<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_u">A NEW DREAM AWAKENS!</span></span></div><div align="center"><strong>Ember &amp; Countess Emilia<br/><br/></strong></div><div align="center">(https://i.imgur.com/d4ZWfhk.jpg?1)</div><br/><br/><div align="center"><em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 10pt;">Twin dreamers, entwined not in blood nor bond, nor even in shared deed, but by a shared destiny. </span></em></div><br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/tUl68sm.jpg?1)</div>Twin dreamers, both stepping past the curtain of the waking world. They walk through their own dreams, not dissimilar to any they've had before, nor would have after. They are neither too ecstatic nor too nightmarish, the kind of dreams that are pleasant in the moment, but are unlikely to linger in one's memories past the first few moments of waking.<br/><br/>It is in this serene yet unremarkable sleep that they see it...no,<em>feel</em>it. A formless blot of red on the horizon, slipping between the hazy images of their dream with sharply contrasting clarity. They see the stroke of red not in the ephemeral way one sees the normal nighttime theatrics of their slumber, but the way one sees a person when they standing right in front of them by day, clear and distinct.<br/><br/>And it is just as that realization catches up to them that the spot of red becomes just that...a person. A woman draped in red. Garments that neither woman had ever seen before nor would ever see again. Her face is obscured, and with it any details they could try to make out about her. She is neither old nor young, tall nor short, wide nor thin. She is not ugly. She is not beautiful. She is not an enemy...she is not a friend. She is red. Only red.<br/><br/>Suddenly a hand touches their chests. To Ember it is pleasantly cool, to Emilia it is equally warm, "Awaken...if you would..." a comforting yet unplaceable voice whispers, not in their ears, but in their minds. And suddenly red becomes black. All becomes black. Only black<br/><br/>And then there is light.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(https://i.imgur.com/3zq0vUV.jpg)</div>Both women find themselves snapping awake with a start. They feel as though shaken from a dream, hit with a flood of consciousness all at once. Though even as the dreariness of sleep resides, they glance around and do not find themselves where they were when they first drifted off. Their surroundings are different...new. A long hall strewn in red banners, of a shade that is instantly familiar to the two women, though they cannot recall why.<br/><br/>Ember feels it, perhaps for the first time in years, perhaps for the first time ever, a cool chill that tingles at her simmering skin. The cold seems uncaring that she is living fire, it chills her never the less, not unpleasantly so, but enough to call the possibility of the sensation into question.<br/><br/>Emilia feels it, perhaps for the first time since her turning, a rising heat brushing sensually across her pale flesh, penetrating deep and warming her core. She can almost feel her blood pumping through her veins once more. Though the sensation comes not from the icy hall, but instead the fiery woman tied to her side...wait? Tied?<br/><br/>Glancing down the two gladiators would see that they had been shackled together side by side, both at the ankle at the wrist. There was only about 5 or so inches of chain on either restraint, meaning it would be impossible for either of them to move their captured limbs without the cooperation of the other. It was like a three legged race, though one got the distinct impression their situation lacked the carefree innocence of a childhood game.<br/><br/>"Lo! Lest this old fool be mistaken, our fair faced female's hath awaken!" A woman's voice called out in joyous reverie. The two blinked, and suddenly the cold hall was washed in light and festive music. The two women were flanked on both sides by tall stadium bleachers, sat by rows and rows of faceless figures dressed in the finery of elite nobles, and a troupe of dozens of masked jesters and fools danced and rushed about, some with obvious purpose, and others with absolutely non at all. Strangely these figures had not entered the hall, they were just<em>there</em>, as if they had<em>always</em>been there, "Now please rise my gorgeous lasses. 'Tis not the time to rest thine asses" the voice cooed once more, drawing attention back to the head of the hall, where yet another jester stood before them, standing at the side of the massive throne, and the strange...man? who sat upon it, "Delicious delicacies your desirable derrieres are for sure, so let not their supple sweetness be wasted on the floor" the masked woman exclaimed, making overly expressive gestures for the two combatants to rise to their feet.