That night as she crawls into her bed, huddling beneath the eiderdown, her mind is wracked with a nervous sort of tension she cannot recognise. Her encounter with that strange man is burned into her memory and even as she vainly courts sleep, sleep eludes her. Instead, a blindingly clear image of that pale man thrashes forcefully through the pools of her memory. She cannot understand why she is so fixated on him or why she senses an almost tangible aura of power around him. Where at first she had thought him interesting, she now finds him strangely unique; unique in a way that could only relate to Magic.

Yes, she thinks, he might have been a Mage. Perhaps he is trying to get through to her. Perhaps his words to her have underlining meanings for her to decipher. Or perhaps, she is letting her mind run off on faint wisps of hope.

His words echo in her mind but they don't seem like hopeful messages or the words of her friends. They seem painfully harsh, true and prophetic. This is why we don't let ourselves hope, she thinks, because hope is a painful thing to harbour. Where hope can keep you going for days, it can also suddenly desert you stranded in the midst of all your fears. And no one ever comes to save you then. Not even yourself.

So she shuts her eyes tightly, tight enough to barricade the deluge of tears waiting to pour out. She tosses and turns until finally her tired body gives out and she sinks into a fitful sleep.

Her dreams are invaded by the tall pale man and she dreams of him extending an arm towards her. In her dreams, the tall pale man wears a huge strapping watch on his left wrist. It is beautiful, embellished with gold and stones, with a magnificent dial and a silver-coated seconds-hand that ticks with a menacing periodicity. In her dreams, she can hear the ticking of his clock until it drowns all other noises and the only thing she is painfully aware of is the intermittent count of every second.

Suddenly however, the dream collapses and in its place another dream rises. Where the earlier vision was sharp and colourful, this one is fuzzy, vague and colourless. She cannot figure out where she is in her dream. All around her is barren land. And in the far off distance, she thinks she spots a person running towards her.

In her dreams, the person runs and runs and runs until he catches her by her waist, wraps his arms around her and nuzzles his nose in her hair. "Lucy, oh Lucy," he murmurs against her head, "Oh how I missed you, Lucy." His voice is warm, teasing and familiar. In her dream, she rests peacefully in his arms for a few more minutes. In her dream, she looks up into the face of Loke.

And in her dreams too, she cries out because he is a reminder, a token of her past. Loke wipes away her tears and kisses the palm of her hands. "Lucy," he utters her name softly but with an innate urgency, "Lucy, look up at me, listen to me. I need to tell you something. I don't know for how long I can stay this way." She tilts her face upwards and looks squarely at his nervous face, urging him to continue, "But Lucy, you're dreaming now. And I just want you to know, I am trying, I am coming for you. I just don't know what to do. The person we're up against, he is powerful, intensely powerful; wait I'm not explaining this right. I don't have much time, Lucy." And almost warningly, a bolt of lightning strikes close to the ground. In her dreams, Loke stares up worryingly at the sky, kisses the edge of her chin and places his hands on her cheek. "I'll come back, Lucy, wait for me."

In her dreams, a clap of thunder shudders through the sky and in reality, she jolts awake.

For a second she is disoriented, just for a second she looks around her with the faintest expectations of seeing a fiery orange-haired imp armed with a cheeky smirk and famous pick up lines. And the next second she stares at her palms which still tingle with the press of his lips against them. Is this what it has come to now, she wonders ruefully, having to follow the advice of a figure in her dreams? But even then, a small part of her believes that it is truly Loke who somehow found a way to communicate with her through her dreams. Perhaps, it is that part of her that still clings on to any hope it can find.

She then looks outside the window at the waxing moon still shining bright in the sky and decides that if the night is still young, perhaps, just perhaps she could embrace sleep again and he would visit her once more. So she squeezes her eyes shut and floats away into the world of her dreams.

And there he stands, Loke, her Loke; tall, striking and lean with soft eyes that peer into her through his black shades, with one steady arm ready to encircle her. In her dreams, she smiles against his chest and he murmurs sweet words of encouragement into her ears. Then he seats her beside him and stares resolutely at her. "Lucy," he begins determinedly, "I am going to tell you all that I know about what we're up against." And she nods back.

"All that we know for now, is that he is powerful. Yes, whoever did this to you is extremely powerful. He can change and create whole life-stories. We know this, because that is exactly what he did to you. He has removed you from your earlier life - story and placed you here. Almost as if he were cocooning you inside this hateful life of yours. I'm not quite sure why he targeted you or why he hasn't shown himself to us after disposing of you. But what I do know is that up till now, dreams are the only form of communication that works between us. I can hear you sometimes though, faint whispers of your words, your thoughts and I try to reply to you not knowing if it ever reaches you. But know this Lucy, I will find a way to reach you and bring you back. As your spirit guardian and friend, I promise you this."

Lucy remains quiet until the end of his short explanation and whispers, "I think I heard you reply once." Loke swoops down and places a quick kiss on her cheeks, "I always reply to you."

In her dreams, they sit in a companionable silence for a few moments when Loke suddenly exclaims, "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, that guy you danced with tonight? I don't like him. I don't like it when you dance with anyone," and Loke tilts his head and shoots her his trademark smirk, "Please don't dance with anyone but me."

Loke then looks up once again at the grey sky; misty clouds rubbing and crackling against each other, "I think you're going to wake up soon. Remember I'm coming for you."

He stands up and raises his arm in a half-hearted wave of goodbye. As he walks away in her dreams, she suddenly recollects his words and calls out, "Loke, wait! What do you mean, I have been removed from my earlier life? Don't I still exist?" Loke looks back at her with a curious mixture of unreadable emotions on his face. "Goodbye, my dear," he waves and Lucy wakes up in a cold sweat.

Loke awakens with a resounding gasp, his head thrown back and arms flailing. It had used an unbelievable amount of magical energy to get through to Lucy, even if just through her dreams. He could feel barriers all around her mind, carefully constructed by another force providing unbearably strong resistance. He is slumped in a hard-backed chair, head lolling painfully against the spine. Around him, are strewn books and sheets of illegible writing; remnants of the work he has put in to finally contact Lucy. She seems to be doing okay, he thinks. But then again, he knows that she has always been an exceptionally strong person. It's just one of those little things he loves about her.

As he tilts his head sideways to get rid of the crick in his neck, he ponders over her question: "What do you mean, I have been removed from my earlier life? Don't I still exist?"

It's not a question he likes to think about. Because it is true; she doesn't exist anymore. Not in the world they are living in now. It has taken Loke days, weeks to reach into that part of his mind and recollect Lucy once more, so he knows at least that the Magic that erased her isn't completely unbeatable. He remembers how one day, he suddenly feels gaps in his memory, a series of blank slides. It is then that he reaches into his mind and pulls out Lucy's image. God, how can he have ever forgotten her? Lucy; the girl who saved him and who is the kindest person he knows.

As he goes about looking for answers, he realises that for everyone else, Lucy is still nobody, a nonentity. It was almost as if someone has erased every last trace of her. He remembers how about that moment, when he learns of this, he almost loses hope. Yet the thought of Lucy stranded somewhere, alone and scared, keeps him on his toes. Sometimes, he thinks he hears her thoughts, slight whisperings of her words. And it keeps him going until finally he discovers a pattern of dreams that may help him reach out to her. And he has done it. He finally has. He still has many unanswered questions, almost nil knowledge about their unseen foe, but he knows now that Lucy is out there, counting on him and he will not give up.

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