Folds of Scarlet

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The dream came upon her again. That big black thing in the bright hall. Flecked with wine-dark red. A twist of teeth, a snarl of saliva, pink foam. Shimmering along the marble, like a candle flame but utterly lightless. Bristling. And his face, smooth and pale, the golden tassels on his shoulders tilting towards her. A fierce coldness in his eyes that blew out the light and drew in murky shadows as thick as the water that pulled her vessel home. Red crushing to her cheek. And then the black shape was standing over him, and she felt its hot breath in her face.

She woke then. It felt as though the world were rocking, as if she were carried upon waves. Then it grew still, the tatami mat turned solid. The sound of insects drifted through the rice paper. She hunted for strange shapes in the moonlight, but none appeared. And she thought of him. As she would for many years.

Until the light would finally pierce the shape and set it afire.

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