The worst part was not knowing why I was terrified.
I wound a blanket tighter around myself and watched rain stream thickly down my window until the dream came back to me.
A raging sea. Uneven cliffs rose from its depths, while hundreds of ships advanced with terrifying force. Their sails pulled taut, and clouds were drawn in front of the moon as a veil. The first ship reached land, and with a unanimous cry, the unit swarmed the shore.
In the distance, a castle stood on a hill. It was visible through the downpour, against the backdrop of a stormy sky.
.

Lightning. My room glowed unnaturally; then, darkness. I imagined a great hand pressing a dirty cloth over this castle.
The lock on my door grated open, and my heart tightened painfully. I heard, “Your mother sent me.”
It was a familiar voice. Francis, my mother’s advisor held a lamp which feebly lit the space around his face. It was impossible to understand anything else he was trying to say, because he was gasping for breath.
I fought my way out of the tangled bed sheets and went to meet him. I stopped, however, at the sight of his stricken face. “You are in danger.” He set the lamp on the floor and bent to level with me, and set one hand on my shoulder. He said, “Run into the forest behind the castle, and don’t look back.”
I stared, in shock.
He stood, and said, “There is no time.” The tenderness was gone from his voice, as he focused on his task. “This is no longer your home.”
Everything swung madly out of focus, and I began several sentences, unable to determine which of my questions was most important. The look on Francis’ face reminded me my life was at stake. I fought to regain my calm, and managed to thank Francis for warning me of the trouble. He exited the room.
I put on a cloak over my nightclothes, and slid a dagger into my boot. Then, I left the room, and descended the many stairs blindly.
As soon as I was outside, I began to run. Water seeped into my boots, and pasted my hair to my face. I slipped under cover of dense foliage, and looked back just in time to see the first rank of soldiers .
.

I woke gradually to a dull headache and blurry vision. I kicked my blankets off me, and moaned, pulling a pillow over my face to block out the sun. I was angry with myself for having that dream again.
I'm good at forgetting. Every night since I left, I've imagined painting over my memories. When that wasn't enough, I’d built a wall in my mind between now and then. It had taken time. A decade had passed since they killed everyone I once knew.
The walls fall at night, and I hate myself for remembering.