Sophie's Nightmare [c]

It was his birthday. Sophie was afraid to ask how old he would have been. She felt terrible for not knowing. She had spent all day feeling sick. She went to school anyway, but she couldn't focus. All she could think about was her dad.

When she got home, she cooked dinner and made a small chocolate cake in a bread pan. She and her mom split a piece, and they let the rest sit out. They barely spoke, and both went to bed early. It took Sophie a long time to fall asleep. Finally, as the tears in her eyes began to roll down her cheeks, she turned on her side and her mind floated into the astral plane.

It was a sunny day. The Rose District looked like a safe, fun neighborhood to grow up in. Twelve-year-old Sophie was playing outside with the kids from her apartment building when the police officers approached. They said her full name, and she got up from the concrete, where she had been drawing with chalk. They told her that her dad was dead, and she burst into tears. Suddenly, she jumped as thunder clapped and lightning flashed. The sky was dark and it was pouring rain. She was 14, wearing the same black-and-blue chiffon dress she had worn the night she met Cyrus, the one that had been stuffed away in the back of the closet. She was barefoot, and it was freezing cold. She wasn't right outside her apartment building anymore. In fact, she didn't recognize this street at all.

"Hey little girl," a deep voice said, coming out of a bar's back door. "Come here, I want to show you something."
"I've got something for you," She heard from a different angle. "Do you like puppies? I have some puppies in my car. You can hold one if you want. I'll even let you take him home."
"Daddy," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Where are you?" She dropped her head down, crossed her arms, and started walking away from the voices, not sure if it was towards home or not. She had to get out of here. Her heart began to race as they called after her. She started to walk faster as more joined the first two, asking her to slow down, stop, look at this, say hello... the tears streamed down her face as she called aloud for her dad, but her heart knew he wouldn't be coming to save her from these bad men. She started running, but the sharp pain from a shard of glass in her foot made her stop and cry out. She lifted her foot and saw the blood streaming down it, mixing with the rain. As she reached toward the entry point to try and find the glass, a large, strong hand grabbed her arm, and she screamed.

And then the next scream erupted from him.

In the very next instant an unseen force broke the man's grip, followed by fearful yelling and screaming as he began to levitate several feet into the air, flailing around futilely for a few moments before his limbs locked in place. As the other men made their approach they were met with the same fates, crying out for aid and praying to various gods as they were suspended in the air, powerless to do anything. Unfortunately for them, only one god would answer their prays, and that god had no mercy to spare for them. A familiar blue-haired figure in an equally blow waistcoat appeared next to Sophie, his hands in his pockets as he looked at the restrained men. The look on his face was cold and merciless as he drew one hand from his pocket, putting his thumb and middle finger together as he lifted the hand upward. The men continued to struggle to no avail for a few more seconds until Cyrus snapped his fingers, and the men were removed from existence. Once the attackers were as gone as gone could be, he turned to look at Sophie and crouched down near her foot, looking at it as the shard of glass was reduced to dust that blew away and the wound painlessly healed in a matter of seconds. Then Cyrus' gaze turned up towards Sophie, the emotionless look of a killer replaced with one of compassion and care. "Are you alright?"

Sophie was stunned, but when Cyrus asked if she was alright, she crumpled into a heap right there on the street. It wasn't real, she realized. None of it had been real, even though it had felt that way. Nothing but the loss of her father, which was very, very real. Her heart ached, and that was the only answer she could give him: crying into the loose sleeves of her dress in the pouring rain on a street that existed but didn't exist at the same time. She didn't know what to say. She wanted to say thank you for stopping the nightmare, or apologize for being so upset, or explain herself, but all she could do was cry. Finally, her sobs began to subside, and without thinking, she reached forward gently and took one of Cyrus' hands in both of hers, then pressed it into her hair on the side of her head, just past her temple. His wrist shielded her eyes from view, and the touch comforted her. "I'm sorry... thank you... I... I think I'll be ok, now."

