The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
Saint Jerome (374 AD - 419 AD)
Nightmares The room is dark, filled with mist. Jerolyn squints her sore eyes to see into the darkness but she can't make anything out...
The room is also cold, and damp and she can hear water dripping in the corner, but cannot see the source. It smells like the slums, in addition to the rusty salty smell she can't seem to place, and several other bitter smells that sting her nostrils and eyes.
A figure steps from the shadows...
He is tall and lean, at first appearing to be a shadow himself. He reaches out a hand, beckoning Jerolyn to come to him, though she obviously has no intention to.
Upon stepping closer, she can make out his features....
He's an older man, with chalky skin and dark hair like the night. His features are handsome, with firmly placed cheekbones and a squared chin. But his eyes are crimson, and as he smiles two pearly white fangs are visible.
He beckons her again, whispering her name, and this time she approaches. He places a cold hand on her bare back, and whispers something in her ear, placing a silver handled dagger into her hand. She steps into the mists, leaving him in the darkness, knowing what she must do.
Soon she approaches a stone table. A women lies on the table gagged, her hands and legs tied down...bloodied and bruised her features are nearly impossible to make out, but Jerolyn knows who she is...
The woman is thin from lack of nourishment, whimpering but unable to squirm or cry out, she barely holds onto life. The silver dagger glistens in the darkness and a smile curls around the lips of it's bearer.
"Good morning Joslyn," she purrs, then lifts the dagger running her fingers along the blade, her eyes filled with wicked excitement "How shall we start today..?"
She doesn't wait for the girl to answer, though it is clear from her condition she wouldn't have been unable to. She plunges the blade into her thigh, in one spot where there were no wounds. Despite the gag, a high pitched squeal emits from her throat, followed by a sinister chuckle coming from the mists.
Jerolyn pulls back the dagger, able to control her actions for the first time in this sick charade. Two iron arms find their way around Jerolyn's small waist as the man rests his chin against her shoulder, pressing his lips to her jaw line and whispering in her ear...
"Welcome home..."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Jerolyn woke up, gasping for breath but not screaming like the night before...when it was her on the stone table...
Her body was covered and sweat and she threw off the heavy covers, grabbing her aching head, trying to shake off the dream.
It's been nearly two weeks since Jerolyn arrived in Barovia, and so much has changed for her since then. Nightmares continue to plague her unconscious, and haunt her in her wake...nightmares of her past apparently, the past that she can't even force her self to remember.
This, however, was the first night Joslyn was in her dreams. She'd met the woman three days ago when she started harassing Jerolyn at the Lady's Rest, claiming she knew her and that her attack was justified.
Perhaps she hadn't been lying...
No! Jerolyn couldn't allow her mind to go down this path...It would kill her if the nightmares didn't.
As she removed her thin night clothes, pulling on her dark leather pants, the branded
K on her side caught her eyes in the mirror, as it usually did. It was obviously old, and healed as well as it ever would be...a dark red mark on her tanned skin, right below her lower back, just above her pants.
She was a good person, no matter what dreams or random crazy homicidal women said otherwise...there was no conflict, no doubt in her mind, that she was perfectly incapable of hurting anyone. Life was sacred, and there was never any excuse to take the life of an innocent...but still...