The scent of the whiskey in the tavern immediately engulfs my senses as I swing open the door. The cool feeling of the handle beneath my fingers fails to bring me out of my trance as my focus remains on the deep ridges and grooves in the chestnut wood. I feel light as I reach the bar and order a drink. I ordered his favorite. Surely he’ll be here to greet me soon enough. We’ll drink and we’ll laugh, the constant flow of people around us serving as our music for the night.

I almost feel as if something is off about tonight, but I brush aside the thought and move quickly to claim a table that has now become available. As I hasten my pace, my eyes set on the leather chair I ache to reach, a man slams into my side. I keep my balance, though I turn to glare at the man.

Something feels off. Suddenly my throat is burning, raw from my screams, and the butterflies in my stomach awaken all at once. Tears form in my eyes and shivers overtake my body.

My eyes fly open and I gasp, struggling to return some of the air I’ve lost to my lungs. My body is drenched in sweat. As I move to get up, the chains on my wrists keep me from moving more than necessary. I can barely rise to a standing position, the restraints on my legs holding my ankles in place.

Images of caverns and drinking and him rush into my mind. The same dream every night. If I could dream. Most people seem to believe that someone like me is only fit to have nightmares.

But those images - those beautiful memories - are a far off whisper in existence. 

Once again I am alone.

And once again he is dead.

Or as close to dead as he can get.

I sit back down on the cold, rotten floor of the cell. Once again.