El Taco Taco — Roleplayer Guild

Phoebe dreamed.

She dreamed of smoke and snow, rain and fire, the wail of banshees and children. She was running, always running, trying to find something, but she could never quite catch up, could never quite get warm. The snow was unending, blanketing the world and filling her lungs to the brim. Golden sparks lingered just out of reach, dancing away as she stumbled. She was at Hogwarts, surrounded by laughter and sunshine, but she was drowning, drowning, drowning.

Phoebe awoke to sunshine. The light was agony, and she groaned, driving her face into her pillow. The white sheets were damp with sweat, bunching beneath her fists. Everything stung, as if someone was running ice along her every nerve. She took a shuddering breath.

Her sheets were gold, not white.

She sat up suddenly, head pounding as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The room was clean and orderly and very much not her own. Phoebe swore, palming her eyes. Why couldn’t she remember how she had gotten here? The last thing she remembered was being cold and wet and shouting at someone, but everything was foggy. Merlin, who had she let take her home? If it was Aeron, she was never going to live this down… except, she knew Aeron’s place, and there was no way his room was this neat. And she was still dressed. So, not an ill-advised one night stand with a coworker then. That was a small miracle.

Phoebe’s purse and wand were sat neatly on the bedside table. She scrambled for the hawthorn, breathing a sigh of relief as she grasped it tight. She had her wand. Examining the room, her eyes found a very stately clock. Ten to noon. Merlin’s balls, that wasn’t good. Phoebe disentangled herself from the bed, pushing her brunette waves off of her face, stumbling on the cold floor. She looked to her purse. She had another dose—it was tempting. Phoebe would love nothing more than to burn again. Already, the numbness was settling back in, greying out her world. It took every ounce of will she had to look away and cautiously approach the door.

Wand raised, she slipped through to a very well designed living room, all black leather and crisp white lines. Very masculine, very much not her drab little flat. Phoebe frowned. She’d been in a café, she remembered, which was strange because she was reasonably sure she had gone dancing with Rhiannon and Ashlyn…

“Hello?” She called out, fingers tightening around her wand.

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Schist happens.

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