"That was probably... a few months back," Dawn said. "You remember the Parkside Strangler? The serial killer who was strangling all those three women in Central Park? Well, you're looking at victim number four. Sort of. Late night, stupid thing, short cut through the park..."
She frowned. "I'm... pretty sure I was dead. Or something. But I almost remember... a woman's voice, and the smell of some kind of battlefield, and the sound of swords against each other. But then... I wasn't dead anymore. And I beat the shit out of the guy."
She frowned some more. "Managed to keep my name out of the papers, thankfully. But the dreams that night...
Snow. And a battlefield. Swords and spears and shields and screams and things like... I don't know. Trolls? Demons? Nothing I'd ever seen before. More like a memory. But not mine. Whoever's memory it was... it was the memory of them dying."
She replaced the sword in its scabbard. "My clothes don't change back unless I want them to," she said, and making it so. "But this sword... it was on my nightstand when I woke up the next morning."
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She frowned. "I'm... pretty sure I was dead. Or something. But I almost remember... a woman's voice, and the smell of some kind of battlefield, and the sound of swords against each other. But then... I wasn't dead anymore. And I beat the shit out of the guy."
She frowned some more. "Managed to keep my name out of the papers, thankfully. But the dreams that night...
Snow. And a battlefield. Swords and spears and shields and screams and things like... I don't know. Trolls? Demons? Nothing I'd ever seen before. More like a memory. But not mine. Whoever's memory it was... it was the memory of them dying."
She replaced the sword in its scabbard. "My clothes don't change back unless I want them to," she said, and making it so. "But this sword... it was on my nightstand when I woke up the next morning."