His dreams
Asher sits upright, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that sends shivers down my spine. Gently, he brushes a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch soft but filled with meaning. His eyes, still slightly red from crying, hold a depth of emotion that I’ve never seen before. “I used to dread sleeping because of those dreams,” he begins, his voice quiet but heavy with the weight of his memories. “They hurt so much, but it was the only time I could see my mate. Even though it was pure torture watching her die every night… it was still the only connection I had to her.” His words hit me hard, and I can feel the raw vulnerability in his tone. The idea of being trapped in a never-ending cycle of grief, watching the one you love die over and over again—it’s unimaginable. Yet, Asher liv
- Writer
