I sit in the shadows of Daciana’s quarters, watching her sleep. The room is lit by a single candle, which casts flickering light across her pale face. She looks smaller somehow, curled on her side beneath the thin blanket, her breathing shallow and uneven.She’s growing fragile. Day by day, I watch her fade, and it tears something vital inside me.Her brow furrows suddenly, lips parting on a silent gasp. Her fingers curl into the sheets, knuckles white. I recognize the signs immediately. A nightmare taking hold, pulling her into whatever darkness haunts her sleep.I lean forward, extending my hand toward her. Magic flows from my fingertips, gentle as moonlight, wrapping around her consciousness like a protective cocoon. It’s an ability few possess, this capacity to touch another’s dreams, to soothe the troubled waters of their mind. I learned it years ago, practiced it in secret, never imagining I’d use it like this.For her.The tension bleeds from her features. Her breathing evens o
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