Those dreams that come...

Posted on 14 Jul 2025 @ 10:45pm by 1st Lieutenant Cassandra Matthews & Ensign C'Tirr K'Ruuras

1,020 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: General Sim Postings
Location: Kuuras family quarters
Timeline: Two days before the briefing

ON:


Cassandra woke with a sharp intake of breath, her body drenched in cold sweat. Her fingers clawed instinctively at the sheets, knuckles whitening as she struggled to process where—and when—she was. The sour tang of swamp air lingered on her tongue, a phantom sensation, as if she had just trudged through the muck and death all over again. But it wasn’t real. Not this second. Not this night.

The room was bathed in soft shadows, lit only by the silent hum of starlight filtering through the viewport. Yet Cassandra couldn't shake the visceral memory of Tevren Antako's voice cutting through her consciousness, a hellish echo that carved deeper trenches into scars long since healed over.

Her chest heaved with ragged breaths as the dream unraveled in her mind—the swamp planet bleeding into her foster parents’ home, their lifeless faces staring up from the bloodstained floor. And then it all warped, contorted into the nightmares she feared most: Tevren’s cold, mocking eyes. Chains biting into her wrists. C’Tirr’s guttural cries as both of them were deconstructed and broken piece by piece.

Her mind screamed for her to stop, to pull back, to abandon this nightly ritual of remembrance. But then the dream twisted once more—familiar, agonizing, a gut-wound memory she never wanted to face. Her daughter. Martha.


This time, it wasn’t Tevren’s face. It was hers—those same piercing blue eyes that glimmered like his, but the innocent wonder and intelligence behind them? That was Cassandra's. Or so she told herself. So she hoped.

Martha was her second chance at everything, her tether to stability in the wake of terror. She had fought for every single moment with that girl. Earned them. Protected her.

So why did the nightmare end the same every time? Martha was gone. Her screams, so small, so fragile, still rang in Cassandra’s ears. The darkness swallowed her entirely, and Cassandra couldn’t reach her in time. Her hand, raised. Empty.

Cassandra jerked upright in bed. That part of her had to believe it was only a nightmare. Just her brain tormenting her with the poison Tevren left behind. But the rational part—the one curled and cowering in the deepest space of her mind—knew better.

The other side of the room stirred with a familiar presence. Tevren, his sleek shadowed form lounging silently in the corner, his sharp sapphire eyes glowing faintly in the dim light. Leaning forward in recognition the moment Cassandra turned her head toward him. No words were necessary—He had become an intrinsic part of her, a shadow she would carry forever.

But his low, dangerous voice cut through the stale, hollow abyss of her thoughts anyway. “You should go check on the child,” he said softly, though the playful tone still bore the weight of something firm, unshakable.

Cassandra shifted, a dull panic spiking in her chest even as she tried to tell herself everything was fine. It was just a bad dream. But the memory of it clung to her bloodstream, chilling, corrosive. Her feet moved before she could second-guess them, her heart pounding louder than any sense of reason.

'Martha. Martha, please be okay.' her mind pleaded.

She crossed the threshold into the small sleeping cabin, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the bed. Empty. Sheets disheveled. Her worst fear began to unfold like a silent detonation—her mind tugging her back to the abyss of that nightmare.

“No, no, no—” she whispered, her voice so faint it barely reached her ears.

Her stomach churned.

But then, soft breathing. A whisper of movement. From the corner of the room, in the shadowed recesses of the opposite wall, a golden flash caught Cassandra’s eye. She exhaled sharply, her legs almost buckling beneath her relief.

C’Tirr was there, just as he’d promised always to be. His towering form sat cross-legged on the floor, and curled up against the broad wall of his chest was Martha, a blanket draped protectively around the small girl. Her daughter’s sapphire eyes—so startling, so full of innocence—blinked open for a brief moment before fluttering closed again as she shifted in peaceful sleep. C’Tirr’s tail flicked lazily behind him as he regarded Cassandra without a word, a faint expression of knowing written across his feline face.

“She was having a rough night,” he said softly, his words vibrating more than echoing. “I thought it best not to wake you.” There was no judgment in his tone, only calm, steady reassurance.

Cassandra sank to her knees, her body too overwhelmed to do much else. She didn’t trust herself to say anything—not yet. Silent tears pricked the corners of her eyes before snaking paths down her cheeks, unbidden and unrelenting. Shame. Gratitude. Fear. All of it bubbled under the surface, threatening to consume her. Instead, Cassandra nodded mutely, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.

C’Tirr reached out with his free hand, lightly brushing her shoulder in that silent way he always had. Urging her into his embrace. He didn’t speak further—there was no need. They had been through enough horrors together to understand how grief, relief, and memory could exist in a single fragile moment.

“She’s safe, Cassandra,” he murmured. “With us, she’ll always be safe.” he purred his ebony paw soothing through her hair as she too curled against him.

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for once, Cassandra tried to believe them. As her daughter nestled deeper into C’Tirr’s embrace, breathing softly, Cassandra dared to hold onto that fragile sense of hope as she reached out to that tiny form. Lovingly, she brushed her trembling fingers through Martha's dark curls so painfully similar to her father Tevrens.

Her nightmares would come again. They always did. But for now, she stayed on the floor with them, taking solace in the fact that everything was safe for now, her heart rattling in rhythm with their breaths in the starlit quiet.

OFF:

 

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