Becky didn't say a word about the petals.
Not to Gail.
Not to Gary.
Not even to Carly, who always noticed everything.
She told herself it was just stress. Just her mind being dramatic. Exams were coming.
Maybe she was just… tired.
So, she pushed it away.
All evening, she buried herself in assignments, music, and half-hearted conversations with her parents. The butterflies, the voice, the bleeding rose
—it was all just fragments of a dream that wouldn't let go.
That's all it was.
That's all she wanted it to be.
But when the clock struck midnight, the room changed.
Her lamp flickered.
A soft breeze
—though her windows were closed
—stirred the air.
And her eyelids grew unbearably heavy.
---
She was dreaming again.
But this time, she knew it from the start.
The sky was dark
—no stars, no moon.
Just endless twilight.
The ground beneath her feet was damp with petals.
White and crimson.
A forest surrounded her, silent and waiting.
She turned.
He was there.
The vampire.
He stepped from the trees as if he'd always belonged to the shadows. His eyes glowed faintly—deep, ancient, and unreadable. His voice curled around her like smoke.
"You came back."
Becky tried to move, to run
—but her feet wouldn't obey.
"I never left," she whispered, though she hadn't meant to speak at all.
He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Good."
Then the petals rose like ash in the wind. The butterflies returned, circling them both in silence.
And when he reached out this time, his hand didn't vanish.
It touched her skin.
Cold.
Real.
Alive.
She was dreaming again.
The forest was darker this time. Colder.
The air felt thick, like breathing through velvet.
Around her, white and crimson petals drifted in slow spirals
—falling from trees she couldn't see.
She walked forward cautiously, each step echoing like it didn't belong in this place.
There was no vampire waiting this time.
Just the silence.
Until a voice broke it.
Soft.
Smooth.
And somehow everywhere at once.
"Would you like to have some wine?"
She turned fast.
A table stood behind her now, tall and thin, draped in dark velvet. On it: two crystal glasses. One filled with thick red liquid. The other… empty.
No one was there.
Just the voice.
And the wine.
Becky's hands trembled. She wasn't thirsty, but her body moved closer anyway
—drawn, like it always was in these dreams. The liquid in the glass shimmered strangely, darker than blood.
She reached for it
—then stopped.
"No," she whispered aloud. "I'm done playing games."
The wine glass cracked down the middle.
And all around her, the forest exhaled
—as if it had been holding its breath.