This is going to be a weird dream post, but I wanted to write it down so I could always remember the good bits and pull them out as nuggets for future stories. Feel free to ignore! This is mostly just for me.
I dreamt last night that someone I love was serial murdered. Of course, they were somehow dead/not-dead, and I knew that, so I didn’t act terribly upset. I was also touring a college – Carnegie Mellon, I think? – and the tour guide and president asked me why I wasn’t crying.
Instead of responding, I ran away and found my dead/not-dead loved one and took them out of the ground, pushing aside dirt and rock and washing the mud from their eyes. I brought them into my house, sitting them in the kitchen and grabbing a serrated knife so I could cut open my hand and trace bloody sigils on their flesh to protect them. I brought them back to life and safety with my own life and safety.
I can’t get this image out of my head, of me having trouble cutting my thumb and not being able to protect them with blood magic (I guess I was a necromancer in this dream). My dream was like a choose your own adventure book, because it had one ending where I couldn’t get the regular knife to cut through my skin, so they were taken from me. It also had another ending where I used a serrated blade and successfully protected them, running back to the college just in time to have a screaming, hysterical fit about how they were dead.