He felt her intangible, hair raising, bed sheet ruffling, air cutting presence for the second time that night.
This is rather unusual, a thought made it through the maze of fear in his mind. One visit per night has always been adequate for her!
When you go to sleep, she always whispered from the depth of the seven seas, just leave your window slightly open so I can make your dreams come true.
And he always did leave it slightly open and she would make a terrific entry, gallant as a black unicorn in the darkest of night, galloping into his gray scale dreams filling them with flavor and color- turquoise, magenta, mauve, crimson- she loved crimson!
But color which only found a voice in the depths of his dreams was hardly what he desired. The pain of having to wake to an empty bed was overly insufferable.
“Am afraid our union no longer bears the plangency of yore,” she whispered her voice uncompromising. He smelt resentment and contempt.
Then she left, just like that, with the wind carrying her and a thousand memories- probably for the last time. Most probably to find another dreamer in the seventh sea and color his dreams the color of depth.
His dreams are no longer turquoise or magenta or mauve. Not even grey. They are crimson.