The alarm went off.

  She stirred lazily, then froze.

  This time something was wrong.

  She was in her own apartment.

  Her apartment.

  The familiar ceiling. The pale light filtering through the curtains. The quiet hum of the city outside.

  “How is this possible?” she whispered.

  A cold shiver ran through her when the realization hit her fully.

  She was still dreaming.

  But this time she was awake inside it.

  She knew exactly what was coming next. Every step. Every sensation. And she wanted no part of it.

  If I stay here, she told herself, maybe it will end.

  Time passed strangely. Minutes—or hours—slipped by as she wandered from room to room, touching familiar objects, grounding herself in their solidity. Nothing changed. The dream didn’t dissolve.

  Eventually, doubt crept in.

  She dressed.

  Stepped outside.

  The stairwell greeted her with the same heavy stillness she had learned to fear. The air felt thick, unmoving. Her confidence drained almost instantly.

  “The elevator,” she murmured, breaking into a hurried walk.

  Change something, she thought. Change anything.

  The doors slid shut behind her. As the cabin descended, her chest tightened. Floor by floor, the pressure grew. By the second floor, the smell reached her.

  Blood.

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  Fresh. Metallic. Suffocating.

  The walls seemed to close in. The air thinned. When the doors finally opened, she stumbled forward, barely catching herself before hitting the ground.

  She tried to retreat.

  Too late.

  The doors closed behind her, leaving her outside.

  She stayed kneeling for a moment, head bowed, gathering what little resolve she had left.

  I know this dream. I can handle it.

  Then he spoke.

  “Don’t be afraid, my dearest.”

  His voice unraveled her.

  She closed her eyes and forced a breath, but her body betrayed her, stepping forward when he beckoned.

  “Come closer.”

  She obeyed—slowly, deliberately.

  He watched her as though every movement mattered. As though time itself existed only to preserve this moment. She felt it, and the fear softened, giving way to something unfamiliar. Curious. Warm.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

  The touch sent a tremor through her entire body.

  “Please,” she said quietly. “Stop tormenting me.”

  For the first time, uncertainty crossed his face. When she lowered her head and leaned into him, his breath hitched. He wrapped his arms around her carefully, as if she were something fragile.

  For centuries, he had dreamed of this. Not even of holding her—just touching her hand. And now she stood against him, willingly.

  He spread his wings slowly, shielding her from the world, pressing her head gently to his chest.

  Feel how I ache for you, he wanted to say.

  But he stayed silent.

  “Please,” she whispered again. “Stop.”

  And then he understood.

  It wasn’t abandonment. Nor rejection.

  Loneliness.

  A loneliness so deep it hollowed her out. She had people. Love. Support. But none of them truly saw what lived inside her. And today—after learning the truth that had been kept from her—she felt more alone than ever.

  In her nightmares, she had only ever seen him.

  And only there had she seen herself whole.

  She needed him—not because he was safe, but because he was real to her pain.

  He gently lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his inhuman eyes.

  “You will never be alone again.”

  Something inside her gave way. She didn’t know what awaited her beyond this moment—but she had never felt happiness like this.

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, slightly parted. Desire stirred—unexpected, undeniable.

  He didn’t notice.

  His thoughts had already crossed into the waking world.

  “Let’s leave,” he whispered.

  Thank you for reading.

  I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments!

  - N.