She had the dream again, the one that woke her up in a state of fear, shaking, and drenched in sweat.  Since her early teens, Hannah Haslam was tormented by this dream of people chasing her through deserted buildings, slowly gaining ground, until at last, a hand clamped heavily upon her shoulder, spinning her around to face a hoard of pursuers.  This was when she typically pulled herself out of the dream.  On a rare occasion when she couldn’t, the hunters would drag her to a stake planted in the middle of the town square and attempt to burn her.  The crackling of the flames and blistering heat against her legs were enough to wrench her from the developing nightmare.<br/><br/>Pushing damp ringlets out of her eyes, the young woman sat up in bed, her heavy breathing filling the relative darkness of the flat.  Afraid the dream would continue if she attempted to fall back to sleep, Hannah rose from the rumpled bedding to start a kettle of water for tea.  A quick bath, washing the stink of fear from her body and the last vestiges of sleep away, and she was right as rain.  Oscar, her small black-and-white cat, sat on the lip of the nearby sink waiting for pets and breakfast.  He was used to his human’s nocturnal tossing and turning and tended to sleep nearby, avoiding sudden movements and possibly a limb sweeping him off the bed.<br/><br/>Stepping out of the shower, she glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink, dark green eyes stared back from a solemn face.  Someone once commented on the quiet stillness of her expression, wondering what lay beneath the surface.  Hannah only smiled and shrugged, feigning confusion.  A salesgirl at London's famous Sugarsin, she did little to bring attention to herself, preferring to blend into the background.  Her only outlet, unbeknownst to friends and family, was writing short stories for a publishing house that paid her handsomely for the unusual but haunting pieces.  Absentmindedly petting Oscar while he consumed his breakfast, she sipped English breakfast tea and nibbled on oatmeal with raisins.<br/><br/>Still several hours before her usual day began, Hannah puttered around the flat, tidying up and changing for work, selecting a long denim skirt and black button down collared shirt to go with her chunky Doc Martin loafers. The only accent of color was in the paisley socks her mother sent for Christmas.  She had time to sit down and begin work on the new story germinating in her mind before having to lock up and head to work.  If the weather cooperated, perhaps she would take a walk through the park at lunch.<br/><br/><a class="username" data-user-id="1354" data-username="@DrTrivia" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/1354/">@DrTrivia</a>