Page 54 of A Dream of Stars and Curses

‘What are you?’ I whisper again. It’s rare that I find new stuff in my dreamscape. Of course, our unconscious develops all the time just as we do, since all the new experiences need to go somewhere, but I’ve done this all my life and am used to how new things are represented here. It fascinates me that I’ve no idea what this cloud is. Unless...

‘Could this cloud represent my worry that I’m cursed?’

There’s a chance the curse isn’t real, but it’s increasingly looking like it is. Maybe this cloud is that fear but in dream form. Is this how I might have imagined a curse on me? I didn’t really think about it, but once a thought exists, the unconscious gives it shape. I suppose, looking at this ominous dark cloud-wall thing, it’s possible that’s what it is.

‘It could,’ Mischief says. I don’t like her pause. ‘Or it could be the curse itself.’

I back away a few steps. ‘You say this now that I touched it?’

Mischief huffs and shakes her head once—her kitty version of a shrug. ‘You didn’t die, did you?’

‘No, but...’ There’s no point arguing about this. I’m okay and she makes a good point. ‘Is this how curses work? If it’s just something in my mind...’

Does that mean I can dispel it by deciding it no longer works?

‘I don’t know,’ Mischief says. ‘I didn’t think so, but what do we know?’

‘Nothing about curses.’

I’ve a feeling Kate wouldn’t teach me, at least nothing more than theory and how to undo a curse. And she isn’t here right now, anyway. I scan the cloud for answers, but nothing presents itself.

I decide to try another tactic. ‘Did someone put you here?’ I ask the cloud. ‘What do you want?’

A wisp of fog puffs out towards me, slowly and delicately like a, well, cloud. It almost looks like it’s reaching for me, so I carefully return the gesture.

‘I don’t like this,’ Mischief says. ‘Be careful, Esta.’

I nod and touch my hand to the wisp. It folds another hand against mine, this one made of the same black stuff as the cloud itself. Slowly, a form emerges from the wall, all of it made of the cloud’s softness. The form emerges up to her waist before she stops... and I say ‘she’ because, while she lacks all details and features, she looks like me. Roughly the same size. Hair that falls to the same length. The hand that’s the exact shape of mine.

Like it copied me.

A shiver runs up my back and legs. I take a step back, but the cloud-hand grabs my wrist. The other me pulls me towards her with so much force that I lose my balance. Her hand around my wrist is too firm to shake off. Her other hand grabs my head, fingers splayed across my scalp.

Mischief hisses at it. ‘Esta!’

I try to wriggle out of it, will myself away from this creature, but nothing’s happening. I’m having flashbacks to the Dreamcatcher impaling my limbs on sharp twigs. What if this is him after all? If it is, unless I get super lucky and Bonnie throws another shoe at my boobs, I’m probably as good as dead.

But she has my voice, if more husky and ethereal, when she says, ‘Estelle Anderson, you are cursed.’

I mean, how dare she use my full name. No unconscious of mine would forget how much I hate that.

I’m still trying to wriggle out of her vice-like grip, but she’s too strong. The other me pulls me into the cloud. The last thing I hear is Mischief’s hiss, and then everything goes silent. And dark.

I keep telling myself that this is my dream and nothing else can control it, but clearly that’s not the case. I force myself to breathe evenly, but my heart beats faster with every second that I don’t see a way out. I will a door to appear—nothing happens. I will myself to fly so I can survey the area better—nothing. I even will myself back to Mischief outside this wall, but that doesn’t work, either. I think I could still make myself wake up, but now that I’m here, I want to look around. This is why I came here.

I make out a shape not far from me. I walk over to it and realise it’s Bonnie, or at least something my dream-instinct recognises as Bonnie. She’s made of the same black fog as my double. Bonnie is packing her suitcase. I’m there, too, gesturing wildly, but I don’t hear any words. This version of me is either speechless or Bonnie isn’t listening.

‘I’ll be back to get the rest when you’re at work,’ Bonnie spits as she closes the suitcase. She hauls it off the bed and leaves the room. ‘Well done. You’ve got your wish.’

And then Bonnie is gone. The representation of me sags to the floor.

I don’t know what this is, but it’s not something I recognise so it’s not a memory, and Bonnie would never leave. I can’t imagine this much venom in her voice when talking to me—we rarely even argue. So this must be a regular fear.

The fog-version of me dissipates, and a shadow of Leverett appears. I’m there again, too, looking just as defeated as I did with Bonnie.

‘I’m sorry,’ he says. ‘I can’t love a human.’

Despite knowing that this isn’t real, hearing those words with his voice makes my heart hurt. He wouldn’t. Would he? He told me to take some time to think, but couldn’t he change his mind, too?

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