The night was heavy with the scent of rain as I tossed and turned in my bed, the sheets tangled around me like vines. Sleep eluded me, slipping through my fingers every time I thought I'd found it. My mind kept returning to the dream I had of Vincent and Emily, the images so vivid they still felt fresh, like wounds that had just begun to scab over.
In the dream, Vincent had been there, standing tall and proud as he always did, but something was off. His eyes, usually filled with warmth and light, were cold, almost lifeless. Emily was there too, her face twisted with a rage I'd never seen before. She attacked him, her movements swift and violent, like a predator with no hesitation. I could only watch, paralyzed as if my body was no longer my own.
