Rachel woke with a start, her heart racing. At first, as her gaze fell on the elegant bouquet of roses she had for her wedding, she couldn't remember why she felt so terrified. As she swung her legs out of the bed and felt the cold white marble under her bare feet, it all came rushing back to her—most distinctly, the memory of not being able to touch anything with her feet. Rubbing her eyes, she sat there, swinging her legs, and pondering what she had seen in that dream.

Physically, it should have been impossible for her to even have seen any of that. Ever since Will Scarlet had written Rachel in as Morpheus, she had been unable to dream her own dreams. She absorbed the dreams of others in The Story, mostly here in Athens, but sometimes extending to the dreams of those she was close to in other Stories, like Will, Guy, Red, and many of the others who had fought beside her against the intruder, Carson.

The fact remained that it had been the first time Rachel had dreamed her own dream since becoming Morpheus, and that disturbed her. It was wrong, freakish. Slowly, her fingers extended out, unconsciously seeking the threatening letter The Editor had left for her, before remembering: she had burned it a few months ago. It had felt like a heavy shadow, a dark omen, lurking over her head, until she simply couldn't bear it any longer. She hadn't really thought about it all that much since she'd burned it, either.

Slowly, she stretched up her fingers and rubbed her forehead, trying to wipe away the layer of sweat that had covered it. Had she made it up? Was there the slightest chance that there had been no one to share dreams with, and thus, she had dreamt her own nightmare for once? Or was it a threatening message, a bitter omen to remind her before what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life? The dream had felt so real ... Get ahold of yourself, Rachel, she scolded herself, straightening her shoulders. Real or not, there's no way you're letting The Editor get to you now. Worry about it after the wedding. Worry about it after you become Lady Rachel Gisborne.

Sighing to herself, Rachel stood up, shivering at the cold marble on her bare feet. Greece warmed up during the day, but right now, that cold marble felt just that—freezing cold. She hurried over to her wardrobe, before she hesitated. Whether the dream was real or not, she was determined not to do exactly what she'd done while sleeping. So instead of donning the black cloak over the rest of her monochromatic outfit, she left it behind, instead grabbing a sword to buckle around her waist. One could never be too careful.

As she left her rooms and entered the dark temple, Rachel saw the still-sleeping forms of some of her worshippers out there. Although she tried not to feel bitter about it, she had them to thank for the nightly nightmares she had to endure. Some people had unfortunately vivid imaginations in their dreams.

Despite the drawbacks of being the god of sleep, Rachel honestly didn't mind being a part of The Story, especially since the alternative had been death. It was a little strange to be playing the part of a god, not a goddess, but her friend, Will Scarlet, had been rushed and bleeding to death while writing her in. She couldn't really complain about the technicalities.

Rachel emerged from the temple onto the streets of Athens, just as the sun was rising above the temples around her. Once her sandaled feet had touched the sand on the ground below her, she knew exactly what was coming just before an overly-cheerful voice exclaimed, "Good morning, Morpheus!"

During the week after Rachel had first been written in, Hermes, the god of mischief, travelers, thieves, and who knew what else, had scared her out of her wits every single time he showed up out of nowhere. Now, unfortunately, she was used to him being there. Slowly, she turned and looked up at him—even though he was of average height for a man, he was still a head and a half taller than Rachel. "Good morning, Hermes," Rachel said calmly, sighing a little as she brushed her blonde hair back.

"It's the big day, isn't it?" Hermes said, his umber eyes dancing in excitement. The wings on his sandals fluttered frantically, as if he was about to take flight without warning.

"Big day?"

"Your wedding, silly! I am invited, aren't I? Or were you just trying to pretend the wedding wasn't happening so I wouldn't go?" Hermes checked, his cherry-blond curls bouncing up and down. It took Rachel a second to realize that his wings were in fact lifting him off the ground, then depositing him down again.

"Of course you're invited." Although Hermes wasn't exactly Rachel's ideal choice of a friend, he had been best friends with her brother, Ewan, and it was a connection to Ewan that she couldn't bear losing. In attempting to entertain some sort of fondness for Hermes, the god had made himself her unofficial assistant in all things Athens, whether she liked it or not. It was really something she didn't need, considering she'd been reading about these Stories her whole life, but she did it for Ewan's sake. "Now, if you'll please just excuse me ..."

Unfortunately for her, Hermes had the uncanny ability to always know when something was wrong or off about her. "Alright, something's wrong," he said bluntly. "No girl is ever this unexcited on her wedding day. What happened? Who do I need to punch for making you upset?"

"I'm fine. You don't need to punch anyone, it's not anybody's fault," Rachel said, crossing her arms in a defensive manner.

