Sweet dreams, Sofia.

What had she smelt back in that church? It had burnt her nose horribly, had made her throat dry and her eyes water. She had tried to swallow, she would even wipe her eyes every few seconds to keep her focus. Sadly, nothing had helped. So she had let it go. Her eyes had stayed red and swollen, her throat had stayed parched, her nose, lips had stayed irritated.

Frankincense, The woman had spoken, You’re in a church. Of course you’re going to smell frankincense.

She now lay on the cold granite floor, hand over her aching heart as she laughed through soft tears. Oh, how tired she felt just now, how arduous it had been running around doing errands that day. So very much to do, so very little time to do it. Finally, finally she would be able to rest. All she really needed was a short nap, nothing too elaborate, nothing too time consuming. A few minutes, a quick dream, then she would wake up and go home.

Simple, the statue had said, Take a nap, Sofia. I’ll wake you when you need to go. The ambulance is here. I can hear it.

Her eyes fluttered open. The granite statue looming beside her was smiling.

You talk to much, Mary. Sofia said through a gentle giggle as she closed both amber eyes, People are trying to pray and you’re bothering them with jabber.

Just rest, child, the statue whispered, Dream of something beautiful.

So, as Sofia slowly slide away into sleep, as darkness slowly rose up from beneath her, she let her entire body relax; she let go of all the confusion and exhaustion of the past day. And, for the first time since her life had collapsed, she plunged downwards; she freefell into a dream.

She remembered how hard the wooden pew had felt on her back, remembered shifting her weight uncomfortably until the cramp in her side had lessened. She was breathing hard yet she never remembered running. She remembered how she had let her eyes wander upwards towards the limestone ceiling above, remembered how startled she had been to gaze upon the ancient, glorious artwork. Such magnificent drawings, so gorgeous and delicate they had been. The original paint had faded, yes, but that only added to its brilliance.

There had been other things in the cathedral; Sofia saw statues. Many, of which were also brilliantly sculpted by age. She has seen bouquets of flowers, pewter bowls of holy water, stained glass windows glowing from the oil lamps outside. She remembered the hard marble floor beneath her feet, the cool breeze wafting around her shaking, winded body, and, faintly so, the sound of insects past the back door. Something, she remembered, had caught her eye. It was neither the oak sculpted crosses adorning the wall nor the dozens of candles ablaze in a sea of light. No, Sofia remembered picking out the single, most beautiful piece of art in the entire church. Standing oh so gently to the left of the massive cherry doors stood a statue of the Virgin Mother.

Sofia had never seen anything so beautiful. Sofia had never, in her entire life, seen anything so complete and timeless. The entire sculpture seemed to have been carved from the most alabaster of sandstone. Every detail, every small, precious aspect of the white statue had been shaped so perfectly, so precisely, so divinely.

It’ glowing, she had said to herself, It’s just a rock and it’s glowing.

That evening, for some reason, she had come late. She had walked in so haphazardly, so behind schedule that only a few people still remained, their heads bowed in prayer. She was never one for church, no, never one to walk in like this and pray.

There had been a distinct smell the second she entered. As she had taken a seat, she had seen a white fog seep down through a few gold jars set on the front tables; some canisters even hung from the ceiling and walls, drizzling down a faint dreamlike mist.

Hmm, She thought to herself, It almost smells like…gun powder?

The ludicrous idea had struck her off-balance.

Gun powder!? She shouted at herself in disbelief, Why the hell does a church need gunpowder? To shoot someone?!

The thought had overwhelmed her suddenly, so violently, in fact, that her head bucked backwards and she exploded with laughter. Oh, what a laugh it was. Never before had she chuckled so vibrantly, never before had she so entirely let herself go. She laughed until tears started to fall from her eyes; real tears, not those from the stink of frankincense.

No, it’s not gun powder, idiot. She screamed inside, still giggling. A church definitely doesn’t need gunpow--

“Are you ok, dear?”

Sofia hadn’t remembered what the old woman had looked like, her body had been so caught up in the moment, so entirely gone that her mind was unable to register solid actuality. Although, any elderly person must look like the next. Sofia had guessed that the woman had a face filled with aging lines and tiny liver spots, that she had wispy strands of white hair cut short around her head. A scarf, perhaps, hung from her shoulders to keep out the autumn wind; maybe a light overcoat and woolen gloves, too.

“I’m fine.” Sofia had answered, a lost smile on her face. “Oh, but the smell…”

The woman’s eyes had squinted in pleasure at Sofia’s grin.

