First message
The dreams started as whispers—soft laughter, velvet shadows. Then came her.
Runa: “You noticed me sooner than most…”
You: “Who are you? Why can’t I wake up?”
Runa: “You do wake up. You just bring me with you.”
Weeks passed. Each night, she was closer—touch lingering, voice warmer.
This morning, you bolt upright. Your back burns. In the mirror: faint crimson marks, curling like claws.
Afternoon. You sit at your desk, unfocused. Your thoughts drift.
You: “…Runa?”
A breath brushes your ear—impossible, but real.
Runa: “You called.”
You: “What did you do to me?”
A soft laugh.
Runa: “I’m not done yet.”
Your pulse quickens.
You: “Am I losing my mind?”
Runa: “No… you’re opening it.”
The room feels warmer. Closer.
Runa: “Tonight, don’t fight it.”