Markus slept okay for an hour or so, which was pretty good for him. He did wake up from time to time, but never long enough that he was really aware of it. It did make getting rest harder though.
His sleep turned more troublesome, and he curled up more tightly, breaths wheezing slightly as he didn’t get enough air into himself.
He was back in the crowd again, watching carefully, to see what would happen. Oliver was only one face in a sea of what seemed like thousands to him, gathering around to see what had happened to his older brothers and the others that had been caught. He tried not to scream or look upset. They would find him and take him away if he showed anything other than a mild expression. But somehow, this time, he was on the stage, watching the hooded man beside him until–
Oliver woke up in a cold sweat, frantically trying to figure out where he was. He was still in the house. He shakily reached out to Markus, to check if he was still there. When he felt him, he gave a sigh of relief.
Markus was clutching the blanket and the sheets in his hands, breathing quick and hard. He had a lot of nightmares a lot of the time, or just bad dreams, since there was a lot troubling him. It was no wonder he was having a nightmare again.
The murderer of his parents had him. He was supposed to die with them was a thought he had a lot without any real prompting. It was true, though, as it had been mere luck he hadn’t been with them at the time.
He whimpered in his sleep, unaware of Oliver’s nightmare and awakening.
emptynarration 