Page 10 of Synodic

But it appeared he had no intention of laying another finger on me whatsoever. The small yet infinite distance between us taunted me. He was just close enough that I could feel his breath wash over me like the breeze of the ocean, bombarding me with scents of rosewood, brine, and charcoal.

“Why are you here?” I asked in a desperate whisper, my chest heaving from his all-encompassing proximity.

He paused for the briefest of seconds, his eyes dancing across my face.

This was it, the moment I’d been waiting for. I would finally know why I had been dreaming of this man night after night for weeks. My pulse was erratic, pounding at my throat, wrists, and inner thighs, and I felt I was about to explode.

Rowen’s emerald gaze flared with my reflection. “You’re asking the wrong questions, Copeland. It’s not why I’m here, but why are you?”

6

Within the blink of an eye, I was lying back in my bed, the white sheets kicked to the floor. My heart battered against my ribcage, and I fought to catch my next breath. I lifted my hand and pressed it to the side of my face. I was flushed and trembling.

I sat up bolt straight in my bed, taking in my surroundings. How was I in my room? How was I within the four walls of this small, insignificant room when I had just been with him? That couldn’t have been a dream. It felt so real;hefelt so real.

It was the first time he had spoken to me, had told me his name.

Rowen.

He said he wanted to help me, but for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine with what. If it was for a better night’s rest, disappearing altogether would be greatly appreciated.

This mesmerizing being had to be more than just a figment of my imagination. He had a purpose, a reason for appearing to me. Even the memory of the desolate forest pushed against me like a vine growing through concrete.

I’d needed answers, not more questions.

I slammed my body back down onto my bed and squeezed my eyes shut. “Take me back, take me back,” I kept repeating to myself, waiting for my body to obey. It either ignored my request or it wasn’t listening, because Rowen was nowhere in sight.

Unable to fall back asleep, I swung my legs off the bed and started pacing. My mind was racing; images both remembered and long forgotten flashed before my eyes. Then it hit me like a brick wall. A memory of a dream, or a dream of a memory, I couldn’t be sure, but talking with Rowen had unlocked some part of my brain, and I found myself clinging to the awareness.

I didn’t want to forget, not again. I sprinted towards Natalie’s room, needing to tell someone before the memories slipped back behind the veil, only a thin swathe away but still just as hidden.

Without thinking, I whacked her door open with a loud thud and stood at the entrance of her bedroom. She woke with a jolt and shot up from her pillow.

“Whaa, what’s going on?” she screeched.

I felt guilty for waking her, but it was too late to take it back now, so in the most polite voice I could muster, I said, “Oh. I’m sorry, did I wake you?”

“Well yes,” she said, heaving in gasps of air, “as well as scare me to death.”

“I…” She looked at me expectantly. Why were words failing me now? When I didn’t respond, she sighed and patted the edge of her bed. I filled the distance between us and lowered myself onto her coral sheets. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.”

“Going to?” she questioned jokingly.

I ignored the slight because if I didn’t tell her now, I never would. “Well, I had this dream, or more like I’ve been having this dream, but then again, I wouldn’t exactly call it a dream.” I was rambling and waving my arms theatrically in front of myself. Where words failed, I hoped hand gestures made up for it.

“Alright, just slow down,” she advised. “So what’s happening in these dreams?”

Suddenly I very much wanted to get up and leave, but Natalie seemed sincere in her curiosity, and I did just wake her up in the dead of night.

“My dreams have never really felt like dreams. There’s always been something more, something real, something I can’t explain.” The words were now flowing from my mouth with ease. “When I was little, my mom bought me the most beautiful pair of white slippers. I loved them and put them on immediately. When she came to tuck me in, she noticed I was still wearing them and asked if I was going to take them off for bed. I shook my head no, refusing to ever remove them from my feet. Later that night, I found myself walking through a glen filled with silver flowers as far as the eye could see, like a field of stars.”

I remembered walking carefully through the glowing night-blossoms, my fingertips gliding over their velvet-soft petals. The sweet scent of dew, florals, and pollen wafted through the air, and I opened my mouth to it, catching the fragrance on my tongue like a delicate snowflake. The wind stirred the leaves in a peaceful melody that composed the notes of my own Moonlight Sonata.

Each one of my senses was so receptive and alert, I knew it couldn’t be anything but real.

“After what felt like being in my own personal heaven, I found myself back in my room. I laid there in disappointment before realizing I held a silver petal in the palm of my hand, still wafting an extraordinary scent. I was about to get out of bed when I realized my white slippers were caked in mud.”

I had tossed the petal aside in absolute horror, freeing my hands to fuss over my destroyed shoes. I remembered how much trouble I got in for wandering out that night. My parents couldn’t figure out how I’d done it, and quite frankly, neither could I. They doubled down on their efforts to subdue me, and I never saw the field again. With that, the petal was out of sight, out of mind, and forgotten…until today.

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