The Dreaming Deep

Sue drifted into sleep like a leaf sliding beneath dark water.

The world fell silent.

She stood in a chamber made of obsidian and glass. The walls shimmered like liquid shadow, reflecting fragments of her face — her real face, her Malice face, her child’s face, all watching her.

A faint heartbeat echoed around her. Slow. Steady. Not hers.

She moved forward, barefoot on polished stone, the hem of her nightgown whispering like breath against the floor.

Ahead, a mirror floated without frame, suspended in nothing. But this was no ordinary mirror.

Inside, her reflection grinned.

Not Sue — not as she knew herself — but a version draped in sleek black and blood-red. Hair wild. Lips stained dark. Eyes gleaming with unspoken promises.

“You’re wasting away pretending,” the reflection whispered, though the lips did not move.

Sue backed away, but her body moved forward.

The mirror expanded, warping, and suddenly she was inside it — or it inside her.

The world blurred.

******************

She was in a field under a blood moon. The grass was black silk. Ravens flew in slow motion overhead, cawing like mournful violins.

Someone was with her.

She couldn’t see his face, but she felt him. A man. Cold. Gentle. Immense. He stood behind her, fingers brushing the small of her back, moving up her spine — and yet she did not turn around.

She did not want to.

“You were born for more,” he murmured, voice velvet and shadow. “Why do you deny it?”

His lips touched her neck, but there were no fangs. Just a sigh. Her breath hitched.

Then his hands moved lower, around her waist, over her hips, guiding her gently down to kneel in the grass. The feeling was heat and shame and release. A hunger not of the body, but of something deeper — old, and hollowed.

“The stars do not pity you,” he said. “They wait for you to rise.”

******************

She awoke with a jolt, gasping.

Her sheets were damp. Not from sweat.

The taste of copper lingered on her tongue.

Beside her, Reed stirred but didn’t wake.

Sue sat up slowly, pressing her hand to her chest. Her heart was racing. But not from fear.

From yearning.

Across the room, one of her books lay open, despite having been shelved before bed. It was an old mythology tome. Pages fluttered in the breeze from a vent.

The visible page showed a single line, written in Latin:

"Regina tenebrarum est in nobis. Dormiens, vigilat."

The queen of shadows is within us. Sleeping, she watches.

Sue’s hand trembled.

She did not know how she had read it so easily.