Imitation

6

Sweven (n.) a vision seen in sleep; a dream

I shrieked, the sound cutting and tearing through the silence of the dreary room. I dropped the brush onto the floor as I pulled my hand to my chest.
Why is Jasper's hair on that brush? What if they kidnapped him as well, what if they hurt him or even worse, oh god please let my brother be okay.
These thoughts ran through my head as warm tears started rolling down my face, I had to pull my self together, I forced myself to stop crying, deep breaths, in and out. I knelt down and picked up the brush and turned it over so I could see the bristles, the hair was gone. That can't be. I dropped to my knees and searched around for the lock of hair that must've fallen. My hand glides over the dark oak floor and then along the soft furry grey carpeting. It was gone, I'm suffering from trauma that's what this is. I'm hallucinating, I'm going insane.
I take a deep breathe and stand up slowly, I walk over to window with the black curtains drawn.
I reach my hand out to grab the velvety fabric, though it irritates my skin, my hands were rubbed raw due to the bindings I was in previously. I carefully pull back the curtain slightly, peeking my head out. I see a man. His leg was extremely bloodied and discolored, he was being carried by two men, one with white hair hair and pale skin, he seemed rather tall, the other man with light brown hair and tanned skin. The man they were carrying looked to be crying out in agony.

My hand was draped over my mouth as I watched the men curiously, I was so focused that I let out a short scream when the door to the room I was in was flung open.
"What the hell is going on in here?" An average height man with grey hair growled. He was slender and lean, though his hair was grey he didn't look old enough to have it be that way, his eyes where a gold amber color and his facial features seemed hollow. My heart started pounding like a rabbits in my chest.
The man strides over to me, he looked to be older but definitely not frail. I back as far as I can into the wall before he grabs my hair and yanks my head back so I was looking up at him, sharp pins and needles pain radiates through my head "I-I was just looking outside." I whimper.
"Stay quiet until I come back and get you, no looking out the window, no leaving the room, and no screaming!" He spat and released me before striding out the door and slamming it shut.
I placed a careful hand on my head, it was throbbing. With slow breathes and a little noise of pain I shut the curtains and move back I the vintage brush, I pick it up and turn it over in my hand, shaking my head slightly "what is going on?" I sighs and run a hand down my dirty face.
I look into the mirror, slowly raising the brush up to my knotted blonde hair, I start slowly brushing it with the brush I previously thought to have my brothers hair on it. A warm, comforting sensation came over me, my body relaxed, why though? Why did I find comfort in this brush, maybe because I thought some part of my beloved brother could still be on it.
I keep running the brush through my hair until it looked smooth and somewhat normal. Thoughts ran through my head as I stared at myself in the tarnished silver mirror. Werewolves were real, or at least that's what I'm believing as of now, so does that mean the man that was just in here was one, along with the men I saw through the window? And what had injured the man so horribly?
Would I be taken out of this room and if so where?
All these questions ran through my head and I couldn't help but think of all the possibilities. I shook my head trying to rid myself of those thoughts my now smooth hair moving with my head. I look down at the dresser the brush had rested on, then I start to open the grey wooden drawers. They all slid open easily and one after the other they open empty, I carefully inspect them before closing them with a slight thud. I open the bottom drawer and a single item lay inside, a thin white dress.
I pull out the garment and unfolded it, it was old, it looked like something I've only seen in my dreams, whenever I was alone somewhere this dress would pop up, but how could they have it here?
I looked down at my hands and my fingers, one, two, three, four, five, I counted, not a dream. I heard somewhere that that was a way to tell if you were dreaming but I'm not one hundred percent sure. Yet again this item gave off a certain warmth. I subconsciously start undressing slowly, I pull off my dirty, torn clothes and slipped on this vintage white dress.
I gazed at myself in the mirror, the dress looked a little bit like a night gown though it was more intricate and looked as though it was meant to be seen. It was short, it falling to a bit above my knees. The off white lace sleeves flared at the elbow.
I looked like a child, with bare feet and a dirty face, a child who had been kidnapped and taken from everything.
I'm snapped out of my thoughts by the sound of the door opening , the same grey haired man from before grabbed my wrist and pulled me with him, he said something I didn't pay attention to as I set my eyes on the mirror for as long as I could, allowing  my self to be pulled out of the room as if it was an out of body experience. The tarnished, beautiful, silver mirror grew smaller until it was out of my sight completely.