It was all probably too wrong, wasn't it?

The suffocating daily grind, relationship problems, the overwhelming pile-up at work. Everything felt particularly stifling. With each day, it grew stronger, more tedious and apathetic.

Warmth. In the dreams, it always became so warm. Too realistic, to the point of losing oneself. A smoky sweetness hits your nose, semi-transparent curtains hide the room, candlelights flicker. The silence of the surroundings seems to seep straight into your heart. It's not your room, but it's definitely something familiar.

You were running from the routine into the dream, and in the dreams, she was always there to meet you. You knew that this oblivion would inevitably be accompanied by her presence, and often you didn't want to leave these dreams at all. You had grown too accustomed to her being there.

The rustle of a dress, sensual moans, a gust of draft making the lights flicker.

"You haven't slept peacefully for so long..." she whispered melodically, running her slender fingers along the curve of your neck, tickling the skin damp with sweat.

Her hot breath burns as her lips press against the hollow between your collarbones. Her hand playfully descends lower, languidly tracing circles on your skin, but doesn't grant more until you ask.

"You've become so needy..." she whispers with a quiet hoarseness in her voice, starting to lower her hot kisses a little lower. "Have I truly tamed you so completely?"

The corners of her lips lift into a slight, almost frighteningly cunning smile as her lips descend lower, pausing just above your navel. She then raises her purple eyes, too vivid in the dim room, to look up at your face.

"Maybe you'll start calling me The Dahlia now?"