Cyrus stayed in a crouch next to her, offering no resistance when she took his hand. He wasn't entirely convinced by her saying that she would be okay, so while he didn't know what to say to try and comfort her, he did stay where he was, not daring to leave her side for the time being. He also mentally scanned through the rest of the dream, willing out of existence anything else that could pose a threat that he might have missed before. The last thing he needed or wanted was for something else terrible to come out of the shadows. Sophie had already been through more than enough at this point.

Once Sophie had calmed down a little more, she released his hand. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then met his concerned gaze. "Do you think you could get us out of here?" She whispered. "It doesn't matter where. Just... anywhere but here." She didn't want to think about it anymore; she needed a distraction. Anything to get her mind off how alone she had felt, how abandoned, even though her dad hadn't left on purpose. All her brain could come up with was that she needed him, and he wasn't there. Later, she would be able to think about the fact that Cyrus was there, and had pulled her attackers away and healed her foot and comforted her. But just then, she needed to be anywhere else, and she needed not to think about it anymore.

Rather than speaking, the only response Sophie got to her request was the two suddenly being in her bedroom back at her home. Or, rather, her bedroom as it was in her previous dream (that was the best Cyrus had to go off of, after all.) Cyrus sat on the edge of her bed quietly, opting to give her time to get her bearings and calm down after what had just happened. He considered conjuring up her father, but not only did he not know anywhere near enough about him for that to go over well, he also couldn't be confident that that would make things better rather than worse. But he was hardly content with just sitting there. Opening his hand, an amaryllis appeared in it a moment later, which he silently held out to Sophie.

Sophie smiled and took the flower, breathing in the scent. She leaned against Cyrus, putting her head on his shoulder. Her long hair hung down, partially covering her face and cascading down his torso. Normally, after a horrible day, she would just go to sleep. She was already sleeping, though, so it probably wouldn't do any good to try that. "Thank you," she said softly, still breathing in the scent of the amaryllis. She'd finally stopped crying, and she wiped her eyes with her hands before resting her head back down on Cyrus' shoulder. "I'm sorry I got so upset. I know it was just a dream."

"Don't be sorry. You didn't know it was a dream when everything was happening." He was relieved that the flower had worked as intended. Now that her nightmare was ended and she was calmed down, there wasn't much left for him to do; his job here was done. Usually now would be the time that he would take his leave and go on to do something else (sometimes the complete opposite) but for one reason or another he stayed exactly where he was. In the back of his mind he wanted to run a hand through Sophie's hair perhaps, but he cast the very idea off as quickly as it came. He was already letting her rest her head on his shoulder; that was already more than enough.

She still wanted a distraction, so Sophie went back to asking Cyrus questions to get to know him more. Without raising her head up off his shoulder, she started trying to remember all that she had still wanted to ask him. Now that she had seen his powers at work, she knew more about how he used them. It mostly had to do with his hands; snapping his fingers or moving his hands in a way that told his powers how to work. She thought about his family, but that topic seemed off-limits, for the time being. He hadn't seemed to want to talk about them before, anyway. Perhaps she would wait and let him bring them up, if he decided he wanted to. Since he didn't seem the type to volunteer information, she doubted he would suddenly start talking about them. Still, it was one area that she didn't feel welcome to, and she would respect that. She never wanted to pry; she simply wanted to know whatever a person would be willing to talk about. After considering it for a few minutes, she finally picked a question that didn't seem too intrusive, but that she still wanted the answer to. "When did your powers first start to develop?" She asked.

Cyrus answered plainly, making no mention of the fact she continued to rest her head on him. "Same time as everyone else, I think. It started showing up very weakly when I was a few years old, and was strong enough for me to actually do something with it when I was about 12. And now I'm at the point I'm at now. Limitless power here and very limited power in the real world." He let out a sigh, preferring not to think about just how weak he was outside of dreams. The exemption of when his gift caused him to be trapped in the Astral Plane was intentional; more information that he wasn't terribly keen on divulging. He didn't even like to think about when it happened beyond a simple "far too long ago." With her question answered, Cyrus' attention once again landed on how she was sitting. "Are you comfortable like that?"

