The dream came without color.
Not dark.
Not light.
Just sound.
Lila stood in a place that felt like the edge of a breath, where the forest existed but refused to show its face. She could hear the river, though she could not see it. She could feel the trees, though they were only shadows shaped like memory.
And beneath her palm—
Warmth.
Not fear.
Not warning.
A heartbeat.
Her child.
She looked down and saw nothing, yet the presence remained, steady and patient, as if the dream itself had decided she was allowed to hold something real inside an unreal world.
A voice moved through the air.
Not language.
Not threat.
A question without words.
Are you staying?
She answered without thinking.
“Yes.”
The dream loosened.
The forest exhaled.
And Lila woke with tears on her cheeks
