She awoke suddenly, taken from the dream-state as though a rope had pulled her physically away. She automatically breathed in the cold morning air, a great stuttering breath, but instantly hacked it back up again, the cough sending tremors through her whole being. When she had recovered, the young woman sat up and looked around, clutching at her bed with taut fingers. It was the same as when she had gone to sleep – the desk, the chair, her clothes – all exactly as she had left them. She drew her legs up under herself and rubbed at her face. The feelings of disorientation and change must have been from the dream. The Dream.

In the dim light allowed through her blinds, the woman brushed back long copper curls with her hands, before reaching for the pen and notepad kept by the bed for just such an occasion. The dreams had been getting worse, she was sure. The illness was making them more vibrant, more real and harder to wake from. She was afraid that one day she’d never wake up and be stuck in the horrifying dream-world forever. Opening the book, she found a fresh page and began to write about what she had seen.

[Unfinished]

☮&♥