I always thought of dreams as escapes from reality. As if they were the way of one’s brain to console us, to beguile us. Even while watching them, they felt too illustrious to let myself sink into them. At least that is what was my opinion about dreams till I found myself here.
Rain patters outside, the fire crackling along it. A boy sits alone, staring at the flames.

A boy with the same golden hair as me. Though, the numbness of his face has washed away any warmth, has washed away any sign of spirit. Like my reflection in the godforsaken window.  

That was so many years ago…

Hurried footsteps in the corridor echo, followed by a man with the colour hair as the fire.

Father seems more younger, straighter even more than he is now. His eyes narrow at seeing nineteen year old me, before sighing. “Matthew,” he says.

Both my younger self and I turn towards his voice, suddenly alert.
He isn't wholly me, only an extension of who I was. However I stay in the corner, witnessing an old wound coiling and uncoiling again.

Father walks over to the fireplace, to where my younger self is sitting. The latter stands, but makes no comment.

Father puts a hand on younger Matthew's shoulder. The boy glances at the gesture before meeting his father's eyes.
“For how long do you plan on staying like this?” Father pulls away his palm, glancing at the flames in the fireplace.

“I…” The boy runs a hand through his hand. "You know what he was like... what he meant..."

Before he can say anything else, Father shakes his head.
“No matter what, Matthew, William was still our family's doctor's son. Nothing more,” Father says, the boys cringes at the blunt use of his— William's— name.
Father bends down to stroke the fires, poker in hand. The flames swirl and screech an ungodly hiss. The boy opens his mouth...

No... no, it's happening again...

“Then what… what did you do when Uncle Wulfric...” No...

Father flings the poker into the fireplace— the railing rattles and screams— a few embers flying out onto the carpet. Both the boy and I jump back, even though only a single ember burned us. The both of us shake our heads, mirroring each other. He doesn't say it, but I can hear it, hear the boy's words echoing in my head, repeating a thousand fold. No... no, he wouldn't touch me... He's my father...

"Control yourself, Matthew. Control." Father leaves the poker lying wasted on the carpet, before pulling himself out of the room. "Be grateful you have your university, your work, to go back to. It will help you." His voice shifts, an almost soft tone before disappearing all together.

Clouds envelope the room, turning me upside down. I go round and round and round to the point I can only think about sprils and coils and nothing more.
They do not disappear till a new scene unfolds.

Father sits in one of the chairs in the parlour room, looking even younger than before. Somewhere near my own age. And physically looking exactly like Henry, except for the red hair. What unnerves me is the faintness of clouds within this heated room, and that— somehow— I'm perfectly stable on my feet.

I run a finger along my collar, a thin bead of sweat protruding.

Father runs a hand through his hair— at the same time I do— two women walking out of the parlour.

A man with raven hair and a ghastly pallor stands up.
“I think it is time for my departure, as well,” he sighs

But is stopped by my father’s words and his hand on the man's elbow. “I still have so many matters to discuss with you, Dannoso.”

Dannoso…

The thin edges of his surname slip within my mind before I can catch them.

“And they are?” the man— Dannoso— asks with a raised brow.

“When were you going to tell me you're my cousin?” Father presses his lips into a thin line.

His mouth moves, but the clouds thicken around us, muffling Father’s and Dannoso’s voices.

Where did a cousin come from?

The family tree from the fencing court strides into my mind.

Uncle Wulfric, Father's elder brother, raised him and the youngest, Aunt Harriet.
Wulfric also passed away when Father was seventeen...

But their cousins…

My eyes shut tightly.

Then sound comes onto the stage as my companion, as the clouds lessen.

“Some estates here with no conceivable background and quite a mysterious past.
A past that surely Marietta's parents would like to know.” Father regards him as he lays out all his information. He swirls a glass of wine in his hand, one that was not there before.

The grin on Dannoso’s face falls into a solemn line. “How do you know all this?”

Father rolls his eyes.
“Knightleys are a resourceful breed.”

Resourceful breed…

The clouds taunt onto the platform again, making me grunt loudly, teeth biting into my cheek.

Focus, Matthew, focus.

My mind wanders back to the family tree.

Paternal Grandfather Floyd had only a sister named Adelia…
But Grandmother Penelope told me she died, along with her unborn child and husband.

She was married into the…

Dannoso looks at his glass of wine and then at Father. “Should you not be more concerned with your brother's secrets being dug out of the grave once again?”

Father stops swirling his wine.
“My brother may have been a fool, but he doesn't deserve that ”

Dannoso sits down and takes a sip from his glass. “I don't think that's what your people may conclude.”

“But the world will sink its talons in…”

Just when the truth presents its poison, it slips away into the clouds and shadows again.

“Damned hell…” I almost pull out my hair.

But then only a single clause falls through the mist.

“Like your brother's foolishness resulting in the Knightleys’ bankruptcy.”

My hands freeze in the air, before they can pull at my hair.

We never became bankrupt.

Father started the business, and we always had the lands to fall back on.

Are you sure?

The clouds grow thicker and thicker around me, the room fading away.
My eyes start closing without my consent, but not before these words fling at my ear drums:

Adelia’s lost child; lands in Italy and England; Maleeces.

Maleece… that was her  surname…

After drying the sweat off from my neck, I tread towards the kitchens in my night clothes.

It is almost midnight, but a few servants will be awake at this hour, including Edmund.

