UNDER NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES, going anywhere alone with a stranger ( especially as a Dreamcatcher following a human soldier ) would be unfathomably dimwitted.

I did not feel a sense of threat, though. If anything, he was the vulnerable one. I provided a sort of protection against lurking creatures of magic; vengeful agents of chaos who only wished for spilled blood.

I kept an eye out for such lowlives in the alleyways and the shadows of dark smashed windows.

The human man was rather fast and quick on his feet —an indication that he had frequented this path. He knew without looking where not to tread. I however, was unaccustomed to the wreckage that made up this side of the West End of London and beyond.

He could tell that much from my occasional stumbling.

Though it seemed, that did not warrant his aid. Instead, he kept me busy by attempting small talk as we walked. I huffed short, sharp answers for fear of losing my momentum or balance.

"So your magic simply manifested out of the blue?" he murmured while crunching loose tar beneath his heel. "Those men were fools, by the way," he offered in place of an apology, "they should know better than to threaten citizens and demand such things."

I let out a breath, almost tempted to smile.

"I am not quite a citizen," I corrected him. "Though legally I qualify to call myself that, I will never be quite so accepted in that way by many people."

"Well, surely it's slightly easier for Dreamcatchers," he reasoned. "You resemble humans the most, along with Wytches, Wyzards and Warlockes."

"Perhaps ironically it is in fact more difficult because of that," I quipped. "Humans are not very fond of imitation when it all boils down to it. And Dreamcatchers...that is the entire purpose of our human aesthetic," I said darkly. "To blend in."

He went a bit quiet. He knew as well as I did that the first of my people had adopted human bodies not only to escape predators, but to infiltrate the mortal civilisation —to learn from it and study it. It was unclear even to modern Dreamcatchers whether or not the intent had been malicious or had hidden an ulterior motive. Nothing had ever been acted upon.

It had been a clever and underhanded method, regardless.

"...What is your name?" then asked the human, bothering to turn his head and glance at me briefly.

Names were tricky things. Knowing someone's name gave a sense of intimacy on some level. For creatures of magic, to have a human know your name was the equivalent of binding a Wytch.

Irreversible without magic or a good blow to the head to induce amnesia.

Amongst ourselves, knowing one another's name was inconsequential. Georgia was human too, but different —I permitted her to know my name simply out of ease —and I wanted to give her that trust. It was not as though she had anyone to tell.

"Why do you wish to know?" I then asked the man; suspicious for the most part, but quite teasingly.

"I never managed to learn the name of my previous companion," he informed me, the ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

I arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, we are companions now?" I scoffed.

"All right, perhaps we are not. What would you call us?" he questioned, nodding once in my direction.

I did not hesitate. "Acquaintances."

"That's awfully distant," he feigned devastation, clutching at his chest in anguish.

"It is awfully accurate," I reasoned.

"But you've dreamt of me," he threw back slyly. "As though you knew me, and I knew you. I would hardly call us that degree of strangers."

I paused, and he halted with me. We turned to face each other, our eyes lidded and curious. Why him, I wondered. If destiny really was at play and my purpose was simply to help cure his insomnia...then why me?

Why not another Dreamcatcher?

What a foolish question. I already knew the answer: because I was there, at an opportune time. It seemed to be the answer to everything.

"Just because we have met in my dreams, it does not mean that we know each other," I pointed out.

He halfheartedly shrugged in agreement. His watered down response then made me want to ask something that I should have already.

"Have you dreamt of me?" I barely whispered; my voice wafting in the wind.

The world around us seemed to pause, to listen.

I was expecting a very quick and absolute answer —because I anticipated his reply about not being able to sleep. But he gave me silence. Guilt-laced, placid silence. And it baffled me to no end.

Was he aware of my prediction?

Though that did not explain his hesitation.

"...Obviously I haven't," he then clipped as though no time had passed. "I can't sleep, remember?"

My gaze levelled. Perhaps he was naïve to think that. "Not all dreams are dreamt asleep," I warned. "Some can be dreamt awake."

His lips pressed into a tight line and he appeared rather petty and spiteful. "My mind is never empty enough for that sort of thing," he grunted.

Words escaped me and I was left speechless, staring at him. All I could offer was a softened look; a non-verbal reassurance that there was nothing wrong with how he felt, and that his difficulties were valid.

I asked him again if he had dreamt of me.

