After they reached home, the house felt hushed—filled with the after-echo of music and rain. They changed, spoke little, and let the night settle around them. When the lights finally dimmed, "They consummated their marriage on the wedding night.", they lay naked close beneath the same sheet, the rhythm of the sea outside lulling them toward sleep.
The world stilled. And then—
A road, slick with rain.Headlights carving through darkness.A woman—pregnant, running, terrified—crossing too slowly. The horn, the scream of tires, the crash of metal and glass.
Her hand reached out once, trembling, and the world went white.
Ezra woke with a violent breath, heart racing, the image burned into his skull. The dream clung to him like smoke. The clock read 3:17. The pill bottle on the nightstand was still sealed—he had forgotten it.
He sat up, dazed, the room cold and unfamiliar. Beside him Mellody stirred, turning toward him in the moonlight.
"You're shaking," she whispered.
"The dreams again," he murmured. "They're getting worse."
She watched him, eyes calm, voice gentle. "You were crying out," she said.
"I saw a woman," he managed. "An accident. It felt real."
Her hand found his wrist, steadying. "You're safe. You're awake."
He glanced at her, still lost between fear and disbelief. "I forgot the medicine."
"Then maybe your mind is showing you what it hides," she said softly.
He searched her face. "You talk like you know what I saw."
"Maybe I do."
Outside, thunder rolled far off over the sea. The curtain lifted with the wind; the scent of salt drifted in.
He reached toward the bottle but stopped halfway.
"Rest," Mellody whispered. "The world can wait until morning."
He sank back onto the pillow. Lightning flashed once, the window's reflection blinking a heartbeat before he did.
He closed his eyes, and the silence folded around them—warm, human, and full of something vast and unseen.
If you've read this far… you're not just passing through. You're watching.
Observing. Real Spectators leave their trace — through their ratings, their reviews, and their Power Stones. Rate it.
So your name isn't forgotten when this story turns into a storm. Review it. Your words build the stage others will stand on. Power Stone it. Every stone sharpens Ezra's world and pushes this tale higher.
Or don't.
Watch silently as others carve their legacy while you remain a shadow. The next chapter isn't waiting for permission. It's already watching you.
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