the sweet dreams that we knew so well

The mere thought of Poem, Motif, and Theory, stumbling upon the still, cold form of their father, was the only thing that kept her on the steady course. She would spare her daughters that pain, she would keep Rhyme at arms length.. Metaphorically, because in this ghostly world, she held him close.

She lost her breath in a short, painful laugh at his words. Was that right, was it? He could see right through her. She could hardly convince him that she wanted nothing less than to hold him in her arms, forevermore.

“Rhyme, shhh, don’t say that” she said softly, resting her muzzle against his cheek, and closing her eyes. Did he really think that? Was it because of how often she had held him at arms length, back when they both were living. If only she knew how short life really was, how few chances she would have to hold him. She doubted she would have had the strength, then, if she had known. “You deserve everything good in the world, and I want nothing more than for you to find it. Hold it close, Rhyme. Don’t waste a single second with doubt, with hesitation. Don't hesitate to kiss the ones you love, to hug your daughters. Cherish this life, Rhyme, every second of it. Eventually, when fate decides its your time… not, you, but fate. Then I will be here, waiting to welcome you home.”