Morning.
Bedroom, Theodore Mansion.
Critic Arley, Critic-Ishire.
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Lydia woke up sweating and shaking, she just had a nightmare where everyone she cared for died and she was all alone. She had killed them because the sword she was gripping was bloodied and her hold confident, she could doubt the action and try to reverse her feelings from pride to guilt but then a rather familiar man showed up with a proud smile and told her that she had to do it and nothing else.
Theodore was slowly pulled out of sleep by his wife's soft mumbling and urgent turns, his hold around her had slackened and he had to pull her into his arms, whispering her neck and shaking her out of the nightmare he would hop into to change for her, she shook, retreating in the beginning before she relaxed and leaned into him, her tears and sweat soaking his shirt.
