There was a change in the pattern of dreams, a dischordant note that did not fit with the dark and endless music. A feeling of rising to the surface, of unwanted light, memories threatening to intrude unbidden upon the cold stillness.
Amelia’s eyes opened. Aroused from her timeless slumber, she found herself lying in a bedchamber. Her eyes, unaccustomed to the light, made no attempt to discern the still hazy details of the dimly lit room. Instead, they were drawn to the floating patterns that danced in the air above her.
The fire demons, small and delicate, had come bearing news. Weaving their fine tracery of light upon the air, they told of a change, an intrusion upon the darkness.
Amelia’s face slowly assumed first a look of surprise, then a cold mask of fury. With change came the threat of memory reawakening, and with memory would come pain.
This could not be permitted.