A/N:
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Sunlight spills through the hospital room's windows, painting the walls with a false sense of warmth, a cruel contrast to the cold, sterile beeping of the machines that keep Thea's body alive. Tubes snake around her mother's bed, a stark reminder of the fragility of life.

Ravenna sits beside Thea, her hand tightly gripping her mother's limp fingers. Her face is a canvas of exhaustion and despair, eyes red and puffy from too many nights without sleep. She refuses to leave, holding onto the impossible hope that Thea will wake, that everything will go back to the way it was. But hope is a fragile thing, and each passing day chips away at her resolve.

Dream watches from the shadows, his heart twisting at the sight of Ravenna's weariness. He knows her too well, knows how her soul darkens when grief takes root. Her skin is pale, and there is a hollowness in her eyes that he longs to fill with light again.

"You need rest," he says softly, moving closer, his voice like a gentle breeze across the room.

Ravenna doesn't respond. Her gaze remains fixed on Thea's hand, as if her touch alone could will her mother back to life. Dream sighs and places his hands on her shoulders, his thumbs tracing slow, soothing circles at the nape of her neck.

The door creaks open, and Cedric enters, followed by Paloma, who carries a tray of food. Cedric's face is etched with worry, his eyes flicking from Ravenna to Dream. "Rav, they had your favorite soup," he tries, forcing a smile. "You should eat something. Just a little."

"Not hungry," she replies, her voice flat, devoid of emotion.

Dream's hand lingers on her shoulder. "Ravenna," he murmurs, his voice a soft plea. She looks up at him, her eyes dull and lifeless. His heart tightens, feeling a pain so deep it nearly steals his breath. "A few sips? For me?"

She hesitates, and then, with a sigh, nods. "A few sips," she echoes.

Dream takes the bowl from the tray and lifts a spoon to her lips. She takes the soup slowly, and he watches her intently, his eyes never leaving her face. When she stops, he doesn't push. Even a little is enough for now.

Cedric clears his throat. "Dream... could we talk outside?"

Dream nods and leans down to kiss Ravenna's hair. "I'll be right back," he whispers.

She nods, and he follows Cedric out of the room. The door clicks shut behind them, leaving Ravenna in silence once more.

Days pass, blending into weeks. There is no change, no miracle, just the endless beeping of machines, the soft murmur of nurses, and Ravenna's whispered prayers. And then, finally, the doctors have no more words of comfort to offer, no more hope to give.

Thea's funeral is small and quiet, attended by a few close friends and family. Ravenna stands by the grave, her face a mask, her emotions locked behind an unyielding wall. Dream is beside her, his hand tightly wrapped around hers, his presence a silent promise that she is not alone. When she feels the weight of sympathetic glances from those around her, his grip tightens, grounding her, reminding her he is there.

Back at her apartment, Ravenna walks into her bedroom, slipping off her heels and earrings. She stares at her reflection in the mirror, her face pale, her eyes hollow. Dream lingers in the doorway, his hands buried in his pockets, his expression shadowed with concern.

"Come here," he says, his voice a low rumble.

For a moment, she hesitates, but then she moves toward him, collapsing into his arms, burying her face in his chest. Her shoulders tremble, and he holds her tighter. "Let it out," he whispers.

Her voice is muffled against his chest, thick with grief. "I have no one now," she says, and her words are like a knife twisting in his heart.

He pulls her closer, his chin resting atop her head, his fingers threading through her hair. Her pain becomes his own, and it is a heavy weight, pressing against his soul. "That's not true," he murmurs, his lips brushing against her hair. "You have me."

Ravenna pulls back slightly, her eyes red and swollen. "I didn't get to say goodbye," she whispers, her voice breaking. "It isn't fair."

Dream lifts her chin with a gentle hand, wiping away a tear with his thumb. He takes her hand, pressing it over her heart. "Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice soft but firm. "Your mother may be gone, but her love... it still lives here, within you."

Her eyes glisten with fresh tears, but there is a flicker of something else, a spark of understanding. She looks down at their hands, his warmth seeping into her skin. "I believe you," she whispers.

"I have something for you," he says, reaching into his pocket. He holds out his hand, closed-fisted.

Curiosity breaks through her grief, and for the first time in days, she smiles. It's small, barely there, but it's enough for him. He places a silver chain with a ring pendant in her palm. "This will help you enter the Dreaming without a barrier," he explains.

She examines it, her brow furrowing. "How does it work?"

"Wear it and turn three times, clockwise," he replies.

She arches an eyebrow. "That's it? You're not secretly proposing, are you?"

He chuckles, a soft sound that makes her heart flutter. "If that's all it took, you'd have greatly underestimated me."

She laughs, a sound that feels like a balm to his weary soul. "Thank you," she whispers, and rests her head against his chest. She listens to the steady beat of his heart, letting it lull her into a sense of peace she hasn't felt in days. In his arms, the pain lessens, the grief dulls, and for a moment, she feels whole again. She loves him, not just for what they have, but for what they have become-two broken pieces finding solace in each other.

And in his embrace, she knows she is not alone. Not anymore.