Three [It wasn't unlike Achilles to have nightmares. They were common when he'd thrust himself through battle with each new life. He knew no different, and mentally it was unstable. While his nightmares generally were of carnage, visions of his past lives, the blood he'd spilled, women did not often corner into the base of his mind.
Since meeting that little Muse, Erato had sneaked in. This time when he awoke from a clamoring dream it wasn't with the face of a dying comrade, but the sullen eyes of the blond innocent that had professed her love for him just weeks ago. Her face however was not with that budded pink hue that grew on her cheeks, her hair dull and lifeless, her skin was just as lacking with color. On a war torn wasteland she was in the middle of it, in his arms covered in blood with hardly a breath left.
It jolted him. He sprang up from his bed drenched in sweat, looking down to a lap that was inhabited by nothing more than his bedsheets. He looked to the clock. It was 3 a.m.]
Disturbed by the past, present and the future that has yet to come. If my dreams have any sort of dark forecast, I do hope in fact they are false for once. [Filter: Erato] You are safe are you not?