Dream Catcher

The chill of the pre-dawn air seeped through Dani Deleon’s thin pajamas, but it was the lingering phantom of terror that truly made her shiver. She sat bolt upright in bed, heart hammering against her ribs, the scent of bleach and the faint, distorted strains of classical music still echoing in her mind. Another nightmare. Not hers, never truly hers, but transferred, raw and vivid, from someone else’s trauma.

She ran a trembling hand through her disheveled hair, glancing at the array of dream catchers hanging above her bed, useless ornaments against a curse she couldn't escape. The alarm clock on her nightstand glowed 3:15 AM. Again.

With a resigned sigh, Dani swung her legs out of bed, the damp sheets clinging to her. She padded across the threadbare carpet, the only sound the steady hum of her apartment’s ancient air conditioner. The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger: dark shadows beneath her brown eyes, a testament to countless sleepless nights. She picked up a tube of under-eye concealer, a futile weapon against an invisible enemy. “You’re no miracle worker,” she whispered to her reflection, “but you’ll have to do. Time to fake being normal.”