Sleep took her again, gently this time, pulling her back into the same familiar place.
The modern world.
The hallway was dim, lit only by the soft glow from a lamp near the stairs. The house was quiet—too quiet. Darcien was barely home in those days. Always gone. Always carrying a life she was never allowed to touch.
Maya moved on tiptoe, her heart pounding louder than her footsteps. She knew she shouldn't be there. She knew he didn't like her. Knew he found her presence irritating at best, inconvenient at worst.
And yet… she went anyway.
She stopped outside his room, hesitating. Her fingers curled into the hem of her shirt as she took a breath, steadying herself. Just one minute, she told herself. Just to see him safe.
She pushed the door open slowly.
He was asleep, sprawled across the bed, exhaustion etched into his face. Even then, he looked untouchable. Distant. Like someone who existed in a world far beyond hers.
Maya stayed near the door at first, afraid he might wake. Afraid of what would happen if he did.
But she always moved closer in the end.
She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, every movement cautious. Her eyes softened as she looked at him—this version of Darcien, unguarded and human, nothing like the man who barely acknowledged her during the day.
She leaned down and pressed a light kiss to his cheek.
Then another to his forehead.
Her hands trembled slightly as she pulled back.
"I know you don't like me," she whispered, voice barely there. "I know I annoy you… or maybe you just don't want me around."
She swallowed, blinking hard.
"But I love you."
The words came out small. Honest. Never meant to be heard.
She stood quickly after that, fear rushing back in, afraid she'd stayed too long. Afraid he'd wake and see her there. Afraid of what his eyes would look like if he did.
Maya slipped out of the room and back into her own, closing the door quietly behind her, heart racing as she pressed her back against it.
The dream cracked—
And she woke.
Tears streamed down her face even as a soft, breathless laugh escaped her lips. She pressed a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking.
"I miss that…" she whispered through a broken laugh. "I really miss that."
She wiped at her eyes, still smiling, still crying—caught between grief and warmth, between what she'd lost and what she'd never known she remembered.
For a moment, she lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart aching with something sweet and painful all at once.
Then she laughed again, quietly, to herself.
"God… I was so stupid," she murmured fondly.