Dreams and Prophecies
Dreams are curious things. This goes doubly so for those blessed by Orpheus, for dreams are when a prophet receives their prophecies.
Brian Delphi does not dream very often. The dreams he does have are of times long since past. The rocking of a ship on the high seas, the angelic voice of a songbird, the touch of fanged lips to his own soft ones, beards scratching against each other.
He knows these are not prophecies, for he has lived these moments before. They are simply reminders of what he used to be. They are neither good nor bad, most of the time.
Sometimes he will dream prophecies. He knows they are prophecies because they feel that way; brief, fleeting moments of understanding coupled with flashes of images he has never seen before. They can be a blessing or a curse, and are often both.
One day Brian wakes up and he is not sure what he has dreamed.
He reaches for the journal on his bedside table and scribbles down everything he can remember before the memories fade. Only once he’s finished does he read it over, processing what he dreamt of.
Monstrous shadows, reaching for him. Fear, overridden by fierce protection. The ground quaking beneath his feet. Anger, hope, desperation mixed into a feeling that sits in his stomach like lead.
He stares at the page. It feels like a prophecy, but... he’s lived this before, hasn’t he? In his other life. A sacrifice to a moon goddess gone wrong, the night brought down upon them with righteous fury. He does not dare to even think the goddess’ name—she is long dead, and it doesn’t matter anymore. That was centuries ago.
Brian sighs and places the journal back. He won’t need it to remember this time.