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VIRAGO
Every day, Lucifer acts more strange. He doesn't talk much like he used to. Or at least I think how he used to. His cooking was different. And he hasn't held me once in bed ever since I woke up.
And one of the strangest things I've noticed is how sleepy I am all the time.
No matter how much I sleep, I'm always craving to sit or stay in bed. I guess that's why he doesn't let me cook anything. It's always just him since I barely have the energy.
Eventually, I wrote down my kids' names on a sheet of parchment I found on my little bookshelf. When I remembered all seven, I desperately searched for something to write them down. So imagine the immense happiness I felt when I found the parchment paper with a quill and some ink. Every night, I try to remember where I put it and read it over before bed.
And every night I hide it from Lucifer.
I still believe the future was real. Or I at least try to. Whatever he said about me being in a coma, I guess it could be true? I mean, dreams are strange. You wake up and only remember a small percentage of it anyway. But I don't want it all to be a dream.
I don't even have golden eyes anymore. When Lucifer pointed that out and gave me a mirror, I freaked out. Some things prove that I was in a coma, but I hate it. I hate that at the end of the day, it was all a dream. Gosh, just thinking about this topic makes my brain go all fuzzy.
Lucifer and I were sitting by my garden, eating lunch in silence. And of course, I grew tired yet again. Rubbing my neck, I yawned. Looks like I'm gonna have my second nap for the day.
Lucifer grabbed my wrist, pulling my hand away from my neck. "Stop that. It's annoying."
"Why the hell do you find it annoying?"
"Just stop it. You've been doing that all the time."
I didn't even notice. "Fine, sheesh. I dont have the energy to argue with you anyway."
Lucifer let go of my wrist, staring down at his food. "I'm sorry."
"It's whatever."
"Whatever?"
"Oh, its a saying from the fut–"
"From your dreams."
I sighed. "Uh...yeah."
Lucifer laid his back on the ground, folding his hands behind his head. "Tell me more about these little dreams."
More?
Gripping my dress, I stared at my food. What more could I say? It's like the more time goes by, the more I forget. Like it was all an actual dream. And still, the more I tried to remember, the more my head hurt.
