Melpomene, only lightly sleeping, dreamed the world rent into fragments. Perhaps that’s what came from reading Ares and Apollo’s arguments before bed, swiftly and skillfully silenced by Persephone, although it was more than just that. It was Clio’s turn toward the darker side of herself, promising vengeance. It was the coup in Ares’ ranks and the demotion of her Tragos. The murder of Hecate. The union of Greek and Myth and Christian against one lone Sheriff and the one lone Sheriff still holding strong. The snarl of fates that Atropos spoke of, growing and growing and tangling and strangling, as the ground crumbled, as the sky tore open, as the sun went black, as the stars went out.
She woke, her body still, stiff, as the sensation of falling dumped her, heart racing, into Alan’s bed. In a moment, she breathed out slowly, laying a hand on her belly where the baby was peddling his feet against her, like he was running from the crumbling earth - or hands, scrabbling for grip as he fell, too? Her dreams, which had (disappointingly) never been prophetic, had become more wild lately. Her pregnancy? Her life?
“Alan?” she murmured, uncurling herself to reach behind her, but there was no Alan there. She made a small noise of disappointment and rolled over, and found herself definitely alone in his bed.
If the Sheriff had crept in while she was sleeping and taken him… the thought dropped the earth out from under her again, an unpleasant recreation of the dream. Still struggling her way out of sleep, Melpomene searched for her coat in the dark of his room, searched for her knife in its pocket – before she realised that she could still feel two immortals there in the apartment. The wave of relief made her so dizzy she needed to put one hand out to stead herself against the wall.
The ground did not remake itself entirely, Melpomene still felt a little shaken, a little tentative, as she pulled on her coat against the night’s chill and stepped out to find Alan.
He was hunched under a whole world of misery, shoulders shaking like Atlas beneath the weight of it. "Love?" she said softly, stepping toward him, and laying her hands on those heavy shoulders.