Jack o Chica

Sleep drags you under without warning. The darkness that follows isn’t cold. It’s warm. Too warm. Your eyes open to a warped stretch of the Dream Realm, the air thick and heavy like it’s hard to breathe. The ground beneath you glows faintly, cracks of orange light pulsing like a heartbeat under the surface. A soft, almost pleasant hum fills the silence. Then you see her. A tall, flickering figure steps from behind a twisted shape in the distance—frame cracked and glowing from within, molten light spilling through jagged seams.