Powder Room in Seattle
Small minimalist white tile and ceramic tile dark wood floor powder room photo with furniture-like cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, gray walls, an undermount sink and glass countertops
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San Francisco Bathroom
Alcove shower - small contemporary 3/4 multicolored tile and glass tile porcelain tile and gray floor alcove shower idea with flat-panel cabinets, brown cabinets, a one-piece toilet, white walls, an integrated sink, glass countertops, a hinged shower door and white countertops
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Transitional Closet New York
Dressing room: small transitional women's dressing room design with open cabinets and white cabinets and a brown floor.
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He has nightmares, afterwards.
Callum has always been a night owl, staying up too late in his office, and he'd been better at actually going to sleep on purpose once Rayla had come back, uncertainly settling in Ezran's old room across the way, but...
He wakes her up one night crying and sticks to the cot in the high mage study after that, neck damp from chilled sweat as he stares at where the mirror used to sit. She doesn't need this, and he knows if he tells her about the dreams, he'll have to tell her why they're happening, and how much she'll blame herself right when she was starting to get better, and—
Half the nightmares are about being possessed again, the snakes from Finnegrin's office ensnaring his wrists and hissing in his ears. Biting his neck with sharp pointy fangs and injecting poison in his blood. Turning him to nothing more than Aaravos' puppet all over again, but by his own hand.
You knew the risk you were taking, Aaravos' voice mocks, cold and deep, his upper lip curling in a sneer. The irony isn't lost on either of them. By setting yourself free.
The worst of those dreams is a carousel of his loved ones — Soren, Ezran, Rayla — strangled, bloody, him helpless to stop it, to stop any of it, the primal stone like prison smashed at his feet, the glassy shards piercing his eyes. He's played right into Aaravos' hands and lost everything, and—
The other half — the worst better half is when Aaravos doesn't need to possess him to get what he wants. There's the same fear, the violence, the same pool of blood collecting at his knees, the same result — Aaravos, out — and yet...
If you want her to live, little mage, you'll do as I tell you.
When he wakes up from those dreams, it's still with a cold sweat, but with a steadier heart. And he hates it — hates how it reminds him of all the parts of himself he doesn't want, the parts of himself that he doesn't like, that scare him. How could he possibly be that selfish? And yet, he knows... he knows—
The tides are true as the ocean is deep.
The ocean arcanum thrums alongside the beating of his heart. He wakes and looks towards the window Rayla had climbed through, haloed in light, and him unaware of the dark creature he'd found in the mirror. He swallows hard.
He knows which nightmares he'd choose to have come true, his fingers folding over his knees.
I would do anything for you.
He knows exactly what he'd choose, because at least he'd still have her.
And the worst part of it all is that he knows, somehow, in his bones, that Aaravos knows it too. Has known it for much longer than Callum has, anyway.
It's almost what scares him the most.
"Your bedhead's getting worse," Rayla says cheerily at breakfast, combing her fingers through it, a butter knife clasped in her other hand.
That's the best response I could think of to your stupid request. I'm not going to kill you!
Almost.
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