The cold droplets of rain was a familiar feeling. Each time it made contact with skin sent a jolt throughout his body. It excited him greatly. It only meant one thing: she was here.
As he looked around he saw several figures, or at least he thinks they are. They were more like apparitions due to the cloud-like shapes, but in those black clouds he could clearly see two crimson eyes, fueled by hatred.
The sounds of rain were soon replaced by an eerie of laughter. One of the apparitions, a woman, was strutting towards him with a sickle in each hand. Like every time, he focused on her face, trying to discern her features, but it was no use. Her face was always blurred out. Like every time, she would advance forward, and with her left foot, kick his head into the ground. And like always, that kick would direct his gaze to the figure of the woman lying next to him. Unlike the others, it was a face that he would always recognize. Those sharp auburn eyes, the bright brunette hair; she was the love of his life, his most beloved.
Ironically, despite being so in love he did not know her name. But it did not matter to him, just seeing her always put a smile on his face. As he observed her, he could tell - she was in no better shape than he was. No, she was in a worse state. Her face was bleeding from several lacerations, and a sharp blade was embedded through her forearm into the ground, hindering her movement. If she even tried to move a finger, one of the apparitions would come in and stab her. Those yelps and cries were the only thing he hated every time he saw her.
The female apparition eventually stood above him and prepared her sickle at the base of his throat. When his most beloved saw, she would only struggle more, hurling spewing and curses at the foreboding danger. It only angered the female apparition further. She clicked her tongue and motioned a hand signal to the other apparitions, who responded with more kicks and stabs. When it was all over, he could see the look in her eyes. It was the eyes of defeat. The light in those eyes dimmed as she lost the will to fight back.
The sickle against his neck pressed further, blood dripping from the edge. His most beloved saw everything, and with whatever remaining energy she had, she begged for mercy.
"Please, ████," she said to the female apparition. His most beloved clearly knew who his aggressor was, but the name she spoke came back jumbled to him. Like the apparitions' appearance, he couldn't use names to discern her identity.
"Take me instead," her voice was wavering with pain and sorrow. "Isn't it me that you want? Take me instead! I'll give you anything!"
She grasped the ground with her impaled arm.
"Just...just don't kill him," tears ran down her cheek as she began to sob. "He means everything to me."
The female apparition responded coldly. He couldn't understand what she said, but her continued sobbing could only mean that his most beloved's pleas were futile.
The sickle drove deeper into his neck. Time was running out, and he needed to complete his routine.
He turned to his most beloved who was still begging for his life. With a gentle smile, he comforted her.
"It's okay," he said, "you can stop worrying, I'm going to be fine."
Every time they were at this point, he would reassure her, and she would beg for him to not die. He could see the desperation in her beautiful eyes, so full of ... anger?
"Liar!" she snapped back.
Her sudden shift in attitude took him by surprise - this was first time she had done this. Before he could muster a response of confusion, he felt himself forming words he wasn't thinking of.
"When have I ever lied?"
"All the time! You bastard! Cheater! Filthy Lecher!"
He chuckled, "Who's the liar now?"
The tension had broken, and now the two of them were chuckling. His most beloved's cries for help turned into bursts of laughter. As he met her eyes, he could see the light coming back; she had her full trust in him.
"I don't care how long it takes, how many life times we have to go through. I'll always finds you."
He smiled.
"Sierra, I love-" his words of confession were interrupted by the motion of the sickle. His throat was slit and he began to choke on blood. His line of sight began to fade from the saddened look on his beloved's face to black, and from black to a bedroom ceiling.
The cold feeling of death forced him awake as he jolted up from bed gasping for air. He took many deep breaths before looking at a mirror to reflect on last night's dream. The climax was different from what he had expected. He saw a new side to his beloved. He also saw a new side to himself. But most importantly, he learned something new.
"Sierra," he muttered. The dreamer Silas learned the name of his most beloved.
"What a beautiful name."