Jericho
For sixteen years, it was always a recurring nightmare. It never eased, never got easier to manage. What did get easier to manage was the fear.
So long had passed since that dreadful night and I still couldn't stand close to a fire without flinching. Neither could I go to bed without a harness, lest I hurt myself. Not many people knew that. Just my brothers. And the Queen.
Soren thought sleeping with Maisie in my arms would stave off the demons that sat on my chest every night, in the same way it did his.
He wasn't exactly wrong.
With her scent in my nose, her cheek pressed against my chest and her arms tightened around me and her thighs tangled firmly in mine in a snuggle I was sure she wasn't even aware of, I relaxed, even if I hadn't meant to.
And I slept.
When I dreamt, I wasn't in a cage. Neither was I being torched and burned alive. No. It was a different kind of nightmare.
