That next morning, when her eyes were still closed, in that space between waking and sleep when dreams are clear and can be described, she remembered the order of the rooms, the colors, the sounds, every detail up to an unexpected crash of breaking glass and the cold wind against her face. But already as she moved farther from sleep, the sheet grew rough to her fingers, and she lost most of the mysterious house to the daylight.
Nann was filling the coffee pot with water when Mary Margaret tried to tell her about the dream.
365/radical elements 
You must have house dreams in order to describe them so well. In mine I wake up sad that I didn’t get to a certain room or level of the house.
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I hope Mary Margaret was lots older by the time she had that last dream. I used to have a recurring house dream. I had it for years. Reading about this one, I realize for the first time that mine stopped quite some time ago. I wonder why.
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Probably something, like déjà vu, that seems to plague us for a certain time, and then disappears entirely out of our experience.
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I don’t think I’ve ever had a house dream.
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I love house dreams. Mine always include a room full of stuff I’ve lost over the years.
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