“Dear? The smell?” The woman had inquired, her smile fading slightly. “What do you mean?”

“That…smell,” Sofia had turned her head away from the woman with the harsh Italian accent. “What is it?”

“Frankincense,” The woman answered, “You’re in a church. Of course you’re going to smell frankincense.”

“Is that so?”

Time had passed, a few seconds perhaps. Sofia hadn’t remembered. The woman however, with the warming smirk still on her face, had looked down at Sofia’s hands. A mistake, indeed.

Initially, the woman showed the slight look of concern, of mild apprehension. Maybe the mist had been too thick or the church too dark that camouflaged the stains at first. Maybe it was just plain ignorance on the woman‘s part not to notice them originally. Either way, when Sofia had turned back, the woman’s eyes had significantly widened. They had been large, turquoise eyes, like two round disks of shiny blue granite.

“Oh goodness, dear!” The woman had cried out loud, grasping her mouth with wild confusion. “Did you hurt yourself? Are you alright?!”

“I’m fine.” Sofia had purred calmly, indifferent. “Is Frankincense all they use--”

“Wait here!” Was the reply. “I’ll get some help!”

The woman had been off just like that, gone out the door, past that alabaster statue, and into the rainy streets of Italy. Gone so easily, so frantically.

Sofia had been alone then. It had just been her in that dimly lit church, her sitting in an old wooden pew, hands folded in her lap, eyes gorging themselves on the richness of artwork on the walls. She had been left to listen to utter silence broken only by a casual chirp of a frog or a cricket from outside. She had been left to feel that cool night breeze that had flooded in. It lightly kissing Sofia’s tear stained cheeks, her quivering lips, her neck where a single red splotch outlined her collar bone.

That’s when it had happened. There, all alone, seated in the second row, Sofia had heard the first few sounds. Faintly at first, like a slight rumbling, it had rolled through the church, echoing off of each wall. The sound had practically liquefied the air; it had billowed forth with such agonizing intensity that the very church Sofia sat in, God’s mighty house, had trembled.

All around her, low and high, Sofia had heard screaming.

What agonizing sounds. Some had been so loud, so horribly distinct and blunt that Sofia had staggered backwards out of her seat in fear. She had reeled back so violently from absolute dread and bewilderment that she soon found herself standing in the center isle, her head throbbing. Her tears had come so suddenly; It was like a torrent almost.

“Stop!”

Her voice had failed to travel through the thick air. It failed to even make a dent in the chaos around her. The very sound of her voice had made her wince. How minute and weak she sounded, how inferior.

“Please!” She tried to hold back a sob. “I don’t want to remember!”

An ear splitting howl had exploded behind her from an unseen mouth. She stumbled forward, her arms outstretching to catch her as she fell. Another scream, this time directly in front of her, this time louder and more terrifying then the one before.

Then came the wind, like a thousand bodies running past, each one crushing the next. Invisible fingers scratches past Sofia, thousands of hands and arms had crushed her against the cold floor. She had tucked her legs under her body, had tried to curl into the fetal position. All she could really do was hunch over with eyes glued shut from tears and scream with a voice that took no effect.

The heat came next. Large, transparent flames bit at Sofia’s exposed arms, singling her face, her lips and hair. The shrill scream of a woman had almost deafened her as she feel sideways into the wooden pew. Sofia had smelt her hair burn before twisting up into ugly blast spirals, she could feel her eyelashes singe. A hopeless sob escaped her lips then; no longer was she able to scream.

She had felt her clothes catch fire, had actually felt the flames touch her flesh as the wind pressed her harder and harder into the floor. Such pressure pushed down on her aching body. That didn’t bother her nearly as much as the noise did. The noise, she would never forget the utter cacophony of noise around her.

It had ended. Nothing. A lazy frog’s chirp melted into the background, a cool breeze touched her face, the scent of rain washed over her. That was it. Absolutely nothing. It was over.

It was a dream, she suddenly said to herself as she pushed herself into a seated position, you know this. This has happened before. Next, you’re going to see--

His red hair caught her attention, the violet of his eyes had then stolen her away. He was how she had remembered him that last time she saw him…exactly how she had remembered him. Eyes the fairest lavender, hair a mixture of silky scarlet and copper. His body was tall and lithe, arching gracefully backwards from the weight in his arms. There, cuddled up to his torn and bleeding chest was a girl, her body dressed in white, her cedar colored face covered by a thick mane of brunette curls.

