| Gilded Cage | Self-para
The weirdest of things could make Natalie Dowell frown in thought and forget the breakfast that lay on a table in front of her. She wasn’t feeling too well, possibly because she hasn’t slept too well either. The dream has tormented her, the weirdest of dreams. She rarely dreamed and even more rarely remembered the said dreams, but there was something so disturbing about the one that plagued her that night. Plagued her enough for her to contemplate on calling for that priest she couldn’t organically stand, Nikolai, to help her decipher them.
She remembers fear. Anger. Depression and isolation. Burning hatred and then disappointment, blame and worry, all mixing and overwhelming at the same time. She recalls seeing her husband, Harold, in one of those dreams. God, how he has suffered. How they all suffered a terrible tragedy, or was it war? Accident? She couldn’t recall all the details. She saw Aurora Britton, the young lass she has took under her wing, a broken little thing from the brothels. And there were Hadrian Leclair and his sister Orena; the three of them called her mom. Perhaps it was only her imagination toying with her cruelly, as bearing children was not in store for the lady.
Natalie sighed heavily, leaning her head on her palm, and looking out the window, waiting for Harold to return. What disturbed her the most about these dreams was that she could really discard them as nothing. Something inside her won’t let it be neglected, always scratching and scratching at the back of her mind. Something told her it was all true. But, she’s refused to believe it, like any other rational person would.
Even if her entire core screamed at her to pay more attention to it.