She was never meant to have a choice.
The witches made sure of that.
Her earliest memories weren’t of warmth or kindness.
They were of cold hands, of cutting blades, of voices murmuring spells as they pressed her down, carved symbols into her skin, bound her magic until it was no longer hers.
Power is meant to be controlled. That’s what they told her—every time they burned sigils into her arms, every time they forced her to recite incantations until she collapsed, every time they reminded her that she was theirs.
She learned quickly.
Submission was survival.
Silence was safety.
Fighting back only led to punishment—not through force, not through words, but through her own power.
It hurt to exist.
It hurt more to fight.
But magic isn’t meant to be bound.
And one day—just for a second—it slipped.
There was an opening.
She took it.
She ran.
And Dream found her.
Dream was smart.
He saw value before she even realized she had any.
She had nothing.
No home.
No safety.
No choices.
Dream gave her all of those things.
But he didn’t do it for free.
He never does.
Dream knows people.
He understands leverage.
And he knew exactly how to pull her in.
"You don’t have to be scared here."
She flinched.
"I didn’t say I was."
Dream hummed, setting down his sword. "You didn’t have to."
She stayed.
Dream watched her learn—watched her heal in ways she didn’t even realize she was.
And yet, his kindness was always controlled.
He spoke gently, but he always watched.
She knew that.
It wasn’t paranoia.
It wasn’t misplaced fear.
Dream was always thinking ahead.
So when he told her he had to go back—when he said she was coming with—she didn’t question it.
She braced herself.
Because if Dream wanted something, he got it.
And this? This wasn’t a request.
The server didn’t understand.
Dream—the tyrant, the villain, the monster—was gentle with her.
He never snapped at her. Never raised his voice.
He waited when she faltered.
He stayed close when she looked lost.
And the strangest part?
She wasn’t afraid of him.
Everyone else knew what he was.
But she had never known Dream before this.
She only knew what he had shown her.
And what he showed her was someone who never abandoned her.
So they tried to warn her.
They tried to pull her away.
They tried to stop whatever was happening here.
But Dream didn’t let them.
And what was worse?
Even he wasn’t sure if he was stopping them for control—
Or just because she was the only person who ever made him a warm meal.
Dream had planned to use her.
Had laid out the steps.
Had calculated the risks.
And yet—
She wasn’t just an asset anymore.
She was a presence.
Something unpredictable.
Something dangerous.
Not because of her power.
But because now—
Even Dream wasn’t sure if he wanted to keep her for control—
Or just because she was the only one who ever made things feel different.
And the worst part?
George, Sapnap, and Punz were no better.
At first, she was just a resource.
Something useful. Something unexpected.
Dream had brought her in with a purpose.
That was clear.
But affection was never part of the deal.
Not for Dream.
Not for them.
And yet—
Somewhere along the way, it happened anyway.
“You actually cook?”
She snorted. “No, I’m casting a summoning ritual with potatoes.”
Dream wheezed.
Punz grinned. “Oh, she’s got jokes.”
George groaned. “I hate this house.”
None of them planned for this.
Not Dream.
Not them.
And yet—
Somewhere along the way, they weren’t just using her.
They cared.
And none of them knew what to do with that.
They aren't meant to feel, they're supposed to control.