After a while, my feet halt next to the kitchens. Despite the cool air and dim glow of lamps, it still feels like a burning furnace to me. Even though I keep checking for a fever. Even though I keep trying to wipe away the dream and the funeral... I try, at all costs, to keep the C word out of mind.

Only five people remain in the kitchen. The chef oozes off in his chair, eyes barely open, while one of the pantry boys tries shooting a berry at him. Luella and Elizabeth talk to each other, while Edmund has a wine glass in his hand.
Edmund spots me, as soon as the pantry boy leans in,
“You know, sometimes that doesn' look like red wine to me at all.”

I stay just outside the kitchens’ shadows, but within reach to see everything.

Edmund turns to the boy, brow raised. “What do you think it is, Michael?”

Michael only shrugs, joking,
“Seems thick a’ blood.”

Glancing at the rest and finding the coast clear, Edmund grins.
His gloved hand swirls in the air around Michael.

The boy’s eyes glaze over, as if clouds have covered his sight.

Edmund says, “It’s red wine, not blood. Wine.”

Michael nods slowly; Edmund snaps his fingers, and the boy comes back to reality.

Michael blinks at the glass again and leans back in his seat. He frowns. “Chef never trusts me with any wine.”

Edmund pats him on the back and finishes his glass. He slides his chair back and walks over to me.

As soon as he nears me, I put a hand on my neck, keeping my mind out of the contents of those damned dreams. A slight sheen is still present there. “I’m glad I came after your daily dosage.”

Edmund rolls his eyes. “As if I don’t know self restraint, lad.” He shakes his head. “Why are you awake at this hour? I thought I would see you till midday tomorrow when you didn't even come to supper for sleep.”

I ignore his latter statement, arms folding across my chest. “Do you know anything regarding Father and Dannoso Maleece?”

Edmund's light demeanor drops like a pebble into a stream. “How do you even know about Dannoso Maleece?”

“The Knightleys are a resourceful breed.”

I wave a hand at him. “That means you do know him.” The moonlight from outside shifts, casting a shadow upon my face.
“And I… I saw a dream. Only it felt like a clouded reality. Father was almost my age he was talking to him.” My hand runs through my hair.

“How is that possible? Your father met him even before marrying Madam Estelle.” If it were possible, Edmund's tone grows paler. He rubs his chin.

“You say it were a dream?”
I slowly nod, but Edmund's wooden posture makes me ask,
“Is this dream something related to your… side?”

Edmund shrugs, still rubbing his chin. “This sounds more like a manipulated dream. But who would cast that? Especially on you.” He sighs, "I apologise, but my kind has no relation to the intricacies of manipulated dreams. That is something related to ghosts…”

“Ghosts...” I echo, shaking my head. “You once told me you could… sense other beings.”

Edmund wearily smiles. “Only warlocks. They have a sort of… embellishment to their souls, you can say. Ghosts don’t have that. They are only but a memory of what they were.” He breathes, “Like me.”

The wind rattles the windows; the clouds place a heavier cloak on the moon. “But what has this all to do with my father?”

Edmund sighs, putting his palms behind his back. “I can’t tell you that.”

I raise a brow, lips pursing. “You shan't him my secrets, as you wouldn't tell me his.”

Edmund shrugs.

Grunting, I rub my nose bridge.

Adelia Maleece née Knightley’s unborn child…

Edmund says, “I can help you with assignments, but that is all.”

Removing my hand from my nose, I sigh, “You sometimes make it sound like Father and I are an arsenal of secrets and assignments.”

“That’s because you two are.” He shrugs and glances towards the kitchens.

“While you’re here, why don't you come inside and have a bite? I can hear your stomach grumbling from here. And this corridor is too nocturnal, even for me.”

As long as it keeps me away from my memories...

I blink, but start walking with him to the kitchens, a blazing war song still battering in my ears from the earlier conversation.
“How did you even hear that?”

“I don't need heightened sense to hear that.” He taps his ear lobe.

“You didn’t hear me at Belle’s birthday party.” I keep walking, but Edmund stops.

“How is that possible?” he asks, brows creating crests in his forehead.

Now I shrug.“You were preoccupied in Gilbert’s arms. I suppose that’s why.”

The severely red blush he gives me almost makes up for the earlier delay in plans.

This time, I grin.
“I think Gilbert deserves a raise. After all, he made our very own Edmund Henley blush deeper than your red wine.”

“This is not the time to discuss my love life.” His usual demeanor comes back, as he puts his hands behind his back and sobers up.

Holding up my hands, I follow him to the kitchens, not being able to shake off the feeling of a noose tightening around my neck. Even when it has loosened with the hours, its marks scar my neck. Sinking its talons in...

I swear it's red wine, not blood 👀

Some readers from TGD may have recognised the manipulated dream concept. Let's see how that plays out in SOL ;)
They also may have noticed that this scene was previously a deleted scene in TGD. Though, that was in Lindsey's POV. This one is in Matthew's and I left 'some' details out 🌚

Happy piecing them together!

Also, I hope y'all had a good week.
As for me, well it's just my first week of uni & I already have an assignment *sniffs*. I'm currently recovering from that with watching Troy: Fall of a City.
I never really liked Helen and Paris, but I'm also trash for the male character standing up for lover in front of parents trope.
Wow, now that was a mouthful.

Did I just tell y'all another trope I like that may or may not affect this story? I don't know!

Have a great day!
Love,
MS Zame