[ It's very early in the morning, the sun has barely broken the horizon. Amy is leaning back, head against the wall and hand cradling and rubbing around her neck. Her breathing is shallow as she tries to regain her voice to speak. It's still a bit raspy for her normal vociferous Scottish. ]
… I'm starting to think these aren't just dreams.
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What is that thing? [It's from the dream, yes, but that's not the point.] Are you okay?
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Have things from your dreams ever come to life before?
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Well- [ actually thinking about her answer. ] Not like this. Something did happen a few days ago.
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Can I ask what happened?
-I'm sorry, I'm being rude. My name's Mary.
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No, it's fine. I'm Amy. [ flashes something of a smile. ] One of the first nights these... dreams started, there was a painting in one of them. Other people saw it, too, I guess. That morning I found the painting in my room. It's from back home.
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[Hmmmm. Thinking face.]
And that's the first time that's ever happened? It never happened at home?
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