"The friends that have walked on before us
Are waiting to take us to laughter and dancing
The friends that have walked on before us
Are waiting to take us to the sky"
-- "Dreamland", Schneider/Strickland/Pierson
"I'm just at the other end of your night
I'm always in and out of your light
Right down the middle of all your dreams
In your dreams"
-- "In Your Dreams", Nicks/Stewart
From the personal journal of Cordelia Foxx
They come to me every night in my dreams.
Well, not all of them and not every night, thank god. I don't think I could handle all of them at once. I couldn't do it when they were alive. Why should I do it when they're not?
Sometimes the events of my day dictate who'll come to me in my dreams. Not quite directed dreaming, as I rarely can choose who comes to me, but usually I can guess who might make an appearance by how my day has gone. I wonder if my mother ever did that when she was Supreme. Too bad I can't ask her anymore about that.
My mother… She comes to me the least. I suppose that shouldn't be any kind of shock at this point. It's not like she was really around all that much for me when she was alive, so why should that change after she died? Her strange bout of almost-redemption right before her death in my arms still has me wondering if it was sincere or not. Mostly when she come to visit me, it's to whine about how bad her life is in Hell with the Axeman and Papa Legbo. Those are the nights that I often wake up and seek out Queenie's assistance to drink myself into a dreamless stupor. No, I don't force her to drink, but she's good enough to sit with me, unwilling to let me wallow alone in my dark thoughts, and then she helps me back into bed. She even sits with me until I finally succumb to alcohol's dreamless slumber.
Invariably, the night after a Fiona dream, I get a Myrtle dream. It's like a chance to remove the bad taste from my mouth that my mother always seems to put there. I miss Myrtle. I hate that I had to agree to her final wishes, even if I understand her reasons. She was, and always will be, more of a mother to me than Fiona Goode ever was. Myrtle was the nurturing presence to Fiona's chaotic nature, allowing me an island of calm in the storm of my mother's whirlwind life. Thankfully, Myrtle never allows much darkness to slip into our dreams. I know she's no longer suffering, but I could still use her presence and guidance to this day, probably for the rest of my life.
I always wake up happier when Nan's come to visit me. She still retains that childlike innocence and sense of adventure that were such rudimentary cornerstones in her life. That she comes to me when I need to be reminded that innocence and goodness do still exist in this world is a soothing balm to my weary soul. Her dreams are also quite prophetic, often giving me insight into the next witch to reach out to in hopes of bringing her to Miss Robichaux's. She's yet to give me incorrect information, and I leave offerings of her favorite things in her preferred places within the school grounds.
Marie Laveau doesn't visit me in my dreams, nor does Delphine LaLaurie. I'll be frank in saying that I'd sooner Hell freezes over than either of them darken my dreams. I know that the coven joined forces with Marie's voodoo clan to fight off Hank and the witch hunters, but it never sat comfortably with me because of her deal with Papa Legbo. That sort of pact never truly benefits the person making it, and I don't know how to understand the people who believe that it does. Deals with the devil, as it were, never benefit anyone but the entity in power.
But of all the people who visit my dreams, there is one that I'd give anything to resurrect so that she can be with me permanently. My sweet Misty… Oh, how I miss her. Despite my misgivings over deals with the devil, in whatever guise works to achieve the deal, I've been oh so tempted to enact one if it meant she would come back to me.
So many nights are spent harkening back to the bliss of my greenhouse, surrounded by the sounds of Stevie Nicks as I teach her herbal lore that blows her mind with each connection, each successful spell blended. It's like I'm there again, approximating a positive and loving version of the Descensum test. I lose myself in those memories, falling in love with her all over again, never wanting to leave those happy moments, but I wake each morning with a bittersweet ache in my chest and a damp spot on my pillow.
There are nights when I crave her presence like oxygen. That's usually when the good dreams happen. I've come to call them the happy memories nights. We relive the good moments from when she was still alive. Back when Madison and my mother would sneer at her for being that stupid swamp witch bitch. Back when Zoe still felt torn over getting Kyle back because he wasn't quite what she'd romanticized about him from their brief interlude but also a little too familiar with the woman who could understand how his death-reversed brain worked.
Some nights, I'm forced to relive the trial of the Seven Wonders, up to and including her death. Each time, I feel that insane rage that her beautiful, pure soul is forever trapped in whatever hellacious realm of the afterlife that caused her to forget how to return to us, to me. Kyle sits with me on those nights, soothing me back from the depths of despair. Even resurrected as he was, he is far more sensitive and astute than anyone, including myself, has ever given him credit for. He misses Misty, too, because she knew how to reach past the undead rage within revived flesh and coax out the brilliant, compassionate mind he had in life.
But even remembering her death by Descensum doesn't count as the worst of the dreams centered on Misty, as odd as that sounds. No, the worst ones involve Misty and I actually consummating our feelings for each other. There was never a good time for such selfish pursuits when we were at war with the witch hunters. But my mind -- or is it Misty's from beyond the grave? -- supplies me with such vivid details of what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like as we make love for hours on end. If I have to be "stuck" in any kind of eternity, please let it be those dreams where Misty and I are insatiable in our desire to please each other and show the depths of our love for each other.
I'll say it again. If I was ever tempted to strike a deal with Marie and my mother struck with Papa Legba or any of his ilk, I'd do it for my Misty. I wouldn't care if she was resurrected and returned to me or if we were in an eternal afterlife together. If we can be together and rekindle that happiness and love, it will be more than enough for me.
I miss you, Misty, my beautiful white-winged dove of peace and love.
I'll see you in my dreams as often as you can come to me.