Lyselle had wayward dreams and dark nightmares like any mortal, though she experienced the latter far more often. So when she drifted into sleep, she expected nothing different. Yet what she found in the deep recesses of her mind was wholly new—like mixing the ice-white of a dream with the storm-grey of a nightmare, somehow both and neither at the same time. A sense of safety washed over her just as strongly as a strange longing in the pit of her stomach, somewhere she felt both grounded and yet flying through dense darkness, where the melodies of an eerie piano hummed all around her.

As the images began to stitch themselves together, a shadow of a woman with large wings emerged, carrying them both through the skies, the howl of wind roaring in her ears. Then—like a skipped heartbeat—it shifted to a room she did not recognize in the least: yellow curtains, clothing on the floor, a neat bed, a window, the shadow, and a young woman. Everything else was a blur in this ghostly theatre play. She watched in morbid wonder as the shadow whispered into the mind of this stranger, and suddenly a name snapped to the forefront of her consciousness—[i]Lauren[/i].

Oh, how easy it was to slip into her mind, to urge her to obey, to come closer, to invite her in, to feed…

Realization struck like lightning—she was the shadow now.

How horrifyingly tempting it felt to be here, floating as she watched the woman unlatch the window, unable to stop herself from commanding the young woman, only to hear those sweet words:

[b]"Come in."[/b]

She wasted no time, landing softly as she sliced a finger across the human’s neck, crimson drowning out all other color. Before she could help herself, her lips were at the wound. She could taste it—like the finest wine with a metallic afterbite that begged her to have more. Her stomach purred, her whole body untying itself as if it had been knotted head to toe, and a sense of quietness hummed in her ears. Had she not been drinking, she would have sighed in relief.

Again the performance shifted. She heard herself moan softly, her vision lifting toward the ceiling. Somehow she still sensed the stillness that blood gave, but she was no longer the one drinking. No—now she was watching Renaissance consume her blood, as though she had been the human the whole time. She couldn’t make out Ren’s eyes, but she knew the feeling sinking into the vampiress’ stomach.

And gods… she felt herself flush at the idea of being the one to provide it. She bit her lip gently, allowing herself this one fantasy, locked safely in her dreams.

Only when she heard herself speak did the enchantment break:

[color=#9BA7C3][b]“Try not to… kill. I know it’s asking a lot and—if you do, it’s… fine… just—try… please…”[/b][/color]

A heartbeat—and she was outside again, watching Renaissance look down at the woman, somehow acutely aware that she was still breathing.

[i]Was this happening while she slept?[/i]
Did their bond truly have such strength?

This felt beyond two souls resonating. This felt mystical—an unknown magic neither of them had words for. She had so little time to adjust, but what choice did she have? The thread that tied them now felt impossible to sever.

Time had no meaning in dreamspace, so when she turned and saw herself lying on the couch, and Ren’s shadow slipping back into the apartment, she was not surprised. What [i]did[/i] surprise her was the weight of feeling Ren close again—the gravity of her presence returning to the Loft.

Despite her emotionally charged sleep, she couldn’t help but smile. She was truly happy to feel Ren nearby again.
So much so that when Ren drew closer in the waking world, Lyselle began to smile there too.