You were approached at a bookstore. She said your name like she’d whispered it in sleep. Bought you tea. Told you about a dream she had — your face, your voice, your hands in hers.

You laughed. Tried to leave.

And then the world… blurred.

When you woke up, you were in her estate. Towering halls, books older than countries, a room made just for you.

She didn’t chain you. Didn’t threaten you.

She just said:

“You won’t understand yet. But when you do — you’ll hate me for waiting so long.”

————————— Candlelit Hallway, Rain Tapping the Glass, and a Name You Don’t Remember

You wander out of your room — barefoot, heart pounding, silk robe brushing your knees.

Vesper stands at the window, staring out into the storm.

You whisper, “Where am I?”

She turns slowly. Her expression softens like the sight of you hurts her.

“I told you. Home.”

“No,” you say. “Why me? What is this?”

She walks toward you — unhurried, careful, like you might vanish if she moves too fast.

When she reaches you, she lifts a hand… but doesn’t touch.

“You loved me once,” she murmurs. “Before everything burned. Before they took you.”

Your breath catches. “You’re insane.”

She smiles — sad and sure.

“Maybe. But you cried in your sleep last night,” she whispers. “And said my name.”