Fucked up Dream

I couldn’t sleep.

Not really.

I tried — gods, I tried — but the moment my eyes shut, it was like falling face-first into frost. A snap of cold.

And then—

I was back.

The red sky again.

That same damn sky, soaked in blood and dread.

The village stood before me like a stillborn memory — houses flickering with dying light. Lamps buzzed, lit for a heartbeat, then died again, in sick rhythm. On. Off. On. Off.

No wind.

No sound.

Just that wrong silence, like the world was holding its breath.

And then she appeared.

The mimic.

Right in front of me.

Her face wore Celis’s shape — but only barely.

Too smooth. Too pale. And that mouth… always that grin.

She didn’t speak at first.

She leaned in, close enough for me to smell something ancient and rotting beneath perfume.

Then she whispered.

“From now on... you are mine.”

I couldn’t move.

I wanted to.

I screamed inside my own head — legs, move! Arms, fight! Do something!

But nothing obeyed. I was a statue in a dream I couldn’t wake from.

She came closer.

Opened her arms.

And wrapped them around me.

The cold seeped in through my skin, straight to the bones. Like I was hugging death itself. No... becoming it.

Then — everything went black.

Not like sleep.

Not even like death.

Just...

Nothing.

There wasn’t even ground beneath me anymore.

No up. No down. No sky. No breath.

Only a voice. Far off. Like it was trying to swim through tar just to reach me.

“...Kael…”

“Wake up…”

“Kael.”

I sat bolt upright with a gasp.

My lungs burned. My heart stuttered.

The walls of my room came into view — familiar, real. Wooden beams. Pale morning light. The scent of dust and stew herbs.

Celis’s voice came from the hallway. “Kael? Breakfast is ready.”

I stared at the ceiling for a full minute, chest heaving.

Then my hands.

My arms.

My chest.

Nothing.

No wounds. No blood. No mark.

Nothing but sweat, clinging to me like a second skin.

I washed. Got dressed. Moved like a ghost through the motions.

Every step felt like it belonged to someone else.

By the time I sat at the table, the food was already waiting.

Simple bread. A bit of stew. Some greens.

I took a bite.

Chewed.

Swallowed.

And then I saw it.

On my left palm.

A shape. Black as ink, but burned into me.

A twisted circle, curling inward like a thorned vine — and at its center, a demonic head. One horn. Eyes closed.

I dropped the bread.

My chest seized up.

That wasn’t a dream.

It couldn’t have been.

I remembered now — her breath in my ear, her voice sinking through me like a curse.

"Go to the ancient ruins of Zacra."

The name rang in my skull like a funeral bell.

My hands trembled.

The mark didn’t go away.

I clenched my fist, but the pain bit back — not sharp, but deep, like it had roots.

Celis looked up from across the table. “Something wrong?”

I stared at her.

At her face.

Was it really her?

Was she still herself?

I couldn’t answer.

Because for the first time in my life…

I wasn’t sure who I was either.