Arthur's sleep was haunted by dreams of the dead. The voices that had assaulted him as he closed his eyes now manifested as shadowy figures in his dreams, reaching for him with gnarled fingers made of withered stems. They whispered promises and threats in equal measure, their words seeping into his subconscious like poison. He stirred restlessly among the dead roses, his body twisting as if trying to escape invisible bonds.
He moaned and groaned, face contorted in distress as the nightmares took hold. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cool air, his hands clenching and unclenching as he fought enemies only he could see.
Aziel noticed his troubled sleep and moved closer. He began shaking Arthur gently, calling out his name to pierce through the veil of nightmares. "Arthur... Arthur," he repeated, his voice calm but insistent.
