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Ada wakes up to the too-heavy thud-thud of her own heart, and she sits bolt upright almost as if an invisible hand had folded her at the spine. She opens her mouth to shout, but nothing comes out -- even her very lungs seem seized.
And a small, cold voice at the back of her head says:
Smother him.
Smother who? Ada wonders, and she turns abruptly -- unwillingly -- to look at her husband. He's still fast asleep, stretched out on his side, back to her.
Smother him? As if bent by a breeze she leans to him, one hand sliding across the bedsheets to rest by his throat, but she does not touch him.
Yes. Smother him.
Ada turns her thoughts inwardly on the voice:
Why?
But there's no response. As suddenly as it came along, the hold on her body vanishes, loosening limb and lung and all else.
She twists in bed to look at Chrom again, and for a very tense moment, she watches him to see the rise and fall of his chest, as if she could have smothered him already without knowing it. His breathing is slow, rhythmic.
Peaceful.
She doesn't want to disturb him, but she wonders inwardly where the voice went, and where it came from. And then, quite suddenly, she feels a burn in her heart sharp enough to draw a hiss from her lips.
"Oh gods," she gasps. Was the voice a dream, mere coincidence? But it felt so real, and...
"Ada?" Chrom asks, groggy but concerned.
"It's okay," she says, too quickly. "I'm fine."
"What's wrong?" he asks anyway. He sits up a bit, squinting at her in the dark.
"Just-- just a bad dream," she says. Her chest hurts. She breathes in sharply, and now Chrom is sitting up fully, his hands moving to her -- one on her shoulder and one on her chest, over the hand she has laid over heart.
"You're burning up," he says, alarmed.
"I'm okay," she insists.
She gets the creeping feeling, however, that it won't be for long. After all –– hasn't she felt a fear of his death at her hands before?