In the dream I was telling her about the nightmares.

It was a nearly pleasant room this time, not that terrible one with the single, bare bulb. It had lamps, and carpeting, but we were still facing each other across that same wooden table. I was holding her hand and telling her about the nightmares, and it felt so good to get them off my chest, for once to be able to say something. I told about the panic attacks, and the bad divinations, being afraid to fall asleep, of the others, and how we hadn't said anything before now because we thought she wouldn't be ready to listen. She was crying by the end, holding my hand tightly, and I didn't know why. But then she smiled through her tears and said she was so relieved to hear that we knew. We talked about the old days then, and she said that when we did that, she started to remember what it was like to be herself, to be happy. She had been frightened she'd forgotten. My heart lurched, and I tried to tell her I'd do anything she needed to help her remember, but I awoke in a panic like all the other times, and the moment was irrevocably lost.
The room was nearly stifling, despite the rain beating at the windows. "Nightmare, " I said plaintively, and he made soothing noises in his half-sleep and pulled me closer. The answer I'd wanted to give was still there, unsaid, and I mouthed the words in the darkness, hoping somehow they'd echo down and be heard, the oath and promise I'd made lifetimes ago: "Forever and ever. Forever and ever."

Forever and ever.