Hermes raised a slim eyebrow in a questioning way. "Are you quite sure about that? You don't normally take your sword with you when you got Nottingham." He pointed at the blade sheathed at her hip, and she felt her cheeks redden.

Her hand drifted to the hilt of the sword before she could really stop herself. As soon as Rachel realized just what she was doing, she jerked her hand away, but Hermes's curiosity had definitely been aroused at this point. She scowled at Hermes. "I had a bad dream, that's all."

"A bad dream? That you dreamt yourself? Morpheus doesn't—"

"I am not the same as my brother!" Rachel snapped, and Hermes looked as if she had dumped water over him. "The dream made me nervous, so I brought my sword with me, just in case. Is it so odd that I could have something different happen to me than Ewan had? We are not the same person!"

Hermes took a step back. "Rachel, I'm ... I'm sorry, I just—"

Rachel breathed out through her nose, trying to calm herself. Just a dream. It was just a dream, there was nothing unusual about it. Even if Ewan never had any dreams for himself either ... "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have blown up at you. Look, I ... I just really need to go, alright? Please. I have to make sure everything's ready for the wedding tonight, so I've been—you know, a little tense."

Hermes let his shoulders slump. "Oh, alright. I, ah, I understand."

Rachel opened a Story door behind Hermes, to enable her to travel between Athens and Nottingham. "Excuse me, but I really do have to go."

If possible, Hermes looked even more crestfallen at her words. But he stepped out of her way, his shoulders slumped over in a dejected sort of way. "Well, if you ever want to talk, you know where to find me."

Rachel sighed, very tired of this conversation. "Thanks. I'll take you up on that if I need it," she said. She hurried towards her door, glancing back at him. Seeing the dejection still written all over his face, she did offer him a bone. "I'll see you tonight, Hermes. At the wedding."

It was like she'd lit a candle, his smile was so wide. "I will! Thank you, Morpheus!" He jumped up into the air, his sandals lifting him up. Rachel rolled her eyes and hurried through the door before the incessant chatterbox could start up again.

. . . . .

There was no one in the streets of Nottingham. The scene, eerily familiar to Rachel, sent shivers down her spine. Only yesterday, the people had been preparing excitedly for the wedding. Now ... there was nothing. Was her dream coming to fruition before her eyes?

As she walked down the cobblestoned streets, she couldn't help but berate herself. She had to believe that she was being ridiculous. Guy had taken over from The Sheriff, and he had proven to be a far more popular leader than The Sheriff had ever been. He'd even mostly repaired relations with the Merry Men, though most of them still avoided the new Sheriff. As for the people of Nottingham, almost all of them had been extremely excited to see Guy marrying.

Or, at least, they had been excited about him getting married. Rachel touched her sword, taking comfort in the familiar sensation and weight of the blade. She struggled to work up the courage to speak, and finally, her throat worked. "Hello?" she called, praying that the voice that answered wouldn't be the disembodied Editor's.

For a moment, it seemed like nobody was going to answer her. Then a window opened near where she was, and an unfamiliar, middle-aged woman looked out. "What?" she said waspishly, eyeing Rachel suspiciously.

"Today is the wedding for Guy of Gisborne, isn't it? Where is everyone?" Rachel asked, glancing around and spreading her hands. "Everyone was out yesterday. Why hide now?"

"So you haven't heard?" the woman snapped. "What rock have you been living under, girl? Find out for yourself." She slammed the window shut and drew the curtains, blocking the inside from sight.

"Haven't heard what?" Rachel exclaimed, knowing full well that the woman probably wasn't going to answer her. Huffing, she crossed her arms and kept walking towards the manor, digesting what the woman had been attempting to tell her. Or was it just that the woman was one of the several people of Nottingham who bore a grudge against Guy for taking over from The Sheriff?

As she approached the steps of the manor, she saw a dejected-looking Little John sitting on the steps. He was tapping his staff on the steps of the stone building that dwarfed all the other buildings around him, looking completely lost in thought and even sad.

A strange sense of fear shot through Rachel as she moved forward. "Little John?" she asked, kneading her fingers together nervously.

Little John, large, burly, and with a dark brown beard, stood upright immediately, almost dropping the staff to the ground. "Lady Rachel!" There was a certain thick quality to his voice that increased the size of the lump in her throat. "You're ... you're here."

"Yes, I am," Rachel replied, trying not to show her anxiety. "And nobody else is. What's going on, John?"

Little John shifted uncomfortably while studying her. "It's ... well, it's Will."

A cold hand clutched at Rachel's heart. Yes, he is my good-for-nothing son. The thought of that letter made her sick to her stomach. Whether she acknowledged the fact or not, she had memorized the entire thing by heart before burning it. "What do you mean, it's Will?"

"He was attacked last night," Little John confessed, twisting his brown tunic around near the bottom. Rachel had never seen hm look so anxious before, and even more worry blossomed in her chest.

