For three years I have been having the same dream. One where a strange man with an alluring voice and red eyes comes to me. Sometimes I could even hear his voice in my mind.
I could never see him, only his silhouette and shining red eyes.
He touches me, comforts me, kisses me.
In a lonely world, with no one to care for me, I had him. He was a being created from my imagination and depression. He was my imaginary friend, my only family, the product of my craziness.
At least, that’s what I thought until he came and claimed me as his beloved.
Wishing is a dangerous thing.