August
The cool breeze that swung through the curtains called him. He knew he was dreaming; only in a dream did the feet have to follow the eyes no matter what. And August definitely, absolutely, was already sure that the last place he wanted to be was on the other side of those swinging drapes. They floated in an ominous roll of fabric, like poisonous gas or the singular spool of irritated insects from a disturbed nest. The room was familiar, Doren’s room, and August’s heart beat a frantic call of longing for him. He knew Doren was on the balcony, past those clinging, swaying, breathing folds of material, but even still, he struggled to find the courage to press past them. A horrible, panicked arrangement of music drifted through the open door. It chattered in his mind like thousands upo
