“A man with many faces,” he responds incredulously, brows raised. “You need to be more specific than that, stop talking like you’re a book of riddles and tell me what you saw.”

Her hands drop and her head tilts, her eyes pleading with him to listen and stop with his joking. He nods, hands going up in some small motion of surrender. “Really though, you have to tell me more, not sum it up like that.”

She inhales with some ease now that she’s started to calm and focus. The dream itself is still running through her mind, concerning her greatly, but she’s no longer as shaken by it.

“He had no face, and then he had one, and then he had another. It flickered, and I don’t know which is real,” she explains, looking to him to see if he understood. He nods to show he’s following, and she continues, “In front of his faces, he holds a crown. It’s aged and tarnished, and unlike anything I’ve seen… But the scales on it shimmer.” At this point, she draws her hands in to her own chest, thinking over what came next.

When she pulls them forward again, her movements seem to sputter, but she says, “A woman’s voice speaks to him,” her brow furrows once more with uncertainty. “I don’t know where from, but he’s focused on the crown. It speaks to him, I think… And the woman said, ‘You hold my body, but not my blood. Those who have it seem to pursue such a thing daily- must I give further details, or shall I trust that you are intelligent enough to understand’.”

She finishes and her hands remain held in the air as she watches for his reaction. Slowly, his head continues to nod before he frowns. “I don’t know what that could mean. Do you?” he asks, to which her shoulders drop and she shakes her head. Silence settles between them for a moment before he takes one of her hands and stands. “Come on, it’s too cold for you to be sleeping out here again.”

She glances to the graves, reading the names ‘Celia’ and ‘Amel’ as she’s pulled to her feet.

“I don’t know why you don’t just stay with me,” he continues as he slips an arm around her waist. She waves him away though the forced pout on her lips say her action isn’t to be taken seriously. It fades after a moment, and she separate from him so she may kiss the tips of her fingers and press them to each grave. After a brief moment of solemn silence, she takes a slow step back and is once again welcomed into his arms.

As he guides her away she signs ‘I miss you’ to the graves of the last two people she tried to tell she ‘had a dream’.