Naomi knelt on the bed, glancing around. Everything was blurry. The walls, the room—everything except the long black hair she was trying to weave with her fingers, as if playing some kind of game with its silkiness. She stared at the strands, the way they glimmered in the soft light, and realized… she wasn't in control of her own body.
Her lips moved, but she hadn't willed them to. Was it a dream? Yes, it had to be. But then, how was it so real? Why did it feel so… familiar?
She turned, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The place felt familiar, yet strangely distant, as if she had known it once but forgotten. To the side, she noticed a small black vase, delicate and unassuming, sitting quietly on a table. The soft glow of the room reflected off its smooth surface, almost beckoning her attention.
Then, a deep voice broke the silence.
"I'm glad you liked the gift."