Thought

~Luella 

He stares at me, eyes dark. 

“Can you explain to me, in as vivid detail as possible, what these dreams entail?” he asks, crossing his plaited trouser covered legs, clasping his hands together. I resent my sister for making visit a therapist. Either he will explain away my problems, or drug me so these dreams no longer appear. 

Loosening a breath, I concentrate on his face. He wears a thoughtful expression under wide rimmed glasses. Della, my sister, is paying him good money to sit here and listen to my issues. I somehow think Mr. Fisher will be like the other four therapists before him. 

No one can explain the dreams I receive every night without fail. I started getting them when I came into the immortal realm, and not one night has been dreamless since then. 

“Well, there’s a lot of silver involved,” I tell him. 

“Silver?”

“Yes, silver, like the colour. There are men in my dream with silver eyes. Haunting, silver eyes,” I tell him firmly. It’s the same rhetoric every session with previous therapists, who wear that same frown etched into their forehead, just like Mr. Fisher. The dreams don’t make sense to me, so I can’t imagine they would make sense to anyone else. 

Mr. Fisher opens his folder, my information plastered underneath the plastic leaf. He’s trying to see where my explanation best fits with the history I’ve provided. There is nothing in my rather uneventful life to suggest this obsession with silver.

“Are these people in your dreams familiar? Any people you’ve met previously with silver eyes?” he asks. 

“People don’t just have silver eyes, sir.”

He blinks a few times, eyes enlarged behind his glasses. My fingers tap impatiently against the chair I sit on behind his rather immaculate desk. Not a single piece of paper is out of place. I’ve always been a more messy person, and when seeing something so neat unnerves me. My life hasn’t been organised since these dreams appeared. 

I decide to continue. “And before you ask, no, I’ve never met a pureblood immortal in my life. Nor am I obsessed with any immortals.”

I’m covering my bases. 

“Alright, can you tell me what these silver eyed people are doing in your dreams,” he asks, tapping his pen against his folder. It’s clearly bothering him that he fails to see why I’m having these dreams right off the bat. 

“One of them appears to romanticize and then by the end he wants to kill me. And then there is another one with silver eyes, who seems to be there to save me whenever I need it, but otherwise, ceases to exist,” I explain to him, fully aware that it doesn’t make much sense. 

Mr. Fisher hums over it, trying not to express his confusion. “Okay. Which one do you favour?”

I have to think about that for a long moment. 

My dream has the same people appear every night, and usually the same events happen, just in different ways. None of their names ever come up. I know them simply by their appearances. Both of the main guys are handsome, with those piercing silver eyes. One has dark, curly hair while the other has ruffled brown hair. The other differences are too blurry to notice, usually. 

“Neither. They both haunt my dreams,” I tell him firmly. All these questions I’ve answered before, in other sessions. 

“Are these dreams disturbing?”

“Well I’m sitting here, aren’t I? It isn’t fun to wake up feeling like I haven’t slept all night, but heart rate accelerated, feeling like I’ve just been stabbed in the chest,” I tell him, folding my arms over my chest. “The dream always ends with my sister killing me.”

Mr. Fisher sits back in his seat, looking at me, concerned. I doubt I’m the first person who has come in with a reoccuring dream. But I’ve had mine everyday since I first arrived in Fate’s territory. Something must be completely messed up with my head. I’ve only deteriorated since I started getting them. 

“Have you ever heard of the Immortal Thought?” he asks softly. His words take me by surprise. I’m used to the same questions, and this one is out of the ordinary. 

I only have to think about that for a moment. “Who hasn’t?”

“Thought, otherwise known as the Dream Maker has his territory not too far from this one. Now, his silver eyes are what he is best known for, and considering how he is the creator of dreams, perhaps he has something to do with this,” Mr. Fisher offers, to which my face screws up in confusion.

Mr. Fisher sighs deeply. It seems he is struggling to find an answer to my issue, wanting to resort to his usual tactics. Therapists have never been able to figure this out, coming to conclusions that don’t make any sense to me. 

At this point, I’ve almost given up. 

“Well, as a matter of treatment, I would suggest perhaps having scheduled wake times in order to avoid your body going into a state of having a dream. Or, I could prescribe you a medical treatment which might keep your from experiencing these dreams,” Mr. Fisher offers. 

“Thank you for your time,” I say softly, standing from my seat. I did what Della asked, and went to this appointment, even though I knew it wouldn’t help. 

Mr. Fisher got up with me, rounding his desk. Before I could leave, he grabbed my arm. 

“Something about this doesn’t seem right,” he tells me lowly, as if someone else would be in the room, listening. “If I’m honest, I’m getting the feeling that this is magic.”

Eyeing his strangely, I nod, before leaving the room as quickly as possible. Magic? I don’t think so. I think these therapists are getting more and more desperate for answers. 

But I know magic can’t be it.