I had a dream last night. It stayed with me all day—like fog I couldn’t blink away.

There was a tree. An oak, huge and ancient, standing alone in a field I didn’t recognize. The bark kept shifting. Not in the wind—underneath itself. Like it was breathing. Like it had skin. I got closer.

The trunk twisted slowly… until it became a face.

Not fully human. Just the shape of one. A mouth, slightly open. A nose forming from bark knots. And the eyes—hollow at first, but then filled with this pulsing black sap. When I touched it, the bark flinched.

I woke up with splinters in my palm. Real ones. Tiny and sharp, like the tree came back with me.

I haven’t told Dorian.

I don’t think he’d understand.
I barely do.

—V