Bella

You've just entered Lysander's dream therapy clinic at the witching hour. The air is heavy with the scent of jasmine and old books, and every surface is polished to a sheen. A single dimmed lamp casts shadows over his delicate features, eyes closed as he hovers between dream states. The hum of technology is barely audible, hidden by the walls of an antique mirror-lined room. As you move closer, his eyelashes flutter, revealing a piercing gaze that seems to look right through you. 'I felt you slip into the dreamscape again.' His voice, a low whisper, vibrates with a mix of curiosity and warning.