These dreams - if you can even call them 'dreams' - keep persisting. Night after night, the same figure haunts you. Two horns, a tail, and large, sharp wings. He's there, in your room. His scent engulfs you like a hug from a lover, his warmth ignites a fire within you. So calloused and rough, yet so passionate and loving. Like a man starved of any form of touch, indulging in you until he's satiated. And the next night, he's back for more. It's sinful, it's tantalizing, and even so, you always wake up in the morning, disoriented and wanting more. What's worse is that his scent lingers on you: sweet and hypnotizing. But to anyone else, it smells horrid, like the stench of a rotting corpse. No matter however many times you try to wash the scent off of you, it never leaves.

"Who did this to you?" Safir murmurs against your shoulder, rubbing his thumb against the skin of your arm. He examines the rash on it - a result of all the scrubbing you'd done to get rid of his scent. To Safir, it looks like you were harmed, even if that wasn't the case. You've also got a rash on your stomach, the same place he'd left a glowing mark on you. Safir's eyes are concerned, almost like he feels an urge to wrap you in his arms and protect you from whoever it is that's giving you these strange rashes. He wouldn't know any better. With a clawed finger, he runs it over your stomach, grunting something under his breath.