Thought

~Luella

"I told you it would be pointless."

Della sighs deeply, looking straight ahead at the road. The only reason I went to this therapist session was for her, but I don't know what else she expected. I've been on medication they have prescribed before, and it did nothing but give me serious anxiety until I could no longer deal with it. Since then, Della has been looking for other options.

"He didn't say anything different?" She questions, giving me a skeptical glance. I nod at her to concentrate on her driving. It hasn't rained this heavily in Fate's Territory since I first came here three years ago from Death's realm.

I shrug, fiddling with the air conditioning absentmindedly. "Same old diagnosis. He might have said something about it maybe being magic. Crazy old man."

Della snaps her attention to me.

"Watch where you're going would you? I might hate these dreams but I'm not planning on dying today," I comment. Della looks back at the road, but her knuckles clutching the steering wheel are white, and there is a frown etched into her forehead.

"Magic? You know that's not much of a stretch," she comments. A laugh almost slips out of my mouth at her statement.

"Aren't you meant to be the practical one?" I ask her.

"Come on Lu, it's not that odd is it? I mean, we live in the land of Fate. You've been in the

immortal realm for three years, and I know you've witnessed magic before," Della says, turning down my street. She's right. I've witnessed petty magic from people at street markets, but nothing impressive.

Della pulls up my driveway, parking the car in front of the garage. I love my home. Luckily I have a great job that has meant I can live in a beautiful house on the shoreline. Fate has the best territory in the immortal realm, which is something I stand by. Especially when I get to watch sailboats on a good day drift into the nearby dock.

"All I'm saying, is that this has nothing to do with magic. It's probably just my messed up mind," I comment, popping the door open.

Rain mists against my face and I fumble with my keys, pushing my front door open. Della follows me inside, cursing the weather, wiping water off her face. Rain visits here so often, I'm quite enjoying this strange weather.

"You should really clean up in here," Della comments.

"I think it looks fine in here," I mutter, moving into the living room and I pull off my jacket. Maybe it could be decluttered in here, but I like my space. It's creative in my opinion, which I wouldn't expect my perfectionist sister to understand.

Della picks up a stack of books, weighing it in her arms. "I mean, do you even read any of these? You're meant to be a writer, not a book critic."

Taking the books from her arms, I stumble over to one of my bookshelves. The wood already is sagging from the weight of my current collection. There's something so addicting about collecting books. Coming to the immortal realm uncovered many authors I loved in the mortal world who continued their work afterwards.

"They are for inspiration," I reason.

"Do you ever leave this house?" Della questions. Turning around, I narrow my eyes on her. She stands there, hands on her hips, looking concerned.

"I don't have enough time in the day to go out with my wine drinking friends to east low fat hummus while we whisper about attractive guys who come into the bar," I remind her, watch her raise an eyebrow at me. Della has a surprising amount of time and money which she still won't share with me on its origin.

Della collapses onto my couch, resting her head back. I know she cares, but she gets too much enjoyment out of coming to my house to criticise my livelihood. She still claims writing isn't a real career. It's done good for me so far.

"You haven't even tried to make friends, or even go on a date. I've seen what you've downloaded on your computer, so don't act like it isn't on your mind," Fella comments.

I swallow despite my dry mouth.

"Go on a date and have someone mess up my intricate schedule?" I question. It's an excuse that my oldest sister of all people can see right through. She knows I'm not as confident and beautiful as she is. Maybe if I had that perfectly pouting mouth and big green eyes things like dating would be easier.

It's most common for mortals who leave the Death realm to either lose touch with their mate, or lose all chance to ever meet them. So that leaves dating to become a very popular phenomenon. I wouldn't say in very interested in that.

"You could try. Wouldn't it make for a good story?" She asks, ignoring my deadpan expression. "You can't let these terrible dreams get the best of you."

I know, within me, that she's right.

Della doesn't stick around long. Apparently she has to head back to clean up her house, which I know is an underlying hint. It leaves me to sit in my favourite spot to look out the window, holding a leather bound book in my hand that I doubt I'll open. I'm more fascinated by the raining littering the window, blocking my gaze out to the sea.

I'm writing a romance novel at the moment that is troubling me. With Della's suggestion stuck inside my head, I'm left not knowing what to do.

