Trace darted towards Anaisa's dream and laid his hand against its border.
Inside was fear, but also anger. A surprising combination for a dream, and curiosity overwhelmed him. Slowly, he stepped through the barrier and into Anaisa's world.
The sight shocked him.
"I hate you." The venomous words were disorienting to hear from his wife. "I hate all of you."
She was lying at the base of a grand staircase, staring up at a group of men standing at the top. One was dead, lying across the banister with his throat slit, while another leaned on him like the body was a piece of furniture.
The rest, dressed in the clothing of nobility, but with vague faces, laughed at her, and she struggled to stand up. "I hate you," She said again before she cried out.
Her legs were broken, and mangled. Shards of bone tore through her voluminous skirts. Trace was horrified. What kind of a dream was this?
