Cold Dreams

Gochnipunchni

Mushroom Man
Dark. Hands. Thoughts.

Adelaide rolls over in the middle of the night, beads of sweat dotting her forehead, as her breathing suddenly quickens. Her small cot, sequestered into some private corner of the museum, creaks loudly, and her eyes fly open.

Her hand snaps out, grabbing for the dagger that she keeps hidden under her pillow, her heartbeat slowing as her hand wraps around the cold leather hilt of the blade.

She takes stock of where she is, naming and labelling things in her mind, the practice as easy and routine to her as breathing.

As her eyes alight on Daisy, sleeping on a mattress by her bedside, though, she feels somewhat comforted, and she allows herself to relax. She begins to feel her thoughts drift to what she had been dreaming about before she had so suddenly awakened.

"
Fock.." the dwarf woman whispered, a small shiver going down her back. It was the Wellbeast, again. She couldn't manage to get the thing out of her head. It was silly really, since arriving on Darroway, she had stared Death in the face more than once, and had even had a conversation with him twice. She had been dragged within an inch of her life, she had been struck by lightning, stabbed, had murder plots against her and had even been proposed to. And yet somehow, it was that cold-fingered thing that featured so constantly in her dreams.

Something about it. Its grasping hands, its mournful wails in a voice that wasn't its own, saying her name over and over and over again..

"
Adelaide.."

She jolts upright, her blood flashing cold as she frantically looks around, getting to her feet and stepping over Daisy's prone form, staggering over to the small collection of candles that she keeps by her deskside, holding it up to cast aside the gloom that filled the old building.

"
Hrm.. Musta been th' wind, or I'm imaginin' things.." she says, not quite believing herself. She swallows, trying to steel herself as she takes out her pen and begins to scrawl down a crude drawing of an invention, more out of desire to do something than actual intent.

It was going to be another long night.
 
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