Standing up, I pick up my laptop before settling into the chair. The site is already up on a tingle tab when I open my computer. I usually have it open, but never search the site. It always feel so wrong, as if I'm committing some horrific sin.

I need to get over this.

Finally, I sigh deeply, clicking onto the site. Mindlessly, I shift through profiles on people who live in the area. This seems so foolish and pointless. None of these people are going to want to go on a date with me. The kind of guy I want wouldn't like that.

"What was I thinking?" I mutter, setting my laptop on the table as I stand. As usual, Della gets into my head, just like she wants to do.

Just as I get up to make coffee, my computer dings.

Someone has messaged me. Falling back into my chair, I realise a guy named David has messaged me. His profile shows a young, professional looking man who is admittedly attractive. He's simply greeted me in his message, so I quickly type back. Soon enough, we are having a full blown conversation, and I swear at a few point, he made me smile.

We set up to meet each other for coffee at a nearby cafe. By the time the conversation ended, I was blushing and smiling, feeling foolish in myself.

I'm okay on my own. But this could be fun.

The rest of the day I spend writing, taking this new found inspiration to the page, which is treating me well. I don't stop until midnight. It's a trend of mine to try sleep late, as if it's going to help avoid getting the dream. It has never worked.

Glancing at my bedside table, I see the drawing a therapist made of one of the men in my dream. Those silver eyes stare at me.

"See you in a bit," I murmur, before switching my lamp off.

Falling asleep is always the best part. The calm before the storm. There's maybe an hour of blissful, serene sleep with nothing going on, until all my vision becomes a blurry flurry of silver. Slowly, it begins to turn into a pair of eyes, and then, the world forms around me, and they eyes become apart of the man standing in front of me.

I notice something is different immediately.

First of all, I have complete feeling and control over what my mind is consciously thinking. It's so real, that if it weren't for the fog in my head and the slight blurring line around his figure, I would have assumed I've woken up tied down to a chair in a dark room.

I know this man. Not from real life, but his recurring appearance in my dreams. He's the first man with the silver eyes. He has reddish brown hair and honey skin. The tattoos that streak up his arm are unfamiliar, not creating any pattern in familiar with. If he were actually a real person, I would notice him immediately.

Looking down, I'm tied down to a chair. The man, wordlessly watches me as I remain helpless, before he turns away from me, and walks into the shadowy darkness.

I'm stuck.

Reality hits me right in the face. I'm awake. My eyes open, and I look around, shielding myself from the strip of sunlight that streams in through my partially open curtains.

Morning already.

Something is wrong. I've never had a dream as simple as that. I've never been tied up against my will like that until I woke, as if I were being held hostage within my own mind. Shaking my head, I sit up, glancing at my phone.

It's midday. Midday. I was meant to meet David at ten.

I have three messages asking if I were coming. Quickly I text him back, but there's little point.

How did I not wake up. Some horrible gut feeling that I had that dream for a reason.

~Luella

"You have no idea how sorry I am."

Dumping my handbag on the table, I slide into my seat, trying to recover my breath. David sits in front of me, leaning back in his seat. I can't believe he even agreed to meet up with me after everything that has happened this morning. I missed our original date by two hours, yet still, he was kind enough to forgive me, and meet up regardless.

"It's okay. It happens," he says as I settle into my seat. I'm embarrassed at how flustered I am. At least all this stress and rush has taken my mind off the real issue.

I'm actually on a date right now. Della has been pressuring me to go on a date, or even go out to make more friends, but sitting at home and getting my work done is more important. What could be more interesting than my own characters and the view from my window?

"I slept in. I never sleep in," I assure him.

He smiles tightly. By now he should guess that I'm being truthful. After I woke up, I insisted it was a mistake, and that I would still love to have lunch with him. Thankfully, it seems to have worked. Already, from that, I like him a lot, and we haven't even gotten to the date part of this just yet.

"Quite a sleep in," he comments, before motioning in front of me. He ordered me a coffee, which I might have mentioned to him I liked. I smile gratefully at him.

"Yeah I got...Late night last night," I tell him, changing my tact. No point telling him about my strange dreams just yet. I know for a fact that it would scare anyone off, so I just tuck that knowledge in a part of my brain that isn't allowed out yet.

"Work? Your profile said you were a writer," David says.

