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Their hands are cold. That’s the first thing you notice. Belladonna’s hands have never been cold before, after all.
You notice the blood second. It spreads out from their body alarmingly fast and you cannot avoid it staining your clothes.
And then they speak. Their voice is nothing more than a rasping whisper, so different from the soft, gentle sound you are used to hearing.
“You didn’t come back,” they say. You open your mouth to protest, to say that you’re here now, that you’ve come back , but they don’t give you a chance. “You promised.”
You promised you’d come back. Promised that no matter how long you were gone or how far you went, you’d always return to the Temple. Your hands shake as you clutch one of Belladonna’s own. Their skin is icy.
“I came back,” you try to say, but your voice doesn’t seem to work. “I kept my promise.”
Their eyes stare up at the ceiling, their hand limp.
“You promised,” they wheeze out again. “But you didn’t come back in time.”
It’s that night all over again. Your brother instead of Belladonna, and you the one reminding him of his promise. You reach out to try to staunch the blood flow somehow, but your hands tremble far too much and you drop them uselessly back to your sides.
“I’m sorry,” you try to say. You still cannot speak. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you register that this must be a nightmare. The rational part of your brain reminds you that when you wake up, Belladonna will be okay.
But the panic overrides that. All you can see right now is this moment, watching the Neath’s sun burn out and die. You raise a shaking hand to Belladonna’s face but draw back when you realize that all you will do is stain them with blood.
“I promised,” you admit quietly. The dream allows you to speak, this time. “I promised that I’d always come back, didn’t I?”
You are not allowed to finish your sentence. You are not allowed to remind them that you have never broken your promise.
“You promised.”
It is barely more than a whisper this time, but you feel as though it echoes all around you.
You promised, you promised, you promised. And this is what happens when you break your promises.
But maybe you can still fix this. You can save Belladonna. You must be able to, somehow, but your hands still shake when you reach out. They were made to wound, not heal, after all; they are useless now. And you have no choice but to watch as your dear friend fades away before you.
“You promised,” they whisper one last time. The betrayal in their voice will haunt you for the rest of your life, and it rings in your ears even as you wake with a gasp. As predicted, Belladonna is there still when you wake, and you reach out for them just to make sure they are real.
You pretend not to see the way your hands still tremble.