Morning Fog
535 Words
Luna stared at the ceiling.
She hadn’t slept since the dream — not really. Maybe drifted off for ten minutes here and there, but every time she closed her eyes, the forest came back. Him. That voice.
> “Wake up before they find out who you are.”
She hadn’t told anyone. Who would she even tell? Her therapist already looked at her like she was teetering on the edge of something sharp and inconvenient.
And her wolf was still pacing.
There was a tremor in the bond she’d always had with that part of herself. Not just restlessness, but urgency. Like her wolf was trying to tell her something in a language Luna had forgotten how to speak.
She dragged herself out of bed. The floor felt too cold. The silence too thick.
As she got dressed, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Just for a second — flickering, like a glitch in a bad video feed — her eyes burned gold again.
Then gone.
“Nope,” she muttered. “We’re not doing this today.”
---
Outside – Late Morning
She grabbed a coffee from the little kiosk on the corner. The barista — a woman with pink braids — smiled and handed her the cup. “Morning, Luna.”
Luna blinked. “Have we… met?”
Pink Braids tilted her head. “You come in every week.”
Luna never came here.
She walked away quickly, stomach twisting. As she turned the corner, her eyes landed on a man sitting at the bus stop — reading a newspaper upside down.
She stared.
He didn’t blink.
She kept walking.
Maybe this is a breakdown. A proper one. The kind that ends with mandatory observation and a prescription that makes you forget how to cry.
But her wolf growled — low, warning. No. We are not crazy. We are hunted.
---
Back at Therapy
She stood outside the familiar office, hand resting on the doorknob.
Except the sign was wrong.
The lettering on Dr. Deyne’s plaque was crooked — it had never been crooked before. And the waiting room wallpaper was beige now, not sage green.
She stepped in anyway. Sat down. Waited.
When Dr. Deyne opened the door, he smiled just a little too wide.
“Luna. Come on in.”
She sat stiffly on the couch.
He picked up his clipboard, paused, then tilted his head.
“You had a dream, didn’t you?”
Luna went cold.
“I—what?”
He smiled again. “Don’t worry. That’s normal. The subconscious has many doors. Most of them stay shut.”
She swallowed hard. “Did I… tell you about it?”
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Sometimes things just… slip through. Especially when your mind is trying to protect you from something bigger.”
> "Cut the angle. She’s almost lucid."
Luna leaned forward slowly. “What do you mean bigger?”
He blinked. Once. Twice.
And for just a heartbeat, his pupils flickered — vertically. Like a reptile.
Luna stood abruptly.
“I—I think I need to reschedule.”
---
Outside, her wolf was roaring now.
Not with fear.
With rage.
- Writer
