Beacon Feels

When she’s halfway through the paper cup, she sets it on the table in front of her.  Allison steadies herself with a deep breath.  “I’m having nightmares, and I don’t think it’s from the sacrifice.” Deaton doesn’t respond except to raise one eyebrow. She clears her throat, “I’m having nightmares of my own death.” “Is it always the same dream?” “Yes.” “How often do you have it?” “It started the night after our sacrifice, and it’s not been every night since, but it has been consistent for the last four nights.” “Describe it to me.” And so she does - the lack of clarity, the feeling of her arrow leaving her fingers, the sudden shock without pain.  She explains the dream’s varied lengths and how she wakes up.  Deaton never changes his expression, just continuously looks on in that concerned way of his.  The only sign that the dream concerns him is that his lips seem to get thinner and thinner. When she’s finished, he doesn’t say anything.  He seems to be watching her, picking apart every minute motion and twitch she makes.  Eventually he says, “will you give me just a moment?” He disappears into a back room.  She can hear shuffling, the moving of heavy objects from one place to another.  Allison wishes there was a better person to go to for information seeing as Deaton already seems to be giving cryptic responses.  She’ll stay hopeful, and if it doesn’t work she’ll tell her dad.  Maybe the Argent archives will have something for weird death dreams.