Constance looked beautiful, dressed in a knee-length lacey midnight-blue dress. Her hair was curled in ringlets, fastened in the back with an abalone clip that their grandmother had. Her makeup was minimal — eyelashes curled and painted, cheeks rosy, and lips glossy and nude. She stood beside Temperance, looking ahead solemnly. Temperance frowned at her expression, noting the crystal beads of tears being held back in her chocolate brown orbs. Her bottom lip quivered, face contorted tightly, as though hiding extreme anguish.

Temperance reached for her, but Constance moved out of reach, walking down rows of empty chairs as they sat on green, vibrant grass. The path ahead was blurry and when Constance got too far, Temperance could barely see her hazy form. She, too, began walking forward, arm outstretched as she tried to catch up to her sister.

"Connie, what are you...?" Her words trailed off as she watched a blurry shape in the distance as they both approached. Oblong until the blurriness refined, and then Temperance could make out clear-cut edges. She gasped when the full picture came into view. A coffin. Dark brown in color, with a glossy coating across the wood. Ornate damask designs wrapped around the edges of the box, swirling like clouds. She could see the first-half lid was raised, white velvet lining the inside. Constance sobbed quietly as she approached, and Temperance furrowed her brow as she followed, keeping her distance.

White flowers that she did not notice straight away were tucked into Constance's trembling fist. Casablanca lilies. Her favorite.

Constance came up to the open coffin, fat tears rolling down her face, streaking mascara as they went. Standing over the coffin, she bent down, placing the flowers inside. She fiddled with something inside, before stepping away, dissolving back into a blur in the distance.

Temperance swallowed. As if unable to resist temptation, her legs began moving of their own accord, slowly carrying her to the coffin. And as she was forced to move, surmounting dread grew heavier and heavier in her gut. The weight of it made it feel as though her steps slowed, but her eyes were taking in things quickly.

She caught sight of dark hair in the coffin and her breathing hitched. Then a pale arm came into view, then a white dress.

Temperance's breath stuttered as she grew nearer and nearer. She squinted her eyes shut until her legs ceased their movement, her hips digging into the lip of the coffin as she reached her destination. Her heart beat quickly in her chest, threatening to explode out of her mouth. She wanted to turn around and leave, but she felt her eyelids being pried open by some unseen force, making her gaze into the coffin. Slowly, the body came into focus, and she felt all the blood drain from her face.

The body was her. Temperance's double lay before her, eyes closed and arms crossed over her chest. The flowers lay tucked between her index finger and thumb, but they were now withered and dead.

Temperance felt herself shudder as she involuntarily reached into the coffin with shaking hands to confirm that it was her. The skin was deathly pale, her face sunken with dark, purple shadows in the curve of its cheekbone and beneath her sunken eyes. Her corpse was painted with makeup to try and liven her up — eyeshadow, peachy lipstick, and rosy blush. But she could still see the dark purple veins peeking through the eyeshadow and the dark hallows of her cheeks. But it was her nonetheless. A thinner, sicker version of her.

She prodded the cheek, and before she could react, the corpse's hand shot out, grabbing hold of Temperance's wrist. Temperance shrieked, trying to escape the cold grasping fingers that squeezed into the bones of her wrist. She tried to pry the skeleton-like fingers, but they held fast. Her frightened orbs caught a flash of red in her peripheral. The eyes were open, wide and horrifying. Crimson flowed from the tear ducts over the cheeks, as the eyes shined a brilliant cerise color, a far cry from her gray orbs. Its mouth opened, full of fangs and a jaw that opened much too wide, and just as it began to speak—

She bolted up in bed, gripping her wrist to her chest as she greedily inhaled air. A fine sheen of sweat coated her body like a second skin, sticking her hair to her forehead and her nightgown to her form. When her heart rate settled, she collected her head into her palms, taking deep, grounding breaths. She had not had a nightmare since she was a child. In those days, she would crawl from her bed and seek her grandmother's comforting hugs. Ruth MacKenzie would — no questions asked — get up from bed and take Temperance to the kitchen, grabbing a chair and encouraging the young girl to sit down as she strung an apron around her waist. In the middle of the night, she would make a little cake in a mug.

"Sweet things take away the bitterness of bad dreams," she would say as she whipped up the cocoa powder and flour. Temperance would sit at the table, waiting for Constance's predictable footsteps to come and sneak out of bed, drawn by the smell of warm chocolate. She was just happy to be where her family was, kicking her legs to and fro while she sat next to Temperance, leaning her head on her older sister's shoulder.

