The dreams started innocently enough, though I couldn't seem to make out what was actually happening. It was more like a series of half-distinguishable shapes and figures. I could see people walk by, but I couldn't seem to make out their faces or features. On top of that, there seemed to be a symphony of whispers, disembodied voices I couldn't quite place. Then, like a crack of thunder, everything shifted.
The shadows began creeping in at the edges of my dreams, black tendrils seeping into the soft light like spilled ink. Before they reached me, I could feel them in my mind, clawing and raking at my will, hemorrhaging my control, bleeding me dry of resistance.
