an excerpt from a story

This is an excerpt from a fantasy story I am toying with:

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The storm continued to rage in all its might early into the morning. The fire died down to mere embers, then vanished completely. Larien leaned her head against the cold stone wall, praying to the gods for protection and deliverance. The evil presence continued to grow in the darkness, and at times she felt as if someone were standing across the chamber, watching her. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look, confident that her eyes would betray her even if nothing was there. Keeping her eyes shut made it all the less real.

The prayers comforted her for a time, but then the terror grew to unimaginable proportions. Her eyes forced themselves open, and she saw standing before her across the chamber a ghastly image: a shadowy figure draped in a dark green robe speckled with dirt and grime, a dark hood covering the top of the head and masking the face in shadow; she sat paralyzed, unable to move, unable to breathe, unable to scream. The figure threw its head back, and she saw poisonous bloodshot eyes and blood dripping from its fangs. Its skeletal arms reached for her, and in them she saw a young child, moaning as blood trickled down its neck. A wild, cacophonous laugh filled the chamber, dancing off the icy stone walls, and the figure threw the child at her, the blood flinging against the stone walls and ceiling. The child fell into her lap, and she realized Eärendur was gone. She looked down at the child and saw its eyes glazed over, blood gurgling from a giant rip in its throat where a dagger had been thrust.

The figure shrieked, “Eat it! Taste it! Drink its blood and embrace your destiny!"

She hurled the child away and leapt to her feet. She screamed and rushed at the figure in a mystical rage; the figure vanished as she swung her fists at it, and there where it had stood, she saw Eärendur lying, his bare stomach ripped open and entrails strewn all over the floor, rats chewing on his maggoty-

“Larien!"

She screamed, her voice echoing over the chamber. Fierce arms held her. She shrieked and tore away, yelling, “Get off me! Get off me!”

The arms continued to grab her. “Larien!” Eärendur shouted. “It’s me! It’s me!”

She looked up and instead of seeing bloodshot eyes and fangs dripping with blood, she saw the stenciled and worried façade of her beloved. She fell into his arms, sobbing, as the storm continued to unleash.

Eärendur stroked her hair, whispered in her ear, “It’s okay, Larien. It’s okay. It was just a dream. It was just a dream.” She wept in his arms as they stood in the middle of the desolate chamber. “A dream,” Eärendur told her; “Just a dream.”

She wasn’t too sure. It had seemed so real. She could still feel the warmth of the child’s blood on her hands as she embraced Eärendur in a fierce hug and refused to let go.