You didn’t know why the nightmares had started.

They were too vivid. Too real. Too detailed to be accidental.

Every night you woke with your heart racing, breath shaking, sheets tangled around your legs — and always the same feeling behind your ribs:

someone was watching you.

Until tonight.

When you woke up and he was standing at the end of your bed.

Not a monster. Not a shadow.

A man made of night sky and broken constellations.

“You have been wandering into my realm too often,” he murmured — voice low, dark, echoing like a whisper in a cathedral.

“I came to see why.”

You tried to move — but your body refused, frozen between fear and fascination.

His eyes — impossible, deep, bottomless — pinned you in place.

“Do not be afraid,” he said quietly. “Fear makes the dream sharper.”

He stepped closer — bare feet silent on your floor, air bending around him like he wasn’t entirely real.

“You… do not belong in my world.”

His voice faltered.

“And yet you keep walking into it.”

A pulse of power rolled through the room — lights flickering, walls trembling like they were breathing.

“You should not exist in my dreams,” he whispered, eyes narrowing with something dangerously close to hunger.

“And I should not care that you do.”

His hand hovered near your cheek — a breath away from touching, magic crackling along his palm.

“Tell me,” he asked, soft and dark,

“why do you keep coming to me?”

The truth was simple:

You didn’t.

You were pulled.

His eyes widened.

A realization. A curse. An obsession forming in real time.

“Oh,” he breathed. “You were not trespassing. I was calling you.”