My Dream Is Already Smeared With Blood の小説・ストーリー

It was pleasant at first, until it wasn't. I had a dream. One I was never supposed to have. One that only meant trouble whenever I had it back then. I was feeding off of someone. I'd split their wrist with my claw and was sucking from it. It was the best meal I'd had in years. Despite being a dream, the blood tasted real. Smelt reel. It was juicy, and I could hear every sound I made while I sucked off of it. The person's pained moan was quite obvious too. Everything was heightened.

“Its fine mom, I’m not going to be any fun anyway.” Sometime later I was finally able to drag myself over to my bed and fall into a restless sleep, I dreamt of myself standing in what appeared to be a huge foyer, those that are in some kind of castle. It was cold, the kind of cold that seeped into your bones, not even the huge fire in the middle of the room could bring any comfort. As I looked around the room, I noticed there was red paint that appeared to be coming from the ceiling… as I reached out to touch it as it was dripping down the walls I realized it wasn’t paint, but blood. I woke up mid scream to my phone going off, I grabbed it off my bed stand, “TAY” flashed across the screen, c

Why couldn't they take me instead! I wake up covered in a thin layer of sweat with tears rolling down my flushed cheeks. I have this dream almost every night. I'm used to the sweat and tears, but the memories will never fade. My brain is forever tattooed with the images of their dead bodies. Over the past months, I've tried to forget about it all, but I wouldn't make it that easy for myself.

he explained trying to reassure me. “No!” I snapped at him then sat back, “You don't get it. I have been having the same fucking dream for months now, and each time I have it, more stuff happens. It's becoming clearer every time,” I said as tears continued to run down my face. Tristan raised his hand up to wipe away my tears, but I slapped it away. I wanted to finish telling him about my dream. “The guy you were fighting with had jet black eyes with a red glow. He killed you, then told me I will be his. I tried to kick his ass, but he vanished into thin air before I could get to him.”

The sensor doors to the lounge slid open, and Wayne rushed toward me in his wheelchair. As he drew near, he immediately caught the metallic scent of blood on me. Panic flashed across his face, and in his haste, he nearly toppled from his chair. Without a thought for himself, he grabbed my hand and inspected it with trembling urgency. "Arden, are you okay? Where are you hurt?" His eyes brimmed with concern, his touch as gentle as it had always been. Yet I no longer felt even the faintest trace of love in it. I quietly pulled my hand away. "It's nothing, just a scratch—"

It was… something else. The dream. The dream came again, but this time sharper, heavier, hotter. The fight I had seen before raged in front of me, the sounds muffled but violent. Shadows clashing. Blades flashing. Screams swallowed into silence. I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Not even Limene could hear me. The water turned red. Thick. Metallic. Blood spread across the surface, more than I had ever seen before. My heart jumped into my throat. My stomach twisted.

We had a fire under an overhanging cliff, just in case, and we drew a ward. Lyra and Jasmine kept watch. He was facing me, Damien was, and the fire was casting shadows on his face. And that’s when it happened. The dream. It started as it always starts — first with the silence, and then the blood. I was looking at a field of broken glass, ash, and still smelling gunpowder then. The world was quiet. Cold. My hands were trembling as I looked down at the widening stain on my shirt. He stood a few feet away.

He didn’t stop, he didn’t even glance at me. “I didn’t want to.” That made two of us, I couldn’t bring myself to sleep either. He landed one last punch before the bag snapped off the chain and flew across the courtyard. Only then did he look at me. “I keep seeing you covered in blood,” he said. No preamble, no hesitation. I blinked. “What?” “In my dreams,” he started, breath heaving. “Every night since the bond settled. You’re standing in a burning forest. Bleeding. Screaming. And I can’t reach you.”

When it finally does, it’s heavy and strange , like sinking into ink. In the dream, I stand in the middle of a forest I don’t recognize. The trees burn with silver fire. Wolves circle in the distance, eyes glowing like stars. And then she appears. My mother. She’s wearing a long white dress, the hem soaked in blood. Her temple is bleeding, the crimson stark against pale skin. Why is she bleeding? She shouldn't be bleeding. I can't take my eyes off her bleeding temple and the scarlet shade of red on her white dress.