. It pulsed in rhythm with her breath. Her heartbeat. Her essence.

Her own heart.

Fiona reached out and touched it with trembling fingers.

It pulsed once.

Then again.

And then, with a brilliant, blinding warmth—it burst.

The light shattered into thousands of soft petals, rising and dancing into the air like butterflies freed from a cage. They soared toward the stars and disappeared, leaving only stillness in their wake.

A single tear slid down her dream-self's cheek.

And then, in the quiet, she whispered:

"I want to be free."

Back in the waking world, Fiona stirred beneath the covers.

Her face was calm now. The tension in her brow had softened. The burden that had weighed on her chest was lighter, not gone—but eased.

Outside, the sun was beginning to rise, casting golden light across her windowpane. Birds began to sing in the distance. The ocean, somewhere beyond, whispered its eternal lullaby.

The world hadn't changed.

But inside Fiona, something had.

Something small.

Something brave.

Something like… healing.