Dreams

“Wake up! Wake up! Please!” the demon yelled desperately at the White Witch.

As darkness enshrouded the Witch's mind like a black wedding veil, she heard Dephinicus’s cries. Her body, gradually feeling weightless, drifted away from his urgent call. As Dephinicus’s voice grew fainter, another voice overlapped his. It was a calm and clear voice saying the same words. She could smell the fresh and sweet scent of hay. A warm hand held hers. The gentle voice called out to her again. “Wak—"

The demon shook the Witch’s body, but there was no response.

The Scholar, unafraid of being shredded to pieces under the demon’s terrifying glare, checked the Witch’s pulse. “She doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore,” the Scholar said, taking his hand off her wrist.

The demon growled at the Scholar, but the Scholar didn’t flinch.

“You need to accept the truth,” the Scholar said. “A dead person can’t come back to life again.”

The demon dipped his head and looked at the Witch. She had already promised to spend the rest of her life with him. Yet, she left before that life even began. It couldn’t be over just like that. He would not allow it.

Taking off the buttons of his shirt and baring his skin, he pressed the White Rose to his body and began absorbing her. She sunk into his body like she was sinking into quicksand.

“What are you doing?” the Paladin yelled. He lunged at the demon to pull them apart, but the Fleur stopped him. The Paladin looked back, and the Fleur shook their head. “It’s not something we should meddle in.”

“She’s not dead yet,” the demon said. “There’s still a chance.”

The Scholar watched with fascination and apprehension. He couldn’t take his eyes off the demon’s skin that softened to clay as it took in the Witch. “She doesn’t have a heartbeat anymore. How could she still be alive?”

“That is only your understanding of what being alive means,” the demon said. “Only her mana channels were destroyed, and her heart had stopped, but she’s still in there. I can feel it. A person doesn’t die immediately after their heart stops.”

The Fleur, who had been quiet all this time, stepped forward and knelt before the demon. “Can you do it? Can you bring her back?”

“I’ve only absorbed parts of others into my body and replicated them,” the demon said. “I’ve never tried rebuilding another’s body, but she already has a part of me. It’ll take time, but I can bring her body back in one piece.” The demon’s eyes glowed with determination. “I have to.”

Surrounded by chipper melodic birds, swaying sweet berries, and noble lofty trees, a serene house climbing with white roses stood guardian in a quiet forest. A shadow passed by in one of the windows.

The aged wooden door creaked opened. A demon stepped out under the shade of the wisteria awning and into the sun. In his arms lay a sleeping witch, her cheeks rosy, her chest rose softly with her breath.

Sometimes, he took her to the clear lake and dipped their feet into the cool waters. Sometimes, he carried her to the lavender field to bathe in its fragrance.

Today, he walked gently to a willow tree. A blanket spread out over a bed of sweet hay. Carefully, he laid her down. He adjusted her body, making sure that she was comfortable.

He sat next to her, the swaying willow playing shadows on his face. He took a book out from the voidspace and started reading to her in a clear voice.

He read until the sun began to feel sleepy. He put the book away and gazed at her. He sighed, taking her hand into his and caressing her warm skin. “Wake up,” he called. “Wake up, please.”

She continued to drift in her land of dreams.

He looked up in the sky and leaned back against the tree, closing his eyes, dreaming of the day when she would finally wake up from deep slumber.

As the breeze brushed past her lashes, her eyelids twitched.

☄⚝☄⚝

I often dream of a demon. Under a willow tree, he reads to me. After he reads, he holds my hands. His hands are warm—so tender and so loving—that it makes me want to cry. I want to squeeze him back, tell him I miss him. I can’t. My body can’t move. My mouth can’t speak. Then I sink into another dream of witches, swords, monsters, and a journey with a demon that ends in death. Yet, if I were asked whether I’d be willing to repeat this dream, I’d say, “Yes,” a million times just to see the demon again, feel his warmth on my skin, and see his kind eyes reflected in my own.

☄⚝☄⚝

Fin