I was standing outside of Fraza’s home. The snow was higher than ever, even higher than when I had arrived. I looked around and there I saw him, sitting on a trash can. Dragon. I rubbed my face, and I walked over to him.
“Dragon? This can’t be. You’re dead.”
He smiled and spread his wings; they were big and lush. “Look at that that, Tara. Big freaking wings on me. Did you ever think that would happen?” He closed them up against his back.
I was dreaming. Dragon was a flightless dragon; his wings had been too weak to carry him.
“Dragon, you are supposed to be dead,” I said.
He smiled at me, playfully. “Look at you, Tara. Got it all figured out, have you?” He stood up. “Tara, you have to know one thing: it is not your fault,” he said.
I threw myself at him and hugged him desperately. It was just a dream but I still wanted to hug him.
“What do you mean, Dragon? Your death isn’t my fault?” Dragon shook his head. “Tara, you have to know one thing. It is not your fault,” he said again.
Before I could ask him what wasn’t my fault, I opened my eyes to find myself on the floor of Fraza’s house, my face in a puddle of my own spit. But I felt amazing, better than I had in a long time. Was it that I had seen Dragon, even if it was in a madness-induced dream? Then it hit me: it was the voices. They were gone.  

Next Chapter: she won’t be able to keep my seventh victim alive