The Dreamscape's Embrace

Klein sat frozen, his body rigid, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and longing. The room around him felt too bright, too vivid—every detail sharpened unnaturally, as if the world itself had turned against him.

Elizabeth was standing before him.

His chest tightened. The weight pressing down on him felt suffocating. He had watched her die. He had lost her. Yet, there she was—alive, her presence filling the room like she had never left.

"Liz?" His voice trembled, barely above a whisper.

She turned to him, tilting her head slightly. "Yes? Are you okay, sweetie?"

Her voice was warm, familiar—so much so that it cut through him, sharp and unforgiving, like a blade between his ribs.

Questions crashed against one another in his mind. How was she here? How could this be possible? But when he tried to speak, the words tangled and stuck, buried beneath the weight of something between fear and desperate hope.

Sensing his unease, she reached for him, her fingers curling gently around his hand, gripping it tightly. Her skin was warm—so unbelievably warm—like the last embers of a dying fire. The fire he had been searching for through the cold. A faint heartbeat pulsed beneath her touch, steady and real, as her thumb brushed softly over the top of his hand.

A shaky breath escaped him, his chest rising and falling unevenly as his vision blurred with unshed tears. The warmth of her touch, the weight of her presence—he had held this before. He had lost it before.

And yet, here she was.

The moment stretched, fragile and unreal, before being abruptly broken by the sound of hurried footsteps from the living room.

"Emily!" Anna's voice rang through the house, her bare feet *pitter-pattering* against the floor. "Give me back my toy!"

Klein blinked as two small figures rushed into view. Emily held a small, crudely carved wooden horse high above her head, grinning as she dodged her younger sister's frantic grasp.

"Emily!" Anna whined, reaching desperately as Emily took a few steps back, giggling.

"I want to play with it too!" Emily said, her laughter ringing like music.

Elizabeth sighed, a slight chuckle escaping her lips as she loosened her grip on Klein's hand. But he didn't want her to pull away. Whatever this was—whatever was happening—he knew he didn't want her to go. Instinctively, he tightened his grip, stopping her.

Her gaze shifted from the girls to him. "Klein, baby, what's wrong?" she asked, genuine concern lacing her voice.

"I-I just don't want you to go," Klein said, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"Go?" Elizabeth asked, confused. "I'm not going anywhere." She rose to her feet, leaning over to give him a soft kiss on the forehead. "But you know how the girls are," she added with a chuckle. "If we don't say something, they'll end up throwing things at each other."

She pulled away, giving him a warm smile before raising her voice. "Girls!" she called, stepping into the living room. Both Emily and Anna froze in place. "Aren't you two supposed to be getting ready for bed?"

Klein sat at the dining table, watching Elizabeth scold the girls. His mind refused to accept it. This doesn't make sense—none of it. Elizabeth is gone. My girls are gone. But here they are, right before my eyes.

He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as if the pain could anchor him to reality. But even that felt distant, muted, like everything else in this strange, too-perfect world.

"Ugh!" Elizabeth sighed as she re-entered the kitchen. "The girls are getting ready for bed. Again," she said with emphasis, moving behind Klein and wrapping her arms over his shoulders. "I'm not sure what's bothering you, but know I'm here when you need to talk."

"I know," Klein said, reaching up to grab her hand and squeezing it tightly. He wanted to believe her, to believe this was real. But the nagging voice in the back of his mind wouldn't let him.

———

Nearly an hour passed. Klein emerged from the girls' room after helping put them to bed for the third time. He had thought—hoped—that whatever this was, a fever dream or a near-death hallucination, would have ended by now.

But as he stepped into the kitchen and saw Elizabeth wiping down the counter, humming softly to herself, that doubt wavered.

Maybe this is real.

Maybe, by some divine miracle, I've been given a second chance.

The thought filled him with a desperate longing. He didn't want to give this up again.

Klein moved toward her, his feet slow, hesitant—half afraid that if he touched her, she would disappear. But she didn't. She turned to him, smiling, her eyes filled with that same warmth he remembered.

Without thinking, he sat down at the dining table, his body heavy with exhaustion and emotions he couldn't name.

Elizabeth moved behind him, draping her arms over his shoulders, resting her chin against the top of his head. "You're quiet tonight," she murmured.

He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into her touch. Maybe this is real.

Maybe, just maybe—

Then the knocks came.

*KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.*

Klein stiffened, his stomach twisting. The warmth in his chest turned cold in an instant.

Elizabeth's arms remained around him, but the feeling was distant now, muted beneath a creeping sense of wrongness.

He didn't know who was at the door. But something deep within him—something in the very depths of his being—told him that this moment, this illusion, was about to shatter.

Slowly, he pried himself from Elizabeth's embrace, rising to his feet. "I'll see who it is," he said, his voice quieter than before.

He turned toward the door, knowing—dreading—what he would find on the other side.

And when he opened it, he was proven right.

"Lina," Klein said, his voice defeated as he stepped aside, motioning for her to enter.

"Oh, Miss Lina!" Elizabeth said, entering the living room to see who was at the door. "Come, sit," she added, motioning for Lina to follow her.

Klein's eyes darted between Elizabeth and Lina. They had never met before—there was no possible way they could have. And yet, Elizabeth spoke to her with the ease of an old friend, her voice light and familiar, as if she had known Lina her entire life. The sight sent a ripple of unease through him, something about it feeling deeply, unmistakably wrong.

Lina stepped inside, and Klein closed the door behind her, falling in step as they made their way to the kitchen.

"The girls are asleep, so I'll just get you two something to drink. That okay?" Elizabeth asked, not waiting for a response as she moved to the far side of the kitchen.

Klein watched her, his chest aching. She moved with the same grace and ease he remembered, humming softly as she poured the drinks. It was all so familiar, so painfully real.

"Lina, what's going on here?" Klein asked as they settled into their seats.

"I'm not positive, but I have a guess," Lina said. Klein didn't respond, opting for a simple nod, urging her to continue.

"Nothing in here is real, Klein," Lina said flatly, her gaze meeting his.

Klein hesitated, his breath coming uneven. He didn't know how he knew, but something deep within him—something primal and unshakable—had already told him the truth. This wasn't real. None of it was.

His gaze darted around the room. The cups. The warmth of the fire. The faint scent of Elizabeth's cooking still lingering in the air.

It felt real. It looked real. But it wasn't.

"I know…" he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how I know, but I do."

Lina nodded, her expression unreadable. "When you form a pact, it's common to be granted something. A gift, a power, or… an ability."

Klein's hands trembled as he stared at the table. "And you think this is what it is?"

"Yes," Lina said, her tone calm but firm. She turned her gaze toward where Elizabeth had stood moments ago. "Your wife is very beautiful. What was her favorite place to travel?"

Klein's chest tightened at the question. "She always wanted to visit the royal capital again," he said, stifling a chuckle as memories of their first few years together flashed through his mind.

He could almost hear her voice.

See the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about it.

Feel the warmth of her hand resting over his.

But as he thought about her, something shifted. The air grew colder. The warmth of the room dimmed.

"And she is gone," Lina said, pulling Klein out of his thoughts.

When he looked around, Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen. Even the cups she had served them were gone, as if she had never