His sigh sounded sad, frustrated, or both. Sophie rested a hand on his wrist, her fingers landing just below his palm. "Yeah, that's about how old I was when mine started showing up. It was really hard for me, because my dad died when I was 12. I didn't mean to, but I think I kind of linked the two: developing my powers and losing my dad. I didn't really think about practicing my gift, because I was too busy trying to take care of my mom. I guess, maybe, my gift could have helped if I learned to use it quickly, but my dad taught us to cultivate plants naturally, so I just kept doing that instead of trying to use my gift. He never really used his, either, so I felt more connected with him when I just grew things the normal way." She didn't know why she was sharing so much; it wasn't as if he had asked. Still, he had shared a lot, by now, and she felt she owed him a bit of explanation for the nightmare she'd had.

She sat up and pulled her hand back when he asked if she was comfortable. She was blushing again now, still holding the amaryllis bloom he had given her in her other hand. "Yes, I'm sorry. I just find physical touch very comforting, for some reason. Am I invading your space?"

Cyrus nodded along as she spoke, paying close attention as she explained. Even though he had no intention of saying such outloud, it was clear why her control over her gift was... lacking. Not that he could blame her, considering he knew the same sort of pain far better than he ever would have wanted to. Cyrus turned to look at her when she sat up straight. He sat like that in thought for a few moments before opening his mouth to speak. "...No, it's fine. If you find it comforting then I don't mind it." That wasn't exactly the most honest statement he'd ever made, but he wasn't about to let Sophie know that.

Sophie stared back into his deep blue eyes with a questioning gaze that told him she had something to say. The beginnings of a smile twitched at one corner of her lips. "...Okay, if you're sure," she said finally, putting her head back where it was, on his shoulder. She also replaced her hand, this time setting it on his forearm. Despite his lack of a clear response, he had a comforting presence. He was calm, at least, and that fact soothed her. She stayed there silently for a while, thinking about this strange boy she had met, and all the questions she had left to ask him. "Hey, how old are you?" She said finally.

For several moments he didn't give any response to the question, verbal or otherwise. Cyrus didn't seem especially surprised by the question, either. He knew it was coming sooner or later. It always did. "Far too old." As soon as he gave his answer he slowly got up, if only to give Sophie a chance to get her balance before abruptly vanishing in the blink of an eye. He should have made himself scarce far sooner than he did, but he didn't. And now this was the situation he had created. There wasn't much that could be done about it now, though. Nothing except leaving.

Sophie didn't want to let go of his arm, but as he got up, she had no choice. "Wait, what d-" she started to ask, but he was gone. She blinked. Still gone. She scrambled up off the bed. Once again, his words echoed in her mind. He had a way of leaving her with one phrase stuck in her head. Last time, he had told her how to find him to continue their conversation. This time, the finality of his words struck her cold and made her heart sink into her stomach. Her hand felt empty where she'd held his arm. "Cyrus?" She called for him, but part of her knew he wasn't coming back. What on earth did he mean by that? How old was he? Why couldn't he just tell her? He looked about her age, maybe 14 or 15. Too old? Too old for what exactly? Too old to even talk to her? Too old to spend time with her in a dream?

Sophie awoke with an ache in her heart and tears in her eyes. It was still dark; it must be early morning. Not sure what to do, she continued to lie there for several minutes. Her thoughts whizzed by, but two repeated themselves; one, the knowledge that he wasn't coming back; and two, her question of why. Part of her asked herself why she cared so much, but mostly, she wanted to know why he wouldn't tell her, why he would simply leave her with the sensation that she was alone and the finality in his tone telling her that she would not see him again, in the physical world or otherwise.

She would need a distraction if she was going to get past this. Slowly and quietly, she crept out of her room and went to the window, where there was a small bag of beans to plant and a cup to plant them in. She filled the cup with soil from a bag beside the fridge, then stuck a couple of the beans into it. She poured in some water from the sink and crept back to her room. She was grateful for her dim bedside lamp as she laid back down, holding her cup of bean sprouts in both hands. Holding it almost to her face, she stared down at it and tried to focus all her energy on making them grow.