Of Dreams And Obsessions

Prologue

The soft hum of fluorescent lights filled the quiet space, an empty stillness broken only by the sound of fabric sliding across hangers.

Her fingers moved through the racks mechanically, the sensation of smooth cotton and cool satin beneath her touch feeling distant, unreal. Around her, the store was empty, save for the shadows stretching long under the dull lighting. Pale mannequins stood in silent rows, their glassy eyes reflecting the cold light.

She didn’t know how long she had been there.

It was the sort of boutique she might have wandered into on a lazy afternoon, with its glossy floors and neatly arranged displays. But the air felt wrong—too cold, too quiet. The kind of quiet that settled deep into her bones, the kind that made her heart race though nothing had happened. She blinked, frowning, as her hand settled on a soft sweater, ivory wool spilling over her fingers.

Wait.

Her breath caught.

The realization hit her slowly, like a creeping chill working its way up her spine: I’m not supposed to be here. She stared down at the sweater in her hand, her fingers tightening involuntarily around the fabric. The thought bloomed in her mind, vivid and sharp, cutting through the hazy fog of her thoughts.

She had no memory of coming to this store. She didn’t even know where she was.

Her pulse quickened, the steady thrum of panic rising in her chest. Slowly, her eyes scanned the store. The mannequins, the neatly folded clothes, the racks lined up in perfect order—it all seemed normal. But it wasn’t. Not for this time of night. Not for her.

What time is it?

Her heart pounded as she glanced toward the store windows, but all she could see was her own reflection in the glass, the dark emptiness beyond. The world outside was still, like the pause between breaths. She couldn’t tell if it was midnight or morning, the lights outside dimmed to a whisper.

The cold linoleum pressed against her bare feet.

Bare feet. She glanced down, her stomach lurching. The pale, floral nightgown she had fallen asleep in fluttered softly against her legs, out of place among the sleek, modern clothes she was aimlessly sorting through. She wasn’t dressed for a night out, much less a casual shopping trip.

I was at home. I was in bed.

Her throat tightened as she tried to remember. Tried to recall the last few moments before this—this dream, or whatever it was. Had she been dreaming? She couldn’t tell. Her thoughts slid away like oil on water, slippery, impossible to grasp.

The sound of her own breath filled her ears, loud in the otherwise perfect silence of the store. Her hand released the sweater, letting it drop limply back onto the rack as she took a step back. It wasn’t real, she told herself. This couldn’t be real.

But the cool air brushing against her skin felt real enough. The rhythmic flicker of a light in the corner—real. The faint hum of some unseen machinery droning on—real. She swallowed hard, her mouth dry, her heart racing as she stumbled toward the door, the polished floor cool under her feet.

Each step felt like it could wake her, but no matter how far she moved, she didn’t wake.

The door swung open with a quiet chime, and the night greeted her, thick and still. The empty street stretched out before her, unfamiliar and vast, the faint smell of rain hanging in the air. She hesitated, one hand still gripping the door frame as if it could anchor her. Her mind whirled with fragments of thought—how far had she wandered? What time was it?

She glanced over her shoulder at the store behind her, the eerie stillness inside. Had anyone seen her? Had anyone noticed?

Then, she stepped out into the night, into the waiting silence of the street, and felt the world tilt beneath her feet. The cold air stung her lungs, sharp and real, but her mind still felt adrift, floating somewhere between waking and dreaming.

This isn’t the first time.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the creeping familiarity of the moment sank into her bones. This wasn’t the first time she had woken up in a strange place, with no memory of how she’d gotten there. And deep down, she knew it wouldn’t be the last.

The streets were empty, just as quiet as the store had been, as if the world itself had fallen into a deep sleep, leaving her to wander alone.

She walked slowly, each step heavy with the weight of uncertainty, her mind buzzing with half-formed thoughts and unspoken fears. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the question repeated itself, over and over, like a mantra she couldn’t escape.

How long until I wake up?