Flash Fiction: Dreams of Tyr

When Diana began to dream, all she saw was blood. Blood on her hands, blood splattered across the dirt at her feet. Life blood spilled across the stones like nothing, nothing. When she closed her eyes, all she saw was the god, naked except for splashes of warm gore across his torso. And his eyes, pained but Tyr-and-Fenriraccepting, beckoning her, beckoning. And she moved toward him, pulled as if by a string, because he was a god after all, and he could have done anything. The distance between them melted away and his hand wrapped around the small of her back and she had no chance. It was only when she saw his right arm, wrist dripping with red where a hand should have been, that she forced herself to wake up. Slick with sweat, she lay wide awake until sunlight began to peek over the horizon. And once the light had crept across the floor and stretched itself out lazily across her bed, she allowed herself to sink into a dizzying, dreamless sleep.

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