And the three of them sat at the dinner table, blowing the steam from the hot mug cakes. Their grandmother would tell them fairytales or memories of when their mother was a little girl until the warm, sweet food made their eyelids droop. Only then, she would collect the mugs and send them off to sleep.

But now her grandmother was not here to help her through her post-nightmare anxiety, and Constance was thousands of miles away in a whole other country. Temperance's chest contracted as she took that thought in and internalized it. She was alone. No one to comfort her.

She tried laying back down to go back to sleep, but it seems that her grandmother's words about bitterness were all too true. She needed something sweet. She would love a bath to calm her down, but that was not an option here.

Groaning, she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She grabbed her phone and her key card and ventured out into the hallway. She used her flashlight to illuminate the way. The marble flooring was ice-cold against her bare feet, but it only aided in keeping her focused on her goal. She hoped that the kitchen had some of the granola bars out, or at least an orange. Her mouth craved to sink into something sweet. If it could not be warm, it had to be sweet.

As she came up to the stairwell, she spotted a familiar face in the dark. Mircea came out of the dining hall, hands behind his back. Upon catching Temperance's eye, he straightened up. He wore another immaculately ironed suit, with a nice, monochromatic tie to bring it all together.

"Miss MacKenzie," he greeted.

"Oh, hi," she replied softly, much more vulnerable than she intended.

His face lost its edges when her voice echoed around the corridor. "Another migraine?"

She shook her head. Her pain was still there, on the back burner, but not near as terrible as it had been before. "No, I um... I just wanted something to eat. Bad dream."

Mircea nodded, understanding. "Would you like some company?"

Temperance's stomach fluttered, and a weak smile tugged at the corners of her lips. "Yes, please."

She was glad to see that the dining hall still had some pastries wrapped in cellophane, sitting in a wicker basket by the front entrance. She grabbed one and took a seat, unwrapping it and biting into the sweetness. Mircea sat across from her, hands folded before him. There were no words exchanged between them, but Temperance did not need them The fact that there was someone with her brought her back to when her grandmother would make something for her and Constance to eat.

"My grandma would make me something sweet to eat after a nightmare," Temperance said quietly. She felt the need to explain, as Mircea sat there, offering quiet comfort.

He hummed. "I see. Do you have nightmares often?"

She shook her head. "Haven't had one since I was — like — twelve, maybe? It's been a really long time. I suppose I was due to have one."

"My..." he paused, gathering his words and clearing his throat. "My daughter used to have nightmares when she was little. I did not go and make her food as your grandmother did for you, but I would get her water or stay with her until she fell asleep. She hated talking about it, but she liked the fact that there was an option to either discuss it or stay quiet and sit together."

Temperance smiled. "You sound like a good father."

He chuckled. "I certainly could have been better, but thank you."

"Somehow I doubt that," Temperance said as she took another bite. "So, you finished washing my clothes for me."

"I hope it was not too strange of me to do so."

"Mmm, a little," she chuckled. "But I understand why you did it. It sucks that the laundry room is out of order." She gauged his reaction. He did not squirm nor look uncomfortable at all. His blue eyes pierced her as they normally would, not at all threatening or taken aback.

Mircea hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, it is unfortunate. It will be open sometime this week. There was a... malfunction with one of the machines."

Malfunction, my ass, she thought.

"Sounds expensive," she said simply. "And problematic."

"Quite. How are you feeling?"

Temperance swallowed the food in her mouth. "Fine. Better now. Something about... about being next to someone really helps."

And he smiled, his teeth straight and pearly-white. It was soft and not at all forced. "I am glad to know I can be of assistance."

And then he went silent, quietly offering his companionship. As she chewed and soaked in the quietness, her anxiety lessened, the urge to sleep coming more easily. When she had eaten the last of her sweet treat, she balled the plastic wrap into a ball. She threw it in the trash beside the table, and as she stood, so did he. He towered over her, yet it was not threatening or upsetting in the slightest. He was a beacon of comfort, with his angular face exemplifying a softness she had never seen before on another person.

He walked her out of the dining hall, the distance between them respectable. They parted in front of the stairwell.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For sitting with me. And for finishing drying my clothes for me. I appreciate it."

He nodded with warm eyes. "It was my pleasure. Have a safe trip back to your room."

"I will," she promised. "Good night, Mircea."

"Good night, Miss MacKenzie. Pleasant dreams."

Down the hall, she went, back to her dorm with a full belly and a smile on her face.