The first time it happened, you didn’t wake up gasping for air—you woke up *knowing*. That suffocating weight in your chest, the cold seeping through your bones, the desperate flailing in the dark. It wasn’t just a nightmare; it was a full sensory invasion. You dreamt you were drowning, and your body remembered it before … Read more
The first time it happened, you woke gasping, fingers pressed to your jaw, convinced the pain was real. Your teeth were gone—some floating in a glass of water, others scattered like fallen leaves. The dream lingered longer than the nightmare itself, its weight pressing into your morning coffee as you tried to shake it off. … Read more
The raven perches on the edge of the unknown, its wings folded like the pages of an unfinished manuscript. It does not merely observe—it *writes*, not with ink, but with silence, with the weight of its presence, with the way it lingers in the corners of a room where words should be. The writing desk, … Read more
