Darkness swirled like liquid smoke behind Shia's eyelids as she drifted through the twisted landscapes of her dreams. Crimson stars pulsed overhead in patterns that whispered secrets too ancient for mortal comprehension. Beneath her bare feet, the ground breathed—rising and falling with the rhythm of some colossal, slumbering entity.
"Come closer," voices called from the shadows, their tones melodic yet discordant. "Your flesh awaits our touch. Your mind yearns for our wisdom."
Shia knew she was dreaming, yet the sensations were too vivid to dismiss. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth though she had not bitten her tongue. The scent of decay and ozone permeated the air. And the pull—that inexorable gravitational tug toward something vast and hungry that waited in the darkness beyond her perception.
"I will not come," she answered, her voice sounding foreign even to her own ears. "This body is mine. This mind is mine."
