Adrian Nightshade
I wish I could say that the dream infirmary remained a sanctuary, a haven from the nightmares that lurked in the recesses of my subconscious.
Instead, it transformed into a chamber of horrors, an inferno fueled by malevolence. The atrocities committed were beyond the grasp of imagination, each vile act etching itself into the fabric of my nightmares.
The monstrous repetition of my torments played out like a macabre symphony, a cacophony of suffering. I, a pitiful puppet in this ghastly theater, begged for mercy in the face of relentless horrors. The Monsignor reveled in his sins, savoring each moment of my anguish as if it were a delicacy for his twisted palate.
Even as I recognized the unreality of this dream, the echoes of my past became an indistinguishable chorus
