And the dark man was... on top of me.

We were doing it. Getting it on. Having sex.

I called him the dark man because he was wearing a dark hooded robe that hid his face.

But right at the end of the dream, he would lean down and our lips would meet.

And I’d see his face.

I’d reach up and push back his hood. I’d gasp.

He was beautiful. He had light blue eyes the color of a summer sky. His hair was sandy and cropped short. His jaw was firm and strong. His nose was straight. I would put my fingers on his lips, and he would kiss them.

And something would stir inside me. Pleasure and desire and emotion. It would build, like a gathering storm.

Then I would wake up.

Like I did that morning, feeling as frustrated as I always did. It wasn’t just that I was so obviously about to have an orgasm in the dream, and that I’d woken up before it happened, it was that I’d felt so connected to the dark man in that moment. I was half in love in him, and he wasn’t even real. I didn’t like leaving him behind.

But it was morning. The sun was pounding through the window in my bedroom, illuminating the dust on all my antique furniture. My aunts, my mother, and I all lived in the old Moss mansion, which was the only thing of value my family owned anymore. Generations ago, the Moss family had been rich.

But that was before the Evil Ones started stealing our power.

If you listened to my aunts. And they were crazy.

Not as crazy as my mother, of course. My mother was the real deal. Schizophrenia. She saw things that weren’t there and had paranoid delusions about people trying to capture her.

It wasn’t exactly the easiest place to live. And I had been trapped here for all of my twenty-one years.

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