He still did not give an answer. And I gave him time. I would wait all day if I had to. And I think that he knew that, because he then abruptly turned sharply and marched off ahead of me.

I did not follow him immediately, my thoughts consumed by the idea of him thinking the same way about me as the way that I thought about him.

What if it was not completely random?

It amused me a little to wonder if I made him as uncomfortable as he made me. To be in a situation where the both of us wanted to get far away from each other —and yet, at the same time, stay.

His raised voice then sliced through my internal discourse as he realised I was not beside him. "We haven't got all day," he barked.

My feet then moved in silent obedience, and I caught up with him in a matter of seconds.

"Where are we going?" I finally had the sense to ask.

"My house," he murmured. "Apart from my time and efforts in the war, there's...probably something else that you should know."

I swallowed gravely.

When we arrived, I remember thinking it had been a while since I had seen a bungalow. My Cotton Candy was barely any taller, but the height difference was noticeable. I stared blankly as he headed for the door.

He turned and nodded for me to follow.

I took a few steps forward —and then hit a wall of invisible light. The force ricocheted; rippling out from the impact in waves of luminescent blue and pink and yellow. I gasped, and met the man's gaze as he looked back at me curiously.

"There is a barrier around you house," I said slowly. "Did you know of this and mean to drag me here for nothing?" I questioned with annoyance.

"No," he answered, and seemed truthful. "That wasn't there when the Wytch came."

My nose wrinkled in distaste.

"She didn't come inside," he clarified, which I pretended not to be much to my relief. "I told her that my wife did not like strangers in the house."

His wife...I felt a bit awkward after hearing that, but I focused my attention on the invisible force before me.

I lifted my hand to the wall, and felt its signature. "If the Wytch had not detected it then, it was because this is not magic as we are used to."

"What do you mean?" he frowned.

"This," I sighed, waving my hand and watching the light repel, "is something Earthly. Man-made or the result of a lingering ghostly presence. And it smells of periwinkle, lavender and lit candles."

The human flinched slightly. "...That's how she always smelled," he said tightly.

I then picked up on his use of the past tense. "Smelled? What does she smell like now?"

"The Earth, probably," he deadpanned. "And decay."

My eyes widened. "She is dead?"

Something told me in the way that he glanced aside and provided no answer that he could not bring himself to say it out loud. To finalise that fate so boldly.

I sighed and tucked a curl behind my ear. "...Perhaps your wife does not want another female inside —even if it means preventing it from the grave."

The human snorted. "I half expected you to apologise, first," he quipped, "before cracking jokes."

I had not meant it as a joke.

"I have come to understand that you do not like that sort of thing," I offered in explanation to the lack of remorse, arching a cocky eyebrow.

"Mm. You're learning," he grunted. Then he paused. "If my wife did not want another female in the house, then why would she let the Wytch stand so close?"

"Maybe because I mean something to you," I said quietly —and I felt the wall shudder in response.

To my surprise, he did not deny it.

"You cannot see it, can you?" I questioned.

"No."

He ran a hand across his face as though out of exasperation, but his expression was not one of irritation. It was blank, which was even more unnerving.

"This barrier is going to cause some issues," he grumbled, before falling into a pace. "But I can't blame Ketiwe for guarding what's hers."

Hers. Right. He belonged to someone. He was...hers.

"Is what you want to show me inside?" I asked.

"Yes," he confirmed. "And I can't get it out here."

I slammed into the wall, wheezing as I stumbled backwards. Light flickered outward again. I clenched my fists. There was something else I could try. I raised my palms to the wall and willed light to gather in my hands. My magic fizzled to life —and fulminated against the foreign matter.

Sighing, I pressed my forehead and hands directly onto the invisible barrier. It stung a bit, but it was quite bearable. If magic would not soothe it, then perhaps I could get through to it with words.

'Hello,' I sent the thought spearing into the light.

I received no acknowledgment or response for a moment. I did not know what to expect —this was a stab in the dark. And then there was a flicker of movement, vibrating against my palms and head.

'...Who are you?' it clipped in a heavy accent. The voice was feminine; soft yet firm; very rhythmic and lulling. 'And how are you able to communicate?'

'Are you a spirit?' I immediately asked.

'I need not explain myself to you, creature of magic,' it snapped defensively.

'Well, I only ask because magic is ineffective against you. My magic is otherworldly —'

'Leave,' it said, its tone harshening.

'I have not come to harm you nor the ones you love,' I assured. 'I have been invited.'

The voice scoffed. 'Adam would never invite home an unknown woman, much less a creature of magic.'

My brows rose. So his name was Adam. It suited him —he was sturdy and appeared fairly competent; like the believed first human man. And he was certainly the first person with whom I had ever had a connection.

Was that part of what being an Eve meant? Though his name was a coincidence, it made sense. I was a beginning, and he was the first.

I blinked, realising that I still owed the wall an answer. 'He is...troubled and lost,' I sighed, choosing to remain vague. 'I have been tasked to help him.'

'He would never —'

'The war changed people,' I cut in. 'Many were scarred by the battles. And he was not exempt.'

The voice was losing patience, and decided to ignore my reasoning completely. 'The barrier would not activate unless you posed a threat. Who are you, and how do you know Adam?'

I considered the truth. I had seen no evidence that this unknown force was particularly hostile. '...I am destined to guide him across the planes in search for a cure,' I murmured. 'Our fates are entwined.'

'How,' it demanded.

I came up with many, many ways to snap back and inform it of how that information was hardly its business. Instead, I let the anger dissipate and breathed, 'He is no longer bound to her. Let him go.'

'You seem to think that you will be the replacement.'

My entire body stiffened involuntarily, and my fingers slowly curled inwards, digging into the rippling light. 'I am not replacing anyone,' I clipped. 'He does not think of me as he thinks of his wife.'

'That is likely true,' it mused, and returned my admittedly malicious gesture with a shock of electricity down my spine. 'But why would the barrier reject you so indignantly if you had no chance?'

Why would it, indeed. I did not want to think about it.

'I am not here to rip apart what they had,' I pleaded. 'Please. I will keep my distance.'

It paused for a moment, and then asked a question that I had not been prepared to hear. '...Will he?'

I started at that. 'I...I cannot answer for him,' I said through my teeth. 'Please, let him go.'

'I cannot,' it seemed to smile with superiority. 'He has not moved on. This is his wife's essence —he is still clinging to this lingering bit of her, and this barrier will dissolve when he finally lets her go.'

'And how would he do that?'

'...Only he knows.'

I pulled away from the wall and looked up at the human —Adam. He glanced up from the ground simultaneously, and met my gaze. I took a step forward.

"Let her go," I said.

"What?" he frowned.

"Let your wife go," I repeated. "It does not equate to forgetting. But I will not be allowed inside unless you truly and wilfully accept her...departure."

He went completely still. Vacant. The barrier burned with a matching and crackling deterrent.

"Do not let her memory fade," I went on, "but do not let her soul remain trapped within your grasp. She needs to go wherever souls go. Let her rest."

I thought he would respond with more silence, but this time he spoke. His eyes set, and his muscles locked. "You...you don't understand," he hissed. "Ketiwe —she was everything to me. Everything. I can't —"

He was interrupted by the sound of his own throat closing, swallowing back the words.

"You can," I said firmly. "I do not understand, I cannot lie to you about that. But...I am struggling to let something go. Perhaps we can do it together."

He glared at me. "How?"

I offered him a soft look. "Just let me in."

There was a dangerous storm I was trying to tame. It raged —whirled and thundered around me, without purpose or direction. Only the need to express the anger of injustice. Of devastation.

I felt it; I felt his anguish. Just as I had with the wolf and the Icen when they had cried out. It swallowed me up like a cloud of pitch darkness.

His anguish was far greater —he had had so much more to live for, and love. He had lost something far worse...far worse than his mere life. He felt that he had lost his identity and the concept of who he was without his family. He had craved death, but he knew it was not the right punishment.

He still felt that need to punish himself; as though the death of his wife and son had been his deed.

I winced at how deep that wound ran; how marring it was on his entire existence.

All of that —it almost tore me apart.

"I am here," I declared to the darkness.

I was compelled to comfort and reassure Adam, and to soothe that hurt. I did not know for how long or if he would even allow me, but I would try.

Light shimmered —my light. Blue and pink and purple sparkled in the sheer black, before diamonds of colour turned over to reveal the street again, and the barrier just in front of me.

It did not happen instantaneously. Adam turned to the side and murmured something under his breath. A goodbye. And as he did, the barrier lightened. It yielded —and then burst into tiny shards that rained down in a shower of multicoloured light.

Then he said to me, "Come inside."