When she first enters Blackwater House, she is sure this must be some sort of dream. Everyone is so quiet there, and so grave. The other servants whisper when they speak to each other, and when she tries to talk to them they look at her sadly, as if she is a woefully naïve child. There are secrets here, the type of secrets that only exist in dreams. Or rather, in nightmares.

She wants to believe that it is all a nightmare when Glyde pushes her against the wall and takes what he wants from her. She has noticed his eyes straying towards her, but, at fifteen, she is too innocent to imagine that he would do such a thing. She fights, and screams till her throat is hoarse and she can scream no more, but all is silent in that house of nightmares, her screams seeming to echo through the dark halls. But for her struggles and screams she receives only more bruises, and so eventually she is silent except for the sobs that she cannot stop from escaping her. But he says that he doesn't like when women snivel and complain over things, and so she contains that too.

Then she is pregnant, and she tells herself, those nights lying sleepless in her bed, that it is still part of the nightmare, that these kind of things don't really happen, they're only the sort of things that happen in nightmares.

When she tells him, he is angry. As the child grows within her in the next months, she can't help but hope that this part is real, if nothing else, for she cannot help but feel a love for this child, knowing that there will now be someone in whom she can trust, someone who will love her without reservations, something that will give her life purpose. And he begins to look on her with revulsion, seeing the signs of motherhood upon her.

She is happy when the child is born, happy in a way she should not be, happy in a way people never are in nightmares. It is almost as if it is a dream rather than a nightmare.

But then it turns to nightmare again, and she screams more than she did before, attacking him, for she is fighting for a life other than her own now. She fails though, there never was any hope of saving her child, it is a nightmare after all. And she watches, helpless…

And she awakes screaming, back to yet another nightmare, this one of white robed nurses who lock the door to her room and leave her room bare so that she cannot end this torment herself. But that, of course, she must not do, for her secret will never be told…but what does it matter, after all, in a nightmare, where she can never change anything?