"Attacked!" Rachel swallowed nervously. "What do you mean, attacked? The Story's been at peace for more than a year! Who would come out randomly and attack him now?" A sudden, stark moment of terror struck her. "Is he alright? Is he ... alive?"

Little John nodded. "He escaped with only minor injuries."

Rachel let go a sigh of relief, but something still bothered her about his tone of voice. "Who attacked him, John? If he only had minor injuries, he must know, right?"

"Yes ..."

"So who did it?" Rachel asked.

Little John shifted from foot to foot. "That would ... that's ..." He swallowed. Normally a man of few words, he was obviously struggling to come up with a proper response to Rachel. "I think Robin should explain to you. He's inside, you'll need to speak with him."

Rachel gave a slight nod and the burly man led her inside. Robin Hood was pacing the grand entry, his boots clicking against the stones beneath his feet. When he saw Rachel walk in the door, he jumped. "Lady Rachel! You're here!"

"Yes, I'm here," Rachel said, wondering why the Merry Men were so good at stating the obvious. "Where's Will?"

"In his room, resting." An older man lacking half of his hair emerged from the side room along the hall. Friar Tuck offered her a tired smile. "He'll live. His attacker might not have wished to kill him."

"But he was attacked all the same, and I want justice to be done!" the red-haired Robin burst out. "There will be justice for him, Friar. How could I simply let him get away with attacking Will? After all this time, he's shown his true colors once more ..."

"He?" Rachel began.

Friar Tuck hastily changed the subject. "Will is going to want to see you, once he's finished resting. Alan was bothering him before, but he should be ... ahh, there he is now. Alan, hello."

Alan-a-Dale, the ginger bard of the Merry Men, swept Rachel a ridiculous bow, his long limbs flailing all the while. "Lady Rachel, what a pleasant surprise. Have you told her yet? There's no easy way to tell a bride that her ..."

"Alan ... enough," Robin said hastily, his face turning as red as his hair. "That's quite enough."

Rachel bit down hard on her lip. Although she now had a fair idea of what was going on, the last thing she wanted to do was put her thoughts into words. "Robin, I'm not a person who needs to be coddled and protected from the truth. So, please ... if you've got any sort of idea who it is that attacked Will, then why don't you just tell me? I know that's probably why there's nobody on the streets."

Robin shifted uncertainly. "Well, we can't be sure, but it's just ... well ..." As he continued to hem and haw, Rachel's patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Robin Hood, if you don't stop beating around the bush, I'm going to scream," Rachel said. "Just tell me. I ... I can handle it."

Robin squirmed around, looking at the others. "Friar Tuck will tell you, won't you, Friar?"

The older man jumped guiltily and quickly looked away. "Tell her what? I'm sorry, Robin, I'm getting so addled in my advancing years. I'm not quite sure what it is you want me to tell her."

"Advancing—Friar, you are avoiding the response!" Robin said.

Rachel gritted her teeth and crossed her arms. "Do you want to know who else is avoiding the response, Robin? You are! So please, just tell me what's going on!"

Robin looked around, obviously begging for help from anyone he could possibly find. When all of his men directly avoided his eyes, he must have realized he would receive no back-up from them. After what felt like an eternity to Rachel's poor nerves, he finally turned back to her and heaved a great big sigh. "You're probably wondering where your husband-to-be is."

"Yes, I rather have been wondering about that," Rachel said sarcastically, crossing her arms. "Does anybody mind actually telling me something useful, or are you all going to keep beating around the bush? Where is Guy?"

Robin stared down at his feet sheepishly. "That's just it, Lady Rachel. We ... we don't actually know where he went. You see ... he vanished last night, and we haven't seen him since."

"Vanished?" Rachel repeated, her voice tight with disbelief. "My fiancé disappeared last night, and nobody thought to tell me?"

"That's not all, Robin," Friar Tuck reminded him.

Robin scowled at the older man. "Oh, so now you remember, do you? Not so addle-minded now, are you?"

"So Guy has disappeared and that's not all?" A foul taste settled into Rachel's mouth. "Don't tell me. Please don't tell me ..."

"So before you wanted me to tell you, and now you don't want me to tell you?" Robin said, heaving a sigh. "No, if you know part of it, you're going to be told the whole thing. Because you asked for it."

"Sometimes I really hate you," Rachel said through gritted teeth.

Robin flashed an innocent smile. "You asked for it." The man grew serious a moment later, straightening his shoulders as he met Rachel's eyes. The sudden change made her nervous, but she didn't break his gaze. "We told you Will was attacked."

"Yes, you did."

Robin let go a long breath. "Rachel, your fiancé, Gisborne ... he's the one who attacked Will last night."