Faustina kept on dreaming that stormy night at sea.
Occasional dreams about people whose faces are a blur, and events that never transpired. Things that never materialized. Dreams that she did not take part in. Reveries depicting how she was only a bystander, never doing anything but watch.
Dreams that started when her master died.
Nightmares.
She stood in the corner of a large room on that certain dream. It was raining outside; the balcony doors were dripping with beads of rainwater as the plummeting shower reverberated outside the fortress. Faustina stares at the bed which mattress was covered with white silk and transparent lace curtains. She walked soundlessly towards the bed, her foot as light as a feather.
A person was sleeping soundlessly against the mattress, shawled in an intricately simple silk dress. Faustina knew who this person was, yet in her mind she couldn't utter her name. In her dream she did not know how to even speak.
She was like a puppet in her own mind.
