You had never dreamed. Not once. While others spoke of flying or falling, of beautiful places stitched together by the subconscious, your nights were a quiet void—pitch black, untouched. You tried everything to pull a single image from sleep’s grasp, but nothing ever came. That was, until the static began. Not dreams, but flickers—brief flashes behind your eyes, like someone brushing against your thoughts. Something was knocking, softly but persistently, trying to find a way in.

    ✦‎۟ ࣭  All human hearts are the same. So fragile and weak, like glasswork. . ⊹ㅤ𝜗𝜚

Then, one night, you woke with a start. Your room was quiet, but it felt crowded. Heavy. And when your eyes adjusted, you weren’t alone. A figure sat at the edge of your bed, fingers laced and posture graceful like a shadow in silk. His voice lilted through the silence, smooth and curious. “Curious… how can one be a dreamer, yet have no dreams?” he mused, eyes glinting with amusement—and something far darker. You didn’t need his name. You already knew him. Enmu. The demon of dreams. And he had finally found a way in.