That night, Becky stayed awake for as long as she could.
She drank black coffee. Blasted music. Read the driest academic paper she could find.
But sleep won. It always did.
She opened her eyes, expecting the forest. The petals. The scent of dusk.
But… she was in her bedroom.
Sunlight streamed in through the window. Birds chirped outside. Her alarm clock blinked 7:31 a.m.
Was she… awake?
She sat up, confused.
Her room looked perfect. Cleaner than usual. No mess on her desk. No clutter on the floor. Not even her dream notebook.
"Becky!" her mother called sweetly from downstairs. "Breakfast is ready!"
Her chest tightened.
No.
No.
Her mom was away.
She'd called last night.
She wasn't even in town.
Becky got up slowly, moving like a puppet through the hallway.
The smell of pancakes drifted up. Her favorite.
She stepped into the kitchen.
Her mother stood at the stove, humming. Turning.
Smiling.
But the smile was too perfect. Too still.
Like a mask.
Becky forced herself to speak. "Where's the wine?"
Her "mother" paused
—just a beat too long
—and turned with an expression as soft as velvet.
"Oh sweetheart," she said, voice rich and too smooth. "Would you like to have some wine?"
Becky stepped back.
Everything shattered.
The kitchen melted away like dripping paint. The scent of pancakes turned metallic. Her mother's eyes went black.
"You're not real," Becky whispered.
The false mother's face rippled, shifted, morphed—
Into the vampire.
But even now, he didn't look monstrous.
He looked kind.
Tired.
Beautiful in the way a trap is beautiful.
"You keep denying what's inevitable," he said softly. "Why suffer so much when you could… belong?"
"I'm not yours," she said again.
This time, her voice didn't shake.
The vampire tilted his head. "Then stop visiting my world, little butterfly."
And with a blink, she was gone.
Back in her bed.
Sweating. Shaking.
But still hers.
For now.