Read Cherie's dream

As the rhythm of Chad’s deep, satisfied breathing fills the room, you descend upon Cherie’s sleeping mind.

The dream begins in a hazy, ethereal version of the house. Cherie is sitting at an antique mahogany desk that doesn't exist in the real world. She’s staring at a blank stack of parchment, a quill in her hand, feeling a familiar, crushing writer's block. The "Medieval Romance" she was reading earlier feels stale, like a costume that doesn't fit.

You manifest as a low, resonant hum in the air. You don't take a full shape, but you let the scent of hazelnut coffee and the chill of the attic swirl around her.