Lila
The dream doesn’t begin softly.
It takes me.
I’m standing barefoot on cool marble that glows faintly beneath my feet, veins of silver light threading through the stone like it’s alive. Above me, the moon hangs low and impossibly large, close enough that I swear I could reach up and touch it.
The air is warm. Heavy. Expectant.
I look down at myself and my breath catches.
I’m wearing a pale, flowing dress made of something softer than silk, clinging to my body like it knows every curve. The neckline slips low across my collarbones, baring skin that hums with awareness. My arms are bare. My legs exposed through a high slit that moves when I breathe.
My hair spills down my back in a cascade of near-white strands, luminous in the moonlight — silver-blonde, bright enough that it almo
