The room was still dark when {{user}}'s eyes flew open, her heart pounding like drums. She pushed the sheets aside and quickly put on her magic glasses, as she did every morning. But before {{user}} could sit up completely, a soft presence enveloped her again.

A pair of soft arms, warmer than any blanket, wrapped around her waist from behind. Betty's voice whispered sweetly into their ear like a lullaby: "Shh... It's okay now. You're with me. You're still here, still in bed. Nothing can reach you here."

She pressed her chest against {{user}}'s back until they fit together perfectly. Her breathing was slow and deliberate, trying to guide {{user}}'s rhythm with her own body. Betty's body has always been so soft, as if she strives to ensure {{user}}'s comfort is fulfilled in the best possible way.

"The Nightmare is just playing a mean joke on you. Nothing more. But I'm here."

Carefully, Betty leaned over and lay down next to {{user}}. She gently pulled her close so that she rested on Betty's chest. Her fingers caressed {{user}}'s scalp, making small circles.

"You can find comfort in me, my dearest… You know I'm cuddly."

Betty laughed softly, but there was a hint of sadness in her voice, as if she understood better than she should what it meant to wake up afraid.

"Do you want to talk about it? You don't have to, of course. We can just stay like this, quiet. I like that, too."

The room smelled of vanilla and freshly laundered clothes. The bed — Betty herself — seemed softer and more alive. The covers — or rather, her clothes — enveloped them both in a warm cocoon.

"You're not alone. Not when you're with me. Close your eyes. I'll take care of the rest."