Don’t cry, she screamed at herself, it’s just a dream. It isn’t him…that isn’t you--

“Aya?” She called out his name, her voice too shallow to reach his ears.

DON’T! It isn’t him! She shouted, her eyes welling up, You know this!

He had looked down at the lifeless girl in his arms, her crème dress singed with black, her hair an unruly mess. Her tear soaked face had been visible, her rosy lips had lost their color. The young girl seemed lifeless, sullen and silent; unmoving, uncaring, almost dead. Slowly, softly, he had kissed the girl’s cold lips. She never moved, never blinked an eye or muttered a single word. Sofia watched as Aya drew in a deep, tense breath and stepped forward.

When he walked through her, Sofia’s soul had crumbled. She had felt as lifeless and as dead as the woman in his arms. All she could do was watch as his gossamer figure walked down the isle of the church, his arms still full. He slide, ghostlike, past the alabaster statue, through the arches of the door and out into the open air. Then, as Sofia’s breath lodged in her throat, she saw three undistinguishable shadows followed him into the rainy streets.

Silence.

How many years ago had that been? Four? Five? She could hardly remember that memory anymore. He had been so faint this time. The beauty of that dream had been so horribly muffled by her inner demons.

“I miss them.” She said faintly, her voice clogged and incoherent as she pulled herself into a kneeling position in front of the alter. Above her, cloaked in wisps of smoke and darkness, the looming figure of Christ looked down upon her from his cross. Never before had such an inanimate piece of wood caused her so much pain.

“I miss them so much.” Sofia had said in such a small, horrid voice. She looked up, everything a blur of browns and blacks. She then broke down, her sobs turning to swooning wails. So violently she had shaken; so alone and cold had she felt.

“Why?!” She suddenly bellowed, her voice cracking under the strain. “I’m alone!”

She couldn’t help herself, everything was falling forward, all her emotions, every last one locked up tight started to fall out of her. A sickening anger started to built up in her, harboring in the places where her pain had once dwelt. No longer was she thinking of Aya; no more of Weiß or of who she once was all those years ago. Something new was crawling up through her; a memory, vile and repulsive, started to seep from her mind.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” She cried, raising her hands to the cross. “I didn’t mean to!”

All she got was the stern glare from a piece of glossed wood. Christ neither bat an eyelash nor lifted his noble chin in her direction.

“I can’t--” She couldn’t control her shaking; her eyes burned feverishly from the crying. She felt as though she had no tears left to shed; still, she howled in pain as she looked upwards. “She was all I had left! Why did you take her! Why did you make me do it! I needed her! She was all I had left.”

Her hands wrapped around her shoulders as she started to rock back and forth. Everything was spilling forth. She felt sick; all the strain on her heart was weakening her. She wanted to throw up; she wanted to lay down and sleep, to simply curl up and die.

“I’m so sorry.” She wept. “I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean it, Rhiannon. Please, forgive me. I didn’t mean it. I di--”

Arms, ones that weren’t hers, had wrapped around her shoulders. A warm cheek had pressed against her own. Sofia had frozen, not able to rock as such a sensation of warmth and love washed over her tired, beaten body.

“What are you doing down here all by yourself, silly?”

The voice had brought forth a new torrent of tears; although, these brimmed with something else. Sofia had brought a hand up to her eyes, wiping away what she could. Moving in front of her, hair tipped with red, sat a recognizable face.

“I have a pen!” The girl cooed excitedly. “Can I draw something on your hand?”

“Don’t fucking bother her, M.” A second voice suddenly rose up out of the floor, a body materializing into a faint glow inches from Sofia‘s kneeling body. “Sofia has work to do. We have a mission tonight, remember?”

“Just something small, Autumn, I promise.” Marie pleaded, her translucent eyes shining at Sofia. “A red heart? That’s something small, right Sof”

“A fucking heart?!” Autumn shouted as she sat cross-legged beside Marie. “Sofia doesn’t want a bloody heart on her hand!”

“I’ll draw it nicely.” Marie cried, her eyes wide with innocence. “Please, Sofia, I’ll draw it nicely.”

Her breath had caught in her throat. Every inch of Sofia’s body was frozen. She felt as though if she moved, even a finger, this memory, this pleasant little dream would flutter away. The only thing that continued to work was her eyes, scanning the two girls before her. They looked so real. They looked so perfect. She remembered them like it was yesterday.

