SHE WASN'T EXACTLY running away from something. She wasn't that much of a coward.

No. Georgia Henwick-Barrow was running towards something. Towards freedom, she would figure. Because what she, without fail, predictably left in her wake —destruction and anger and disappointment —became too much for her to shoulder.

No matter how much she hated Joshua Walker, she couldn't ignore the fact that what had happened between them was half her fault. She was the one who had agreed —had let him take advantage of her own selfish curiosity. That rough fumble in the dark —it would remain with her forever. No matter what medication she took to prevent the dreams, she knew that she wouldn't escape it.

She still saw flashes even when she was awake, when she merely blinked or closed her eyes.

She still had a few bruises, and aches to show for it. How could it leave this much of an impression on her? From what she had heard, it was supposed to be easy. Enjoyable, even. All that was left of it was regret.

She hadn't even had the courage to ask Joshua if that was what was supposed to happen. Was she meant to feel like a part of herself had been ripped from her? Taken, and rendered her gaping.

That was why she had left him. She couldn't face him after that —after that mistake. For as long as she now lived, she would never sleep with anyone again. It hadn't been as she had hoped.

What exactly...had she hoped?

Maybe she had envisioned something romantic and slow, with feeling and care.

Feelings indeed.

She wanted to scream at the sky about how stupid feelings really were. How stupid she really was. She wanted to scream at her parents, Charles and Dominic Henwick-Barrow, that they couldn't treat her like a child anymore. Because she had had sex.

And that made her all grown up.

Not that she felt particularly mature. She wondered how adults usually dealt with their mistakes. Did they run, too? Face them head-on? Or were they stuck in a limbo, hoping that it would go away of its own accord if they ignored it for long enough?

Georgia chewed on her lips. She hadn't meant to get anyone else involved. Though the accident with the spell had not entirely been her own fault, she felt a sense of guilt. Especially when she looked at the Dreamcatcher she now knew as Purple, and glanced at her bandages and the burns and cuts that hadn't been covered up.

The teenage girl began to wonder if it was simply to taunt her —leaving that evidence of the incident exposed. There was no malice in the expression on Purple's face, however. Only an undeterred concentration.

Georgia didn't even flinch as the Dreamcatcher disinfected her wound and stitched it up with a needle. It should at least draw out a twinge of pain to have the needle pierce her skin. Yet she felt nothing. She wondered if Purple thought her lack of a reaction to whatever she was meant to be feeling was odd; but the non human didn't say anything in that regard.

The teenage girl remembered then —that Purple must be focused on her own thoughts. That strange new magic, and what to do with it.

"Um...what pronouns do you use?" Georgia then asked, realising that it hadn't been clarified.

"The ones that are appropriate for whatever appearance I have," was the answer. "To make it easier."

Georgia's brows furrowed. "For who?"

Purple smiled as she cut off the stray surgical thread. "That is an excellent question."

A wrapping of white bandage was then used to cover up the gash on Georgia's arm as she and Purple fell silent. Most of the sleeve had been torn in order to let the dressing breathe. The teenage girl did not question the silence. Growing up the way she had, Georgia understood the troubles that Purple faced.

When her fathers had adopted her, it was only when she started school that she realised the norm was different from her model of a family. And even after an explanation from Charles and Dominic, Georgia could not shake off the cloud of judgement which hung over her every time she stepped foot outside.

It wasn't as though she had a similar orientation to her parents' sexual preference simply because she was their daughter. She was most definitely heterosexual. Yet people treated anything that wasn't the norm like a contagious disease.

Maybe it was because Joshua had been the first person to show her a slither of kindness; to treat her as a human being, and tell her that her upbringing didn't define her...maybe that was why she had stuck by him.

And why it had hurt when she ran.

The Dreamcatcher suddenly patted her arm lightly. "...Is it too tight or too loose?" she asked.

"No," Georgia said with some difficulty. Air wasn't flowing in and out of her lungs quick enough. A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach.

"Do you...still want to stay here?" Purple then inquired, her dark eyebrows furrowing in what came across as uncertain dread. Georgia stiffened. It appeared that she was still very much unwanted.

"I can leave," the girl said, "if you want."

Purple actually mulled it over.

Georgia felt bile rise at the thought of going outside.

"...Maybe you should stay until you are fit enough to survive on your own again," the Dreamcatcher, to Georgia's surprise, suggested.

The teenager tried not to show any eagerness or relief. "Sure. Whatever," she mumbled.

Her wound had been tended to —and that reminded her of the damage that still surrounded them. Purple glanced as well, before sucking on her teeth.

"It will take a lot more than a sweep and a mop to right this place," the Dreamcatcher sighed.

"You'll need to fix the roof," Georgia pointed out. "Before it rains."

Purple cursed, as though she hadn't thought of that.

The Dreamcatcher could order a supply of wooden planks to patch the hole. But Georgia had a feeling that Purple's slight and slender frame would prove fixing the roof on her own, quite a challenge.

Though if she changed her apparence, perhaps her strength and capacity would change with it.

In the meantime, Purple decided to formulate a stopgap by buying a tarpaulin-gram —a waterproof holographic sheet that fit itself into any exposed area. It would only last for month at best, given the weather.

"I cannot afford to fix it properly at the moment," the Dreamcatcher said worriedly. "I doubt I'll make enough money this month. People want dreams, but I only have so many left."

"I could...give you some?" the teenager offered uncharacteristically. She even reproached herself after the suggestion, wondering if she was up for the task. There was only so much she could conjure.

"That is sweet," Purple admitted, "but one person does not have enough disparities in their dreams in order for me to offer them to others."

Georgia's eyebrows knitted. "...It's a shame Dreamcatchers can't dream, then."

Purple paused and stared at her, her violet eyes shimmering like stars in a nebula cloud.

"...What?" said the girl.

"We do not dream," she confirmed. "But what I saw when I used that magic..." she then trailed off and lifted one bandaged hand.

Georgia looked on uncertainly as the Dreamcatcher's eyes set and bore into her palm, as though searching for something. To both of their surprise, a lilac light began to emit; embedded underneath the surface of her skin. Curls of blue and pink mist snaked along her arms, before she gasped and looked directly at the door.

Only...Georgia was sure that she was seeing something else; evident by the flitting movements of her eyes.

"What is it?" the girl asked.

Purple's eyes widened as she snapped her fingers closed, making a fist. Her gaze adjusted, before she addressed Georgia gravely. "...I saw my sister."