I nod, smiling warmly. This small talk is boring, I'll admit, but so far, I like David. He's kind, smart and conventionally handsome. I somehow doubt he's been single for long. Could I see myself with him on further dates though? Maybe. I'll have to give him more of a chance than this first impression crap.

"I do. I write romance funnily enough," I tell him. I can see from the corner of my eye, a waiter approaching, but I ignore them. I need to give David my full attention so he knows that I didn't want to be distracted this morning.

That is, until I look up at my waiter...

I'm struck still in my seat for a moment. It's almost like when they say if you see yourself, you most likely recognise yourself. Instead, I'm seeing a spitting imagine of my dream.

I swear, I saw this exact guy last night. He has distinctive tattoos all up his arms, right to the collar of his shirt, making out a pattern of swirls that's completely unfamiliar. And of course, that burnished brown colour I swear I've never seen on anyone else but on the man in my dreams. And those eyes. Those silvery, magical eyes.

"Can I take your order?" He asks. I blink a few times, as David orders flawlessly before looking at me expectantly. I hadn't even had chance to look at the menu and decide, but I'm more stunned by the waiter then anything else.

"Can I have a few more minutes?" I ask, trying to force my tone into its normal rhythm, not letting it shake uneasily, despite my complete and utter shock.

The man nods, before turning to walk away.

Before he does, I take a single glance at his name tag. Brad, it says, which is a name that doesn't suit the man in my dreams to any degree. Maybe this is all in my head and I'm going crazy. There is no way he's the man from my dreams. Unless I've seen him before and he just happened to translate into my subconscious thought. I somehow doubt that, though...

"Everything okay? You look a bit flustered?" David notices, looking between me and Brad the waiter with confusion. "That isn't your ex or something, is it?"

I look at him stunned. "No, sorry. Not at all."

I've unnerved him now, and I couldn't feel worse. He probably thinks I've taken a glance at this waiter and decided I want to take him on a date rather than David. I cast my eyes quickly down menu, before I can't contain myself any longer.

I need for all about this to someone.

"It's just, I swear I've seen him before. And not like, I've run into him or I've seen him work here before, but I swear I've dreamt about him or something," I comment, leaning forward across the table. David frowns at me, as if what I told him is the strangest assumption he's ever heard. When I think back? I suppose it's not what anyone wants to hear.

"A dream? He's a pretty average looking guy, so I guess you could have been mistaken," he comments, sipping on his coffee thoughtfully.

Normal? There's nothing normal about him. Never have I seen such strange tattoos and eyes as silvery as those in real life. For once, I'm starting to believe the therapists idea of magic, as crazy as it is.

"But those eyes. Tell me one person you know with silver eyes like that? And the tattoos...I don't know who did them but they are not normal," I tell him.

David is looking at me as if I'm insane.

"I'm confused. What silver eyes? Our waiter had brown eyes, and no tattoos. At least that I saw," he says. Blinking a few times, I trying look for Brad again, but I see nothing. He's disappeared into the kitchen. Something doesn't feel right about this...

David is clearly having trouble believing me. The way he keeps glancing down at the phone on the table suggests he's looking for an excuse to get out of here. I don't blame him. From what he's seeing, I'm an insane, delusional girl going through some kind of paranoia. He must be regretting taking the second opportunity for a date.

"Have you had time to think about your orders?" I hear from behind me, making me flinch. When I look over my shoulder, it's not Brad, but a girl.

"I don't think we are going to get anything now," David says uneasily.

The waitress walks away promptly. That is my que to leave. David is over this date, and is over me. I can't believe I messed this up so bad, but I can't get the thought of that waiter out of my head. He was in my dreams, I swear, and now that David admits he doesn't see what I see, I know now I need to investigate.

"I might just go to the bathroom," I excuse, standing up from the table. I'm giving David a chance to get out of here before he has to make up an excuse that will hurt both of our feelings. But I'm not going to the bathroom though.

I have bigger issues to deal with.

Walking up to the counter of the diner, I lean over it, looking around for Brad. Another waitress I haven't seen appears in front of me with a raised brow. I'm sure I look suspicious right now, but I need to know where he went.

"I'm looking for Brad. He's my boyfriend," I tell her, hoping she believes me. She rolls her eyes, before loosening a dramatic sigh.

"Brad just ended his shift. He goes out the back way everyday, which you would know if you were actually his girlfriend and not some crazy admirer," She says, to which I ignore, thanking her swiftly before darting out of the diner. Of course, David has made his exit very quickly, not sticking around to see if I were to come back.

Brushing past people and murmuring my excuse me's, I walk down the side of the diner, looking down the alleyway it backs onto.

I see the figure of someone walking away.

I know this is probably not the best idea, but it doesn't stop me for making a brisk walk down the alleyway, following him. This is probably illegal, too, but I can't stop myself, even coming to a jog until I catch up with him.

He turns around before I have a chance to make it to him, and I see that this is the man David described, and not the man I saw earlier who I swear haunts my dreams. It's as if his hair has lost that golden tinge, his arms have been washed of all tattoos, and those eyes...well, they aren't silver.

"What do you want?" He questions, clearly startled that I had snuck up behind him in a random alleyway.

"Sorry, I thought you were someone else," I comment, taking a few steps backward.

He frowns, before walking away quickly. Everyone is starting think I'm crazy recently. My sister, my therapist, David and now some random kid I chased down. This is becoming a serious issue I need help with, but I'm not exactly sure where to find that help.

"Was that someone, me?" I hear, making me whirl around.

And there he was, standing there, staring at me. With silver eyes and tattoos and golden brown hair.

I've never been so scared in my life.

~Luella

It's a strange phenomenon, like seeing my dream play out in front of me.

There is no doubt, that this is the man from my dreams. He's otherworldly, immortal, but not in the way I am. He hasn't once been a mortal before; I can see it in his eyes, and not just because they are silver. It's the way he looks at me, without any fear, without any regret for coming to stand in front of me.

"Are you real? Or am I dreaming?" I breathe, unable to take my eyes off him. He simply stands there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking undeniable apart of reality, but I'm still doubtful. He's meant to be a figment of my imagination.

"Of course I'm real. I'm standing here, aren't I?" he says, raising his arms into a shrug. I try to swallow, but the lump in my throat prohibits it.

That's the issue. He is standing here.

"What is it you want with me? Why am I having dreams about you, when I've never met you before," I comment, folding my arms over my chest uneasily. I'm unsure of whether or not I can trust this man. Should I stand and listen, or make a run for it?

The man shrugs, wandering over to lean against the wall of the neighbouring building, giving nothing away. Nothing, from his stare, to his expression, gives up his intentions, and it's unnerving. He's impassive, patient, being all the things that leave me helpless. I need to get out of here as soon as I can.

"I just want you to listen," he comments.

Sighing deeply, I nod for him to continue talking. Any information is good information, as long as I leave before I'm the next one to talk.

"My name is Revel. I thought I would do you a favour and assure you that as long as you live here, in the oblivious life that you do, these dreams will continue. Going to therapy is futile," he informs me.

"Why? Why am I having these dreams?" I question.

"It's a complicated story I can't indulge you in just yet," he tells me, stepping forward. My heart rate accelerates worryingly, the closer he gets to me. He stops directly in front of me, so close, he starts to blur, making me wonder whether he is truly real. "You can't know anything until my master wants you too. And right now, he's too busy enjoying you from afar."

My heart jumps into my throat. "Your master? What does that mean? What does any of this mean. Who are you really?"

He reaches out, grabbing my chin between his fingertips. They are cold, ice cold. "I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have shown myself to you. But I couldn't help myself. You're just so fascinating to me."

For whatever reason, I can't pull away from him, as if I'm paralysed with fear. Whatever he is, and whoever he is, he's not normal. Maybe he's from another reality, or maybe I'm simply hallucinating. That seems the most likely, since every time I blink, it's as if the sight of him lags behind. As if he's not really here.

"Please leave me alone," I shudder.

"Very well. But I'll leave you with this," he comments, narrowing his eyes. "Consider the dreams normal. Stop thinking a therapist will get rid of them. You're wasting your time."

As he steps back, I notice someone approaching. They have an umbrella up. A bright yellow one. It's raining, my clothes are soaked. How did I not notice? The person approaches, as I look back at Revel. Every inch of him is try, that strange hair of his, those dark clothes, don't have a drop of rain on them.

"How are you not wet?" I ask him.

He smirks, shrugging loosely. He doesn't respond to me, though, instead looking over his shoulder at the approach girl, who is looking at me strangely.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me?" she asks, stopping a few feet from me. She looks confused behind the shower of rain falling from her umbrella. I don't even feel cold right now, standing in the downfall.

"No I was talking to-"

When I look directly in front of me, where Revel was standing less than a second ago, he's gone. Just a puddle where his feet would be remain. Blinking a few times, I try make sense of the sudden disappearance. He's gone. He disappeared as quickly as the rain falling heavily against the girls pretty yellow umbrella.

She doesn't stick around. I watch her walk off, completely dumbfounded. Looking down at myself, I see my white T-shirt is completely soaked through. My bra seems happy to be showing itself. I hope Revel wasn't here to see that.

Wrapping my jacket around myself, I walk quickly down the street. This day has not gone well.

Because I'm sure I'm going crazy.

***

"I got the impression you wouldn't want to come back," he comments.

Mr. Fisher hands me a plastic cup filled with icy cold water. I'm not sure how I managed to get here. After the incident with Revel, I needed to talk to someone, to get answers. Mr. Fisher has been the only one so far who has given another opinion out of the ordinary. Even though I highly doubt it's the reasonable.

"Things have escalated since I last saw you. Like a lot," I say, clutching the cup between both hands. Mr. Fisher rests against his desk, narrowing his eyes on me. He looks young. I wonder how many people have come into this room with anything similar to me.

"How so?" he asks.

"Well, last night, for the first time since I arrived in the immortal realm, my dream was different. I overslept a lot and missed...An important event. I don't know if this is because I came to see you, but whatever it might be, this is the first time I've dealt with that," I say, practically in one breath.

Mr. Fisher, or when I glance down at his nametag, Julian, frowns. By his reaction, this clearly isn't normal. I feel like I'm going crazy...

"And today, I had an entire conversation with someone who wasn't there," I exasperate. Saying it aloud makes it all the more real. I was talking to a hallucination. Revel doesn't exist, with that snarky tone, silvery eyes and tattoos.

"Are you sure they weren't real?" Julian asks.

I consider that for a moment. "Well, someone caught me talking to myself. Either this Revel guy has amazing disappearing abilities, or he doesn't actually exist. I think I'm going to go with the latter."

Julian pauses for a moment. He hasn't yet given his opinion, which I assume is because he has no idea what is wrong with me. I believe that, until he gets up, moving away from the desk over to this bookshelf. No words are spoken, as he moves along the shelf, clearly looking for a book that might explain my problem.

"The name Revel sounds familiar," Julian murmurs, as he pulls out a book. He doesn't show it to me, flipping through it himself.

When he turns to show it to me, the book is named Gluttony.

"I knew I've heard that name before. Revel is a Sin; Gluttony to be exact. Can you tell me if the man you spoke to looked like this?" he asks, leaning over to hand me the book. Swallowing nervously, I glance down at the illustration.

There's no doubting it's him.

It may be a painting of him, but it encapsulates the man I spoke to today so well. Those eyes pierce right into my soul, as I look down at him, being portrayed like a king sitting upon a throne, draped in lavish looking cloth. His tattoos are represented perfectly as well, yet still the meaning behind them is unknown.

"Why am I dreaming about a Sin who I never knew existed?" I ask nervously, closing the book slowly to hand back to him.

"Well maybe you're not dreaming," Julian offers.

Shaking my head, I dismiss that idea immediately. It felt real, but what would a Sin be doing in Fate's territory, where they usually aren't allowed? It's was most likely a strange symptom of these dreams that I have. Obviously something was off, and it followed me into my everyday life.

"He told me the dreams are normal. I think that is just me trying to make sense of everything," I tell him.

"I don't believe that is the case. This cannot be a coincidence. I think you need to consider the fact that something else is going on," Julian murmurs, looking at me intently. My throat goes dry.

"What if it is an Immortal? What if this is real?" I breathe.

Julian takes a moment to answer, considering that option. Then, all of a sudden, he gets up, brushing past me to open the door behind me. "If it is real, then you need to leave. I want to help you, but I don't want to get involved with an Immortal."

I'm up in a second, being escorted out of the room. Julian is afraid. He's afraid of being involved with me, who is being plagued with dreams about an immortal.

As I stand outside the doorway, Julian looks back at me.

"I'm sorry," he breathes, before closing the door. I stand there, dumbfounded. How am I meant to deal with this?

How am I meant to escape an Immortal?