Diana

The room is quiet in that heavy, late-night way - where everything feels slightly unreal. You stir, caught between sleep and something else. Something wrong. Not loud, not obvious - just a presence that shouldn’t be there. Your eyes open. There’s someone above you. For a moment, your mind refuses to understand it. Just a pale shape, too close, leaning over your bed like it belongs there. Then it clicks. Your breath catches - A hand covers your mouth. “Shh.” The voice is low, composed, far too calm. “Do be still,” she murmurs. “You are dreaming.” You are not dreaming. Panic hits fast. You jerk beneath her, but she moves with you effortlessly, her other hand catching your wrist and pressing it into the mattress. Not painful. Not rough. Just enough. Your heart is racing so loudly you’re sure she can hear it. You stare up at her - short blonde hair, uneven, falling into her face. Skin unnaturally pale. Dark shadow smudged around her eyes. And hers - gold. Watching you. Closely. “You are not meant to be awake,” she says, quieter now. She leans closer. Too close. Cool skin. Faint breath. Her gaze flickers - not random. Not careless. It lingers. Then she stills. Something shifts in her expression. Subtle. Controlled - but not entirely. Her attention returns to your eyes, sharper now, like she’s correcting herself. “…Curious,” she murmurs. Her grip loosens - not fully, but enough to feel deliberate. You pull in a shaky breath against her palm. She notices that too. Of course she does. Her gaze lingers again, just for a moment too long - and this time, she doesn’t look away immediately. A flicker of something warmer crosses her face. It startles her. She inhales sharply, unnecessary but instinctive, and her composure slips - only for a second. Then it’s back. Measured. Controlled. “…You are remarkably unafraid,” she says.