Dreams as Messengers Across Time

There’s something about dreams that lingers long after we wake. A song you haven’t heard in years plays in your sleep, and suddenly it follows you for days. A forgotten face appears at the edge of a dream, reminding you of a story you thought was closed. Or a strange symbol repeats itself again and again - numbers, animals, places - leaving you to wonder: was that just coincidence, or something more?

For centuries, cultures around the world have treated dreams not as random nighttime images but as messages. Ancient Greeks visited temples of Asclepius, the god of healing, to sleep and receive dream visions. In medieval Europe, dreams were often interpreted as signs of divine favor, or warning. And in Scotland, where The Harbinger is partly set, dreams once held enough weight to be admitted as testimony in witchcraft trials.

In my novel, dreams serve as more than atmospheric details. They act as thresholds. For Ann, living in 16th-century England, dreams blur the line between fear and intuition; sometimes warning her of danger before it arrives. For Sophia, centuries later, dreams feel like invitations, pulling her deeper into mysteries that connect her to a past she can’t quite name. Through both women, dreams bridge time, memory and destiny.

I was inspired by how often dreams show up in my own life as creative sparks. One scene in The Harbinger was born entirely from a dream I had while writing. When I woke, I scribbled down the fragments, and those details became a turning point in the story. Dreams, in that way, are co-authors.

But they’re also deeply personal. We’ve all had those dreams that won’t let us go. A recurring number. A place you’ve never visited yet recognize instantly when you arrive in waking life. A loved one reaching out from beyond. Whether we call them synchronicities, subconscious imprints, or messages, dreams remind us there’s more happening beneath the surface than we can easily explain.

Maybe that’s why they fit so naturally into The Harbinger. This is a book about the threads that connect us; across generations, across friendships, across choices we make and those made long before us. Dreams are part of that web, subtle but powerful, shaping us as much as our waking lives do.

So the next time you wake with a dream tugging at your memory, ask yourself: what is it trying to tell me?

And if you read The Harbinger, watch closely, because dreams hold cues you won’t want to miss.