I dreamed of Lenorre. I don’t remember all of the details of the dream. What I do remember is this: her entire body encased in black, black pants, black long-sleeved shirt, so much black it was hard to discern where the shirt stopped and pants began. I remember the way she moved, how she raised her head slowly to reveal her striking silvery eyes. Even in dreams, there was a quiet air about her that commanded attention.
This too, I remember: a door opening. One of the vampires in her keep brought a girl of some sixteen to seventeen years old in. The vampire tossed the girl at Lenorre’s feet like a broken doll. Lenorre rose from her throne, moving in that quiet way that was transfixing. A woman’s voice whispered at my ear, breaking Lenorre’s spell, breaking the undeniable urge to watch her. I turned toward the voice, turned to meet eyes that I knew were an intense sea-green, (as this specific character isn’t introduced until book two - I’ll not say much about her). The words she whispered made my skin prickle and then, I was pissed. In Kassandra fashion, I summoned my anger. Lenorre had returned to her seat and I approached, giving voice to my anger and displeasure. She didn’t say a word. The whole time, she said absolutely nothing to me. She sat there and watched me, watched me as if she had all the time in the world to wait for my anger to dissipate. When she didn’t rise or respond to my anger, it quieted. I sighed, realizing she wasn’t going to fight with me. Whatever decision she had made in the dream had been her own and she was secure and unyielding in it. I remember her coming to me then, reaching out and touching my hair (mine is closer in length to hers than Kassandra's - that's how I knew I was myself and not Kass in the dream). There was a thoughtful look in her eyes that mingled with a weight of sadness I didn’t understand.
I woke wanting to work on the book, wanting to see Lenorre happy again. If my muse or subconscious was trying to find a way to guilt trip me into resuming my work on the third book, it succeeded. I think the only way I’m going wash the memory of Lenorre’s sadness from my head is by jumping back into the thick of it.
There are edits I need to work on, but today...today I’m going to go play in Kassandra’s world and try to shake this feeling of guilt. Damn it, Lenorre.
Blessings,
Winter
