Niccolo
Dena turns to me, with tears in her eyes. Her belly is round with the child we never had. She looks so beautiful. She...
I never got to see her like this.
"Why do you do this?" Her whimpers.
I focus on what's happening. This dream.
"You're dead," I state. "Nothing you have to say, matters anymore."
She scoffs. "You know I'm dead. I know I'm dead. Ghosts aren't real. Then tell me, smarty pants. What am I?"
"A manifestation of my subconscious. Like all dreams. There's nothing you can tell me, that I don't already know."
"That's how subconscious works," She smiles. Just like the real Dena. "I've done a fabulous job recreating though."
I sit. Luciano taught me to take control of my dreams. I'm better at it them him now.
"I suppose I don't have to tell you, you're deflecting."
