𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐍𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 ᵇⁿʰᵃ

03 ┃ 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭

━ ⭒─⭑━

Sleep, usually a welcome escape from the confines of your routine, offered no solace tonight. Instead, a vivid dreamscape unfolded before you.

Golden light bathed a field of crimson flowers; their petals stained a shade of red that seemed to bleed into the very air.

In the distance, a young girl, no older than eighteen, stood amidst the flowers. The white long-sleeved shirt, hung untucked; her black jacket lay discarded on the ground like a fallen feather, forgotten. Her hair, a cascade of long pale auburn, defied its usual confinement; bangs, usually kept just past her eyebrows, now clung in wispy tendrils to her forehead, framing her face alongside two longer, rebellious side strands.

This fiery mane mirrored the moonlight filtering through the clouds, but it was her eyes that held your attention—crimson orbs with pulsing yellow irises that burned with an intensity that both terrified and fascinated you.

This girl, she looked... familiar.

A prickling sensation crawled up your arms as a name, foreign yet strangely comforting, whispered on the wind. "Makima," it murmured, a single word carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken memories.

The girl turned, her crimson gaze locking onto yours. A ghost of a smile played on her lips, a smile that sent shivers down your spine.

In that moment, you knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that this girl, this Makima, was somehow a part of you.

But before you could reach out, before you could ask the questions burning in your mind, the scene dissolved into a swirling vortex of colors.  You woke with the taste of fear lingering on your tongue.  Sunlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across your room.

The dream felt real, more real than anything you had ever experienced.  Makima, the girl in the flower field, who was she?  And how was she connected to you?  These questions gnawed at you like a constant itch that you couldn't scratch.

The influx of dreams was just the first in a string of unsettling occurrences. Sometimes, visions—vivid and disorienting—would occasionally pierce the veil of your new life. One moment, you'd be staring at the pink wallpaper of your room, and the next, you'd be transported to a dimly lit office, the scent of cigarettes clinging to the air.

A tall, blonde-haired man with a dopey grin sat across from you, his eyes following your every move with an almost canine devotion.

"Denji~" you'd hear your voice purr, a voice that sent shivers down your own spine, so different from the small, hesitant tones of Y/N.  "Tell me again, what's your dream?"

Denji would lean in, his entire being focused on your words. "My dream... is to...  touch a nice lady's boobs..." he'd stammer, his face flushed.

A cruel smile would play on your lips, a stark contrast to the innocent smile of Y/N. "How quaint," you'd murmur, a dangerous glint in your eyes.  "But for now, Denji, you have a purpose.  And that purpose is to serve me."

The vision would then abruptly shatter, leaving you gasping for breath, a cold sweat clinging to your skin.  These fragments of your past life were terrifying, yet strangely alluring.

Was she truly you?

☆
✩
☆

You bounced on the balls of your feet, excitement buzzing through you like a beehive. Today was "dress-up day" at your homeschool session with Mei, and you had meticulously planned your outfit—a superhero ensemble complete with a flowing cape and a mask you'd meticulously crafted from construction paper.