[ ‘The first living thing.’ it sets a tremor within her just as much as the mentioning of the end of days, though it isn’t felt with the same dread. Instead it's like listening to something familiar, but long forgotten.

Her fingers press behind his shoulders, clutching more tightly now while her words fall muffled against his coat. ]

What if you couldn’t control your nightmares? What if they were why everything ended? Would you still be able to accept them as part of you?