Dream III:

Tap...Tap-tap tap...
My feet barely make a sound on the wooden floor beneath me. I look down and stifle the urge to roll my eyes at the outfit the Haze has chosen to put me in this time. White ballet slippers would explain the lack of sound coming from my foot steps. Especially when the acoustics in this place make my breathing echo, barely but still... White stockings, an ivory and gold tutu complete with a white petticoat, followed by a red and green corset that has golden trimmings. I'm really starting to miss the ball gowns, tres haute coutre. In this, I look like the Christmas fairy ballerina. And again, my hair is long, dark brown, and curly.
"I get it", I announce to no one, "you like me better as a brunette."
Taking a step forward, I pause. Near by I can hear whispers. Or rather, the sound of people talking with the volume turned down to the point of whispering.
"And we're deeply honored to introduce our new patron, Vicomte du Chagny!" the voice of a man spoke in French. At once I felt something in my chest tug me toward the sound, while the Haze filled the air around me with anger and confusion. I could hear my own voice in my ears gasp the name 'Raoul', before the speaking continued. 
    Squinting towards the voices, I tried to mentally push the Haze from me to let me see. It was like seeing ghosts, or holograms from some unseen projector. Girls younger than myself, wearing the same horrible get-up. Men in clothing that reminded me of the new steampunk craze, tail-coats and all. But my gaze stuck on one man. He was closer to my age, give or take a year, dressed in a suit and top hat. Something about him, I was sure I'd never seen him before, and yet I matched him with the voice from earlier.
   This is Raoul. The Vicomte du Chagny. Again, I felt the impulse to go to him. Followed by conflicted anger from the omniscient Haze as it held me back.
    My heart lept for seemingly no reason when he started to speak. The ghostly figures starting to become more and more real.
"My family and I are honored to support the arts," he began, " especially the world renowned Opera Populaire."
   The world shifted, and he was gone. I could feel the Haze glaring at me from somewhere. Clearly, it hadn't expected me to react that way to the man. Now the elderly men that were talking earlier walked around myself and the other younger girls. I realized that I was the only one of them not dancing but didn't think it mattered. They looked right at me and didn't seem to notice. The were walking with an older woman. I didn't - as I am, I don't- know her, but my own voice again supplied the name. Madame Giry. The name was supplied with warmth and trust, sounding in my head as though it should rhyme with 'mother.'

"We take particular pride in the excellence of our ballet, monsieur," Mme Giry explained while the men perused us. Names? I asked my mind. Monsieur Richard Firmin and Monsieur Giles Andre - they'd just bought the Opera Populaire. In wonder, I looked around. So I'm in an opera house...
"I see why, especially that little blonde angel," Firmin replied.
"My daughter, Meg Giry," Madame explained, dissuading any potential lecherous thoughts. He stumbled to collect himself, realizing he'd possibly offended.
"And that exceptional beauty!" He was pointing to me. I stared blankly at him, though no one seemed to be noticing me. "No relation, I trust?"
"Christine Daae - a promising talent, Monsieur Firmin, very promising." Christine? My name was Christine? I look around into the lights above where I sensed the Haze watching me, questioning. This was the first real answer I'd ever received from it. 
"Daae, you say? No relation to the famous Swedish violinist?" Andre inquired.
"His only child, orphaned at seven when she came to live and train in the dormitories." Giry explained again. Just getting a name was enough for me, but hearing about a family? I implored the Haze to answer me. Who is Christine? Why am I being shown her memories? My name is Anouk! ANOUK, DO YOU HEAR ME? 
  The conversation continued around me regardless.
"Orphan you say?" Firmin asked, eying me in a way that made me uncomfortable." I think of her as a daughter, as well." Both the Haze and I grinned our appreciation for Mme Giry. Firmin was a business man of recent wealth, it was not uncommon for men of his position to use their wealth as a means to take advantage of younger girls. Even in my actual life, it happened all the time. Mme Giry had just saved us. Us?

I stepped away from the dancing girls and the people around me swirled as paint mixed into water, vanishing and leaving me on stage in the empty opera house. 
If this was a stage, maybe the Haze was my audience? 

"Haze," I began, shaking my head. The name I'd given the force that took me places when I slept sounded stupid. I tried again. "Christine?" I could feel its attention on me. "Are you Christine?" It seemed upset.
Again, voices swirled around me.
My own: "He doesn't remember me."
Madame Giry: "Christine Daae" her voice matter-of-fact.
Meg, my best friend?: "Christine! Christine!? Where in the world have you been hiding?"
Raoul: "Little Lotte, let her mind wonder..." His voice brought warmth to my finger tips which I hadn't realized were cold.
Lastly, another voice, one I couldn't place. The Haze lifted its glare from me and physically relaxed the air. It sang a name.
"Christine." Not just a name any more. That was MY name. I recalled last night's dream. Only it wasn't a dream. It was a memory. Somehow, I was remember something from a life that wasn't mine. But I knew, I KNEW the name was my own. And the monster, the beast from last night was the same being singing my name to me now, singing me to him. How could such a beautiful song come from something so-...
Haze cut me off, threatening something. So, the Haze was protective of the beast. It was the first time I'd been able to connect two dreams together. I'd been having them my whole life. Always me running from something that wanted to keep me, to possess me. I wondered at the monster I'd seen.
My thoughts were interrupted. I was wearing another ball gown. Finally! This one was white and huge. My hand was held by Raoul. I was happy. But Raoul isn't my monster. Confusion, the same that I felt from the Haze earlier, creeps upon me. I love Raoul. He keeps me safe. 
  The memory changes. I've been separated from Raoul, and burning eyes stare into mine. I'm entranced by them. Not a monster. Not fully a man. The Phantom stares deep into my soul, I see hurt behind his ferocity. Hurt and then anger at something he sees on me. Reaching out to me, he tears off my necklace and growls "you're chains are still mine, you belong to me!"
The memory shifted away once more. This time, I felt tears in my eyes. I was in the room by the underground lake from last night's dream. Somehow, I was floating away from my Phantom, his mask off. The Haze didn't trust me enough to let me see his face, however, I felt regret and love looking at him. This half-man I didn't know or understand, but remembered from another life.
As I awoke this morning, his harsh whisper, thick with his own sadness, lingered in my mind.

Dream II:
 

I think I'm dreaming. It's hard to tell.
It's like I have two sets of memories in my head. Not sure which is the real me. It's like waking up from a half-sleep, where I was trying to nap while people were talking so it's all weirdly in my head. I remember being tired and walking through a dimly lit hallway. I think someone was with me, but that might have been a dream. I remember water, but the nearest port to the House is a mile or so. I remember candles, and a bed? Not my own bed. I was talking to Raoul. He'd come to see me after the show. He'd remembered me!
   In horror, I look around. This couldn't be HIS bed. Looking down, I'm in my nightgown. The bed is like a dream, bigger than the girls in my quarters and I get. The sheets feel like soft fluffy butter looks. My hair is brown, long, and curly. My mind struggles to make sense of this. The last time it was brown, I was 19? And the last time it was this long... I must have been thirteen, fourteen? The haze in my mind clears for a moment, I grasp at memories of me in jeans, living in America with my step-mom, talking in English. American English. These memories can't-... The haze settles back in, hushing my reason, insisting that the American girl is someone I read about once. I'm 16 now. My hair is long and brown. And I've... traveled through the looking glass in my dressing room. Logic raises her voice with a resounding "Huh?" before the Haze continues reminding me of who I am.
   I stand up, a little dizzy. Faintly, I hear music. Something the like of which I haven't heard before, but the tone sounds familiar. Angry, powerful, yet enticing - asking for something. I follow it. Someone is sitting at a piano, not eight feet from the bed. How didn't I hear that sooner? He's wearing a loose shirt, my mind supplies the word for it, but it escapes me as not important. He isn't Raoul. He's heard me and his fingers still, the last notes lingering then fading into the air. He stands and towers over me, I can't see his face. Maybe the memory is incomplete? I search my mind for why a face isn't registered in my mind. The Haze, now personified as something in my brain pushing me towards him, hushes me again. Of their own volition, my hands reach up. I realize now that I'm just watching, along for the ride, not really there. The man stands so close, I can smell musk and burnt wood. I feel one of his hands around my waist through the sheer fabric, another one cupping my left cheek. The stupid Haze won't let me see his face, but in the memory I know I'm looking up into his eyes. I sense him looking down at me with wonder. My own hands cup his face. As I am, I imagine what comes next. Lips touching, eyes closing, the same way all my dreams seem to end. Instead, the memory's hands reach further up and pull something off the Man's face. In a second, he forces me away, turning from me. But the memory has already seen his face. I sense remorse and guilt from the Haze as it loosens its grip. In my mind, I shift through the memory to repeat what I've just witnessed. I see the face.
I see what should have been a face.
I see fangs, and craters where skin should be, I see bone sticking out of flesh. But most of all, what I can never un-see, are burning, red eyes. The Haze lashes at my consciousness, forcing me out of the memory. I sense pain from it. How dare I judge?

I wake up in my own bed. No Jakes tonight. No anyone tonight.

​

Dream I:
He's coming. Oh God, how'd he find me? I stop around a corner to catch my breath. All this damn place IS corners. No doors, how'd I get in here? Just endless hallways and turns and more hallways. I can't hide, I just keep running. My heart pounds in my skull, I swear I can almost hear it echo. Have to keep quiet, he's coming. He's coming. He's- no... RUN!
My feet find purchase and I'm off as fast as I can go. I didn't even hear him come after me. He never seems to run or give chase. He's just there, always right there, around every corner, in every hidey-hole. My thoughts are wild, my body wants to give up. Maybe I should let him kill me. There's no escaping him. I round yet another corner, the end has some crates and a small window. Hope and relief flood through me as I race towards it. Climbing up, I move to open the window when I hear footsteps. Usually I never hear footsteps. He's always just there. I can sense his intent. He wants me to hear him coming, to feel my life end with each step he takes. I turn back to the window. It only opens a few inches. Shit!
    Tears begin swelling up in the corners of my eyes. No, I'm so close! I bang on the glass, but it doesn't budge.
"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP! PLEASE HE'S GONNA KILL ME!!!!" I scream as loud as I can. He knows where I am. There's no point in keeping quiet anymore. I take a deep breath and lunge with every bit of force I have at the glass. My fist breaks through, but glass shards dig into my wrists. The pain catches me off guard, and I lose my balance. Glass slices through my hands as I fall to the ground, fortunate to land on my ass instead of my head. Determined, I get up, ignoring the pain and the Luke-warm blood dripping onto the floor. I hold that hand close to my chest and get up to climb back.
  As I'm reaching put with my good hand, something stops me. A change in the air? Cold wind brushes the back of my neck and causes every tiny hair on my body to stand up. I imagine it's like what a ghosting breathing on me would feel like. If ghosts were real. If ghosts had lungs to breathe with. Skeletal hands grip my shoulders, and I focus my mind on possibly my last thoughts. He turns me around to face him, but my gaze stays down. I'm not ready to look death in the face. Somewhere in my mind, I realize that I'm shivering. He leans in, and I think he's going to bite me or sniff me or something weird so I shut my eyes and flinch, reading myself for it. The smell or rotting flesh fills my nostrils, causing more tears to come.
At first, nothing happens.
   Then cold, chapped lips brush against mine. The smell becomes so strong, I nearly vomit. From the recesses of my mind, I can almost see an image try to form. Something red, like a glowing heart, or the embers of a dying flame. I can hear someone, in my head, crying, screaming out to someone. In a flash, my mind takes me back to where I am. My eyelids flutter open, gaze focusing on the lips. Not just cracked, but open with sores. Gross. My gaze aims upwards, at the eyes. Or ...omigosh... Instead of eyes, he has holes. Big gaping holes with insects crawling in and out. My mouth opens to scream-...
       Jerking awake with a gasp, I look around, trying to figure out where I am. I'm in a bed but not my own. It's dark. To my left I hear a growl and startle again before relaxing. The growl was a snore. The man who had taken me home tonight - Jake, I think. A little more into himself than what I usually go for, but these days the only way I get any sleep is by tiring myself out. It wasn't the most dignified way to go about life, but whatever...bird's gotta fly.
     His apartment is small. One of those refurbished warehouses turned into a studio with a loft. The bedroom separated by a curtain from the kitchen. I quietly make my way to the kitchen, leaving the curtain open, so I can make sure he's still there if I hear any noises. Leaning against one of the counters, I sip on some tap water from one of his few clean rocks glasses. Life of the chronically bachelor'd. The thought makes me laugh until I'm brought back to that creepy zombie kiss. I know it was just a dream, but the fact that part of me (in the dream) likened it to "glowing hearts and dying embers"? Wtf? That just creeps me out.
    I'm still leaning, in my own little world, when the sound of footsteps startles me. My eyes glance up, afraid of what I might see. Jake walks in, dressed in boxers so low I can see the beginning of his member. An eyebrow raises at me, followed by a lopsided grin as he situates himself next to me on the counter, grabbing my glass of water for himself. It's now that I realize I've been rubbing the pad of my thumb along my bottom lip. Immediately, I stop and turn towards him, a slow grin working across my own face. So maybe he is a little full of himself. This man looks like he just walked out of a Calvin Klein photo shoot.
   "What?" he laughs, catching me looking. I push myself off the counter, set the glass down and grab his hand, pulling him back towards the bedroom.
"I'm ready for round two..." I reply in my most seductive voice. Judging by how eagerly he follows, I'm guessing he bought it.