Posted by Lord Alaric Thorne
“Some dreams are not ours. They are memories that no longer have a body.”
I dreamed last night of a man I’ve never met. Not a vampire. Not a ghost. Something older. Dimmer. Watching from behind the glass.
He walked through the house, but it did not see him. The doors did not open. The walls did not breathe. He was present—but not permitted. As if he had broken something simply by wanting.
He stopped at a cradle. Empty. He reached out—but could not touch it. The wood turned black under his fingers, as though rejecting him.
He never saw her face. He tried. He begged—without words. And when he wept, even the dream recoiled.
“She will never know you,” the house said. “That is your punishment.”
He did not answer. He watched. And I watched him.
I don’t know how long I stood there—between them. Between the cradle and the man who once belonged to her, but was never allowed to be called father.
His eyes met mine once, just before I woke.
He looked at me as if he knew me. Not as a descendant. But as a mirror.
“I was not allowed to see her,” he said. “But she sees you now.”
I woke with dust on my hands and tears that were not mine.
~ Lord Alaric Thorne
Sleeper. Inheritor. Watched.
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