By Minim Calibre
There are no more pleasant dreams.
It took years of training to eradicate them, to banish them to Before, like so many other things. Dreams are a currency he cannot afford, their remembered whispers of taffeta and Chanel No. 5 siren calls that would lead him from his carefully chosen path and into…
He does not know the answer. Cannot – will not – ask the question, nor question what it is that he’s become. There’s nothing gentle about his dreams now, nothing soft, nothing whispered.
Just the too-familiar shadows of the past, reminding Bruce that his duty’s never done.