interlude: dream a little dream of me

Apollo doesn’t dream often. If he does, he doesn’t remember them when he wakes. Tonight, it is different. This dream feels too real and too close, like he’s watching it happen right in front of him. (It feels familiar, like it has the stirrings of prophecy about it.) There is not much coherent in it, flashes of a fight – a man with long black hair, a woman with brown hair, an overwhelming feeling of revenge and grief so strong it almost wakes him up. He gleans enough of the scenery to know it is at the mansion; but neither of the faces are anyone he knows. The confrontation between the two people ends bloodily, with the flash of a sword and the woman left dead. As soon as she falls, Apollo wakes; shaken. He knows in his bones it was a prophecy; but one could never tell when exactly that prophecy could happen. It could be tomorrow; it could be thousands of years in the future. Perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.