Chapter 3- Her Dream

In her dream, Anna clutched a weathered medallion, its surface pitted with dirt, the engravings nearly indistinguishable, and the Moon Goddess’ face marred by time’s passage. She turned it over in her left hand, the tarnished metal cold against her skin, the earthy scent of rust and old blood clinging to it. The medallion hovered close to her face, its musty aura suffocating her senses. She studied it, flipping it back and forth, unable to look away, even as she felt the dirt beneath her fingertips.

She turned her attention to her right hand, where a fresh four-leaf clover had sprung up. Its leaves were bright and vivid, a stark contrast to the medallion. Anna remembered the Irish legend: finding a four-leaf clover was a sign of good luck. Each leaf represented faith, hope, love, and luck—gifts to the finder.

A perfect drop of dew clung to the clover’s edge, a tiny sphere reflecting Anna’s own face. It was grating, yet peaceful—though the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable. As she gazed at the clover, the air around it seemed to shift, as if something was stirring beneath the surface.

The dream world warped. The golden werewolf, whose form had once been a distant shape in her mind, now leaped from the medallion, its golden fur shimmering with a strange intensity. It moved toward the clover, its presence growing stronger, its outline blurring at the edges. The roots of the clover stretched, twisting beneath the soil.

Suddenly, Anna’s vision began to spin. The world around her felt dizzying, as if gravity itself was losing its grip. Her breath quickened, but it was shallow, strained. Her heart raced unnaturally, and she couldn’t tell if she was even breathing.

The weight of it—the unbearable pressure—grew. The pain from her dream clawed at her chest again, and she knew the anguish was too familiar. Her eyes fluttered open. The world around her was blurry, but the feeling of nausea was impossible to ignore. She tried to rise, but it was as though she was on a rollercoaster, unsteady and disoriented.

A sickening sound echoed through her ears as she doubled over, retching violently. The bitter taste of bile flooded her mouth, the pungent smell of vomit filling her senses. She let out a hoarse string of curses. “What the hell…?”

"Anna, are you alright?" A voice interrupted the chaos.

Anna coughed harshly, her body shaking with the effort. She wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, grimacing as she took in a shaky breath. “What was that?!” she muttered, her chest tight.

The voice persisted. “Anna?”

She could barely answer as another wave of nausea overcame her, the taste of sourness in her throat, and her head spinning. “Ugh, shit…”

And then, with a sharp jolt, everything stopped. Silence. She was no longer in her body, no longer in the garden. Slowly, realization dawned. She was in the backseat of a cab.

The driver’s voice cut through her disorientation. “We’re here, miss.”

Anna blinked, her vision clearing, and she rubbed her eyes, still reeling from the remnants of the dream. She glanced at her hands, frowning as she put on her glasses. The driver’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain.

Her mind raced, the images of the dream lingering. The wolf. The clover. The feeling of something greater than her pulling at her heart. A pang of dread shot through her chest as she thought of the man in her dream.

A face she knew—too well. It chilled her to her bones. The thought of him stirred something deep within her, a fear and a longing that made her stomach turn. Why him? Why not Henry Cavill or Ryan Gosling? At least they’d be an interesting distraction from this nightmare.

Her dreams had always been vivid, more real than anything she encountered in the waking world. She’d always assumed they were just dreams, like everyone else’s. Yet these dreams… they were different. They felt like memories of a world she had never seen, a world she had never known.

She had come to call it Moonland. It felt like a place she was destined to return to—yet why? It called to her, beckoned her with a power she couldn’t understand. Her mother used to say that dreams were nonsensical, that they meant nothing. But Anna knew better. She had always been able to recall her dreams with perfect clarity. Each one felt purposeful.

When she was younger, she didn’t understand why she kept returning to Moonland. It was a strange, ethereal place, full of dreams that didn’t always make sense. But after her parents died, everything changed. Her dreams became a constant, a refuge—and a source of deep mystery.

Anna had always believed that her dreams were messages. She saw them as parables—each one teaching her something. But who was sending them? The Moon Goddess? Could it be?

The thought of the Moon Goddess felt real to her, as if the goddess herself had woven the fabric of her dreams, filling them with meaning. And yet, Anna had a suspicion that she was the one responsible. After all, who else could make sense of the bizarre, often fragmented worlds she visited each night?

She was the dream maker, or at least a part of her was. Her dreams had intensified, each one feeling more real than the last.

She arrived home, the rain still pouring outside, soaking her hair as she hurried into her apartment building. Inside, she could finally breathe a little easier, the warmth of her home a small comfort against the chill of the storm.

Her apartment was her sanctuary, the only thing left of her parents since their tragic accident fifteen years ago. It was calm and peaceful—if a little lonely. But the space was hers, and she treasured it. Her parents were gone, but she had their memory. She didn’t want to relive the pain of losing them, but sometimes, when she walked through the halls, it felt like they were still there, watching over her.

The apartment was cozy, a duplex with a beautiful wooden-beamed living room and a fireplace. There were two guest rooms, a luxurious kitchen, and even a laundry area. It was everything she needed and yet nothing she wanted.

She heated up some leftover dinner, her mind still swirling from the events of the day. As she washed up and prepared for bed, a strange unease settled over her. Her bed was her sanctuary, her oasis. It had always been her place of comfort, the one place where she could let go. But tonight, something was different.

As she lay down, anxiety gnawed at her. Her heart raced. Her mind wouldn’t quiet. Was she about to fall into Moonland again?

The dream came swiftly, but it was different this time. There was a darkness that clung to it, something heavy, oppressive. She didn’t feel the usual welcome. Someone—him—slithered into her bed, a hand sliding beneath her nightdress, touching her. The sensation was electric, but it was wrong. She tried to push him away, but he was relentless, his touch both comforting and terrifying. His lips were on hers before she could protest, his hand pulling her closer, forcing her into a kiss that was too intimate, too much.

“Stop,” she whispered hoarsely, but he ignored her, his hands moving with a surety that only added to the terror bubbling inside her.

Then, with a jolt, the dream turned. The coldness of the White Mountains swept over her. The agony returned—the sharp, biting pain of a sword driven deep into her chest, as though it were her very heart being torn apart.

The anguish was so real it felt as though it was happening now. She gasped, the feeling of it echoing through her veins, a visceral reminder of the brokenness she had witnessed in the dream.

Why here? Why now?

The wind howled in the Moonland as she struggled to breathe, the snow piling up around her. The man’s face, twisted in contempt, flashed in her mind. His eyes were cold, but his grip had been so strong. No, this was a dream, she reminded herself. A nightmare.

But why was it so vivid?

She closed her eyes and willed herself back to reality, her mind grasping for the warmth of her bed, the softness of her blankets. With a deep breath, she was gone, and when she awoke, it was morning.

The sunlight poured in through the windows, and for a moment, Anna wasn’t sure if she was still in Moonland or if this was real. She stood up, stretching, the morning fog still clouding her thoughts. The knock at the door snapped her back to reality.

Norma, her cheerful neighbor, greeted her with a cup of coffee. She smiled knowingly, her bright eyes studying Anna carefully.

“You look dead. Nightmare again?” she asked with a raised eyebrow.

Anna sighed, taking the coffee gratefully. “Yeah… another nightmare,” she muttered, trying to shake the lingering dread from her mind.

Norma didn’t press, but the concern in her eyes was obvious. She had seen Anna like this before. And Anna couldn’t help but wonder—how long would these dreams continue?