Chapter 6

• The moment Dahlia fell silent, her thoughts drifted into a daydream, immersing her once more in those intoxicating memories. The endless pleasure had been so exquisite, so fulfilling, that it had undeniably raised her standards for men to unattainable heights. She was abruptly pulled from her reverie when Hessa began to poke her shoulder repeatedly, a playful yet insistent reminder of reality.
• "Hello? Are you planning to sit here all day? This is my weekend! I wanted to sleep for another six hours before the agony of school starts again," Hessa nagged, her hands thrown into the air in exasperation.
• Dahlia and Hessa were in their final year of school, often referred to as sixth form or twelfth grade, and the mountain of assignments before them felt more daunting than ever. The stress was amplified by the onset of the competition and event season. Not long ago, a small music festival had taken place, and Hessa's rather disastrous singing performance had thrown their day into chaos. Since that debacle, she had been avoiding the other girls in their group.
• "Yeah, I'm planning to stay right here. Your dad isn't home anyway, and when he does come back, I'll make a break for it!" Dahlia muttered, sprawling across the couch and flipping on the television in an attempt to clear her cluttered mind.
• Hessa growled in annoyance, and in response, Dahlia made a playful pout. "Please? Just for today?" She blinked innocently at Hessa a few times; it always worked in her favor. "I promise not to bother you. You can continue your beauty sleep." Dahlia's mind briefly wandered to how Hessa had practically been living at her house for the past week, and she nudged her foot against Hessa's side. "Let's not forget what you were doing at my place," she gently reminded her friend.
• With a chuckle, Hessa replied, "Fine, fine. I apologize for it!"
• "Still! You turned my room into a disaster zone."
• Later that evening, after spending time at Hessa's, Dahlia returned home late at night, coincidentally arriving at the same time Hessa's dad came back. Dahlia had never enjoyed a cordial relationship with any of the fathers in their neighborhood; they all seemed to hold some animosity towards her, and that included her own father.
• Her mother was still at work and wouldn't be back until five in the morning. Knowing this, Dahlia made her bed, tidied up the kitchen, and warmed a modest dinner for herself before eventually succumbing to sleep. However, scarcely had she closed her eyes when the harrowing terror began.
• Dahlia felt a deep sense of unease wash over her as she came face-to-face with a figure she could not recognize. Time appeared to stretch infinitely as he remained motionless, his gaze fixed upon her. As Dahlia squinted to examine him closely, she realized that the figure lacked any discernible features—his face was nothing more than a blurred, featureless void. Here she was once again, trapped in this nightmare.
• The scorching ground beneath her feet radiated an unbearable heat. Surrounding her, a few bodies lay sprawled on the ground, lifeless or perhaps merely charred remnants of their former selves. A woman, draped in a flowing blue garment, approached, moving gracefully ahead of the faceless man. The woman's features were transcendent, her hair shimmering white like freshly fallen snow.
• "She isn't supposed to be here," the woman declared, her voice sweet and gentle, as if laced with milk and honey. "She will be trapped here forever. You must release her."
• Suddenly, a brilliant, searing fire erupted around Dahlia, encircling her in a dazzling display. The flames flickered upwards from the ground, and the ominous faces that had loomed before her vanished into thin air. Dahlia gasped and instinctively stepped back, only to be startled by the faint, distressing sound of a baby crying in the distance.
• When she lifted her gaze, she found herself standing in a shadowy forest that felt eerily familiar, reminiscent of a visit to a volcano she had made with Hessa a few years earlier. The oppressive heat and the pervasive flames were overwhelming, intensifying her anxiety.
• As the fiery circle began to dissipate, panic set in, and Dahlia fled from her spot into the engulfing darkness, yearning to return home—to the comforting presence of her mother and Hessa. Whatever this place had become, she desperately wanted no part in it.
• A fragment of her consciousness was aware that she was dreaming, yet it felt far too vivid to dismiss as mere fantasy. After sprinting for what felt like an eternity, she stumbled upon a massive oak tree. Instinctively, she placed her hand against its thick trunk, only to notice the mark etched upon her wrist—whatever it was, it seemed to have been seared into her skin with the heat of molten metal or perhaps the flames themselves.
• A scream tore itself from her lips, loud and raw, as sweat streamed down her face as if she had spent hours trapped in a sauna. Her throat felt parched, and she gulped desperately for air. As she raised her head, Dahlia was horrified to see the branches of the oak ablaze, along with everything else in her surroundings.
• For a brief, disorienting moment, she was overwhelmed by the sound of her own frantic screams, her heart racing as blood coursed through her veins, and tears streamed down her cheeks. Just then, another figure flickered into view, distracting her from the chaos.
• In a moment of desperation, Dahlia tried to silence herself long enough to read the inscription on a grave before her. Kneeling on the damp earth, she reached out to touch the gravestone, but in an instant, a hand erupted from the ground and seized her.
• "No!" she cried out, panic surging through her body, and abruptly, she became aware of a grave lurking just beneath her feet.
• It felt as though an eternity had passed before Dahlia finally stirred awake. Her heart raced violently within her chest, threatening to burst from the intensity of her fear. In a frantic motion, she grabbed the glass of water from her bedside table and gulped it down, desperate to soothe her parched throat. The echoes of her own screams from the nightmarish dream still reverberated in her mind, persisting even in the unsettling silence of her room.
• "Dahlia?" her mother called from a distance, and the sound of her voice offered a flicker of reassurance. She was still alive, not ensnared within the torturous confines of that dream.