Vivienne dreamt of water.
Endless, black water.
Still as death. Smooth as glass. A sea that went on forever beneath a sky that had never known stars. The kind of darkness that didn’t just swallow light—it erased it.
She stood ankle-deep, barefoot, her reflection twisting in the murk. Every ripple that bent her image felt wrong. Like someone else was staring back. Like something beneath the surface was waiting to rise.
The air tasted of iron. Heavy. Familiar. Like breath stolen from a wound.
Somewhere far away, a piano played—its notes slow and aching, the kind of melody that belonged in an abandoned chapel or at the end of the world. The keys fell like distant footsteps. Familiar and forgotten all at once.
Vivienne tried to move, but the water clung to her. Thicker with every step. I