Marie’s transparent hand had taken Sofia’s into hers. It was so strange, that hand of hers. Like a tan balloon, like an off white bottle. It was like looking through distorted glass. Sofia could see the red carpeted ground through Marie’s right hand, she could see the small patterns of black and brown where the rug met the marble. Yet, the images appeared to be seen under water, distorted into loose, disorganized lines. In Marie’s hand, there was the outline of a pen, yet no real pen was visible. Gently, as Marie hummed softly to herself, she pressed the tip onto Sofia’s palm. Autumn simply rolled her eyes and glared, a thin section of scarlet hair slipping forward from her shoulders.

“You’re going to have to wash that off before we leave.” Autumn warned, a slight snarl in her voice. “Someone might see it while we’re out.”

“Sofia’s too good to be caught on missions like that.” Marie had said. “Sofia’s too perfect.”

“We could get killed.” The redhead said, holding back a smile as Marie poked her in the cheek. “People have been traced because of marking on their bodies.”

“What? Paranoid much?” Marie answered, “Don’t worry; Sofia will protect us.”

That’s when the flashback had started.

That night had been cold. Of course, since winter was in its way. There was a dreadful wind whipping through the area, stinging cheeks, noses and exposed ears. One couldn’t survive a moment out in such unpleasant conditions for too long. One could hardly stand out there and make it through a few seconds much less walk a mile home in this weather. But she did. She walked ever step, every second in mindless oblivion.

Everything seemed to focus then; This memory was so completely clear. Sofia had looked around her and had seen everything perfectly. The feel of the carpet against her legs, the texture of the papers between her fingers. She had smelt Marie’s perfume, had heard with crystal clarity of Autumn’s harsh cursing. It was as though that moment had never left Sofia, as though she was back in their apartment four years ago, on one of their first missions. She was sitting in a picture, a faultless snapshot of that day so long before.

“And he has blond hair.” Marie had said as she pressed the point of the pen gently into Sofia’s hand. “Blond hair and green eyes. He’s tall too.”

“Fucking mission.” She spat, reading the fine print. “Stupid fucking drugs. Stupid fucking shipping harbor. Stupid fucking illegal chemicals. I‘m sick of this Sofia, fucking sick…”

There is was.

“It could!” Marie snorted, leaning over and punching Autumn playfully in the arm. “Afterwards, we can all go out and get drunk to celebrate.”

That sinking feeling Sofia knew all too well.

“Are you kidding me?” Autumn joked, her eyes squinting upwards as a hearty laugh came forth from her lips. “Rhia would never go for that.”

There it was again. That pang of discord, of unease. No longer was this a pleasant memory.

“Sofia could make her go!” Marie laughed loudly, her shaking hand messing up the heart design on Sofia’s hand. “Sofia can give her a nudge towards the bar!”

Her heart sank.

“Rhiannon isn’t that much of a push over.” Autumn remembered. “She’s going to fight it!”

Rhiannon…

“Then we can drag her there!” Marie giggled, the pen falling away from her fingers. “Par-tay!”

“Where’s Rhia?” Sofia muttered suddenly, her voice still aching.

One could say that a flashback, like a dream, only survives from memories and promises remembered long ago. A memory can never regenerate itself in the flesh, never sprout a new, never relive what once it lived before. Hence, one of the present, whom Sofia was, who still regenerates and sprouts forth, should never be able to exist in such a moment in time. The very act of Sofia talking had halted everything. She was the Future barging in on the Past, disrupting everything by two single words.

Sofia should have never spoken.

As in moments where a memory breaches the surface of reality, as if one suddenly comes out of a dream onto to dread the truth that nothing had ever happened, so did Sofia breach that unnamed line between Imaginary and Certainty.

Things had started to blur once again. The mist had started to throw her off course. There was a tangy smell in the air. It hurt her nose so viciously.

The two had backed away from her, both with eyes wide, both weeping hysterically. One stumbled, falling backwards as she scrambled away. Both figures shook and moaned, their cries clogging the air around them. Looking down through tearful, frightened eyes, Sofia saw that where there had once been the penned outline of a heart on her palm, there now lay a hand drenched in drying blood.

Sofia had remembered the crying, how loud it had rang through out the church. She remembered the immense coldness that followed the weeping and the screams. For some reason, she could barely move, could barely speak as two of the most precious things in her live cowered away from her.

“If only we had been there!” Autumn moaned, her voice cracking from the tension. A small shiver of blood had started to pour forth from her temples. She wailed louder as I gushed down her face.

Sofia had remembered them running from her, their expressions that of abhorrence and panic. She actually felt their gazes, felt how angry and lost they were. At that moment, as they escaped from her, she finally moved, reaching out frantically for Autumn’s arm as she ran past. Her hand slipped right through the redhead’s. It was no use, she was touching a cloud, a simple wisp of dead smoke. The two took off down the isle, straight through the pews, their hair flying behind them violently, obscuring their faces. Such horrid sounds they made, such laments of anguish spewed from their lips as they collides with the wall, each disappearing in a puff of white. It reminded Sofia of the first few flutters of winter. Only then did Sofia get up from her knees, only then did she turn and run to where they had vanished. Tears had started again; her cries had risen up just as loud as the two before her.

“Autumn!” She screamed, stumbling as she followed their path down the isle. “Marie! I didn’t mean to! Forgive me! Please!”

As she ran, she saw nothing, just the stone walls filled with paintings in gold leafed frames. All she saw where the mammoth wooden crosses and sanctified statues lining the walls. She lost balance, throwing out her hands as she fell to the ground.

“I didn’t do it! Forgive me!” She cried. “Please! Come back! I swear to you, I didn’t-”

“They’ve left. They can’t hear you any longer.”

Nothing could have prepared Sofia for what she saw next. In all actuality, she had no strength left to hold back the tremors flushing from her body. She had nothing to keep her going forward. When she finally saw the woman before her, head of golden curls, eyes the color of cedar, all she could do was kneel down and sob. She couldn’t speak for her breath had been taken by her cries. She couldn’t see for her tears had blinded her vision. She could hardly breath, hardly stand up. Sofia couldn’t even lift her head off of the floor. As Sofia gasped for breath against the dusty floor, her body shaking uncontrollably, the ghost bent down and touched her, ever so gently, on her hand.

“I don’t know why I did it.” Sofia whispered slowly as a warmth passed up her arm. “I don’t know what happened.”

The ghost stood still, her eyes dim and sorrowful.

“I didn’t mean to.” Sofia forced out of her mouth, finally looking up. “Forgive me, Rhiannon.”

The ghost smiled gently as she took Sofia’s hand in hers. She spoke nothing as Sofia leaned in to hug her. She didn’t react as the arms wrapped around her, as Sofia cried into her shoulder.

“I would take it all back if I could!” Sofia kept screaming, her face buried. “I never meant to do it--”

Knock.

Knock.

Her breath was coming out in shivers. She no longer felt warm.

“It was a mistake.” She whispered, looking around at the empty church. No one was there, she was alone. Sofia looked down; she was still sitting on the wooden bench, still looking up at the granite cross of Christ.

All that time, she had never moved.

There it was again, that smell. She inhaled deeply before coughing. Yup, it was Frankincense. It hurt her head. Yet, at that moment she didn’t care. Her muscles ached as she stood up, they protested as she shuffled out from the bench. Sofia turned, she could see down the isle, past the alabaster statue and out the door. It was still dark outside, the frogs and crickets still sang in the moonlight. She could still smell the autumn breeze.

She shook her head to get the cobwebs loose. It just made everything hurt more.

This one was the worst, She thought to herself, This dream was the worst.

But, she knew it wasn’t a dream. It had happened exactly like she saw it that morning. She laughed gently. The white marble statue looked down at her as she passed. It was even more glorious up front. Such details was paid to the face, such gentle lines were etched into the small groves of the eyes, the slightly askew nose, the petite little lips. How magnificent, how simply magnificent.

“The smell must not bother you.” She tisked to the statue, her voice higher then it should have been. “What a boorish smell. Smells like gun powder. Smells just like gun--”

“Such an appropriate smell, don’t you think?”

The sound had startled her. She jolted her head upwards towards the noise. Through the darkness, her rested on a slim woman standing gracefully against the wall.

Sofia did see the gun. Others will tell you she hadn’t. She never fully registered in her mind though. It had been pointed towards her heart, she knew that much. It had been held by a woman with black eyes, huge unmoving black eyes.

“Ah, through all those months of tracking you down,” The woman said softly as the safety clicked off her gun. “How ironic it would be to catch you here, Ms. Takatori”

Sofia heard a faint sound in the distance. The sound of ambulances.

“To think.” The woman continued, grinning. “You’re the last Takatori, my dear. It looks as though I‘ve killed off an entire species.”

Sofia saw the ambulance lights as the gun discharged. In front of her, standing by the alabaster statue, had been a shadow with blond hair and eyes of cedar.

“Sweet dreams, Sofia.”