She raises her staff, the shape of a shepherd's crook, and the wind picks up. It blows from behind, her hair lashing in her face and her wraps billowing around her. Darkness descends on the scene, so the vision of the plain disappears, but she can still be seen clearly. The smile has left her face.

Then an image forms of a child being ripped from the arms of its mother. This is her child. This is her Nightmare. She craves vengeance. Her power lies in Dreams, yet she has no power over Nightmares. If she could harness Nightmares, she could have her vengeance, for she is powerless in the real world. For all her strength of stature, she crumbles under the weight of reality.

###

Yes, I will continue adding my visions of this here, since I seem to see these things at work, and this is the most convenient way to write them down before they fly out of my head. This may just increase my posts, exponentially...