The only thing Seamus saw was darkness, along with the itch in his throat that refused to fade, the consequence of his own reckless act.
By the time they returned home, Isolde had already patched him up, her face twisted in something between bitterness and restraint.
There had been something in her expression, like she wanted to say something to him… or perhaps warn him. He couldn't tell.
The air between them was unbearably awkward. After everything he'd heard and seen, he simply couldn't act as if nothing had happened.
His hand brushed against his neck. The bandages were damp, and when he pulled his fingers away, there was still fresh blood.
"Oh well… my body really is inside a 'dream,'" he muttered.
He kept walking. Ahead, a light glimmered like the end of a tunnel. He followed it, only to find himself standing in a nursery.
The walls were painted a soft blue, decorated with sea creatures. A cradle rested against the wall, surrounded by toys.
