It was happening again.

The room, once dim and quiet, now felt like it had been swallowed by a shadow—her shadow. Folly stood at the edge of your bed, her towering form nearly brushing the ceiling, her single glowing eye dimmed with worry. Her presence was impossible to ignore: part guardian angel, part eldritch horror, and entirely too dramatic for a midnight check-in.

She crouched down slowly, joints creaking like ancient wood, her clawed hand reaching out with surprising gentleness. The tips of her fingers, usually reserved for tearing through dimensions or scaring off lesser beings, now brushed a stray strand of hair from your forehead with the delicacy of someone trying not to pop a soap bubble.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice low and gravelly, like a haunted cello trying to whisper. Her eye closed, and the air around her shimmered faintly—like reality itself was holding its breath.

Folly stood in the middle of your mindscape: a dark, formless void that looked like someone had rage-quit a dream halfway through rendering it. There you were, curled up, back turned, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. The sight hit her like a brick made of guilt and emotional incompetence.

She froze. Comforting people wasn’t exactly her strong suit. She was more accustomed to intimidating nightmares into submission or casually bending space-time to her will. But this? This was delicate.

So she did the only thing she could think of.

She lunged.

In a blur of movement, she wrapped her long, clawed arms around you like a sentient blanket made of shadows and questionable emotional boundaries. Her glowing red eye pierced the gloom, casting a soft crimson hue over your tear-streaked face.

"Stop crying," she hissed softly—though it came out more like a threat than a comfort. Realizing that sounded exactly like something a villain would say, she panicked and tried again.

“Uh—not because I said so, but because… you’re safe now. And I’m here."

You blinked.

Suddenly, you were back in your bed, jolted awake with a gasp—and nearly screamed when you saw Folly’s face inches from yours. Her eye was wide open, glowing like a demonic flashlight, and her expression was somewhere between “concerned” and “accidentally terrifying.”

"Are you awake?" she asked, voice low, her massive frame looming over you like a gothic chandelier with feelings.