WHO: Phoebe Wu WHEN: Late night of October 1 WHERE: Her bedroom SUMMARY: Phoebe finally has her very first Dream and tries to piece it together. WARNINGS: Mention of violence
When she awoke in the dead of the night, she didn't know where she was. The soft blankets and mattress below her was as far removed from what she had ever been used to than it possibly could have been. The soft glow from across the room could have been firelight, until she squinted and instead saw that it was emanating from a salt rock lamp, not that those words made any sense to her in the moment. As she sat up, she had to consider -- did she even know who she was?
Of course she did, she thought, dismissing the ridiculous thought. She was Asterin Blackbeak.
But, in the next moment, she blinked blearily through the dim lighting and looked down at her hands, palms open and facing the ceiling. They were soft and small, but it was the short trimmed fingernails that made her cock her head to the side in curiosity. Sometimes they looked like that, but not always. They hadn't moments ago, before she had woken in this strange place. Inside her mouth, her tongue traced over her teeth, dull and not unfamiliar, but also not what they had been.
It was when she willed the sharp iron nails and teeth that gave her species their name that she realized she wasn't Asterin Blackbeak. No, she was Phoebe Wu. This was her bedroom. That was her light that she left on so she wouldn't fall over the clothes or purse or shoes that tended to be strewn across the floor should she need to get up in the middle of the night.
Still, as Phoebe let her thumb run along the tips of her fingers, her nails short for ease when gaming and typing, she considered the notion of Asterin Blackbeak. It took very little for her mind to conjure the images of the dreams that she'd just lived -- because that was what they were, she realized. Dreams. Still, knowing that they had been some strange story told by her subconscious was not enough to keep her from shuddering, pulling her blankets closer to her chest.
Prior to moments ago, Phoebe would have never been able to accurately describe bloodlust. Now, though, she knew exactly what it felt like. She knew what it was to use those teeth and nails that she'd imagined she ought to have had for death. She knew what it felt like for them to be covered in blood and to want to find more. She knew what it was to be vicious and to enjoy it.
But there was more than that, her mind seemed to want to remind her. There was flying, soaring in the clouds on a broom made of ironwood. There was fellowship, camaraderie, even among witches -- because that was what they were, she realized. Witches.
They had been witches and they'd had more than a clan, but a coven. Thirteen of them. Sorrel, the Third. Vesta, one of whom she had been particularly close with. Faline and Fallon, the green-eyed demon twins. Edda and Briar, the shadows. Thea and Kaya, who had been lovers. Linnea, who would attack anyone who called her that instead of Lin. Ghislaine, intelligent and always reading. Imogen, who was as fearless as any of the others. And then Manon.
Manon.
Phoebe closed her eyes, the darkness doing nothing to dispel the longing that the name inspired. Her mind searched for meaning, all while her heart simply ached. There was no wonder who Manon was to Asterin, her emotions as real to Phoebe in that moment as her own. Manon had been more than Asterin's cousin, more than her Wing Leader. Asterin had protected her for nearly a century and she would go on protecting her for as long as she was able.
But there was more recognition than that. Phoebe felt her own mind spinning, as though there was an understanding just outside of her grasp. There was something that she wasn't seeing, perhaps couldn't see.
Phoebe didn't know how long she sat there, her knees pulled to her chest and her palms pressed to her closed eyes, but eventually she did sink back into the depths of her blankets. But even as sleep pulled her under, the name persisted in her mind.