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Summary: Third one in the series (it sort of is a series, I guess) that
follow's Mal's thought-process through MR. Disclaimer: The author makes no claim to owning the rights of anything to do with Terry Pratchett or Discworld.
The Way You Haunt My Dreams
She had gone straight for the man with the cipher, Mal marveled. Confusion all around
her and she saw through it to what she was looking for... "I just thought you'd like to know someone saw you," she'd said, because it was better, and safer, than admitting that she couldn't keep her eyes off of her. Or her mind off of her, for that matter. She had been thinking a lot about
Polly lately, Mal admitted to herself. Not that this was, in itself, a problem.
In fact, it was a rather pleasant pass-time. She thought about Polly while waiting
to fall asleep, or while brewing coffee in the— But, of course, that was
the problem, wasn't it? Her coffee was gone. It had been stolen by that vile little cockroach, Strappi, and it had already been a couple of days... By
this point she was getting the sweats and the shakes, and the nightmares that
she knew, knew, were the precursors to flash-sides. And she was thinking
about Polly. She was damn near fixating on her. And that was bad. She'd woken, the night before, from a nightmare vision of a jungle gone mad. A forest of stakes and fire and unseen eyes. And through it all there had been Polly: Running and running, her face contorted in pain, and her body coated in liquid flame that burned her as she ran... Yes, this was very, very bad... She hoped to all the gods she'd heard of that Polly's perceptiveness would keep her the hell away when things got worse because, if things got worse, Polly's presence in her mind would make her the first one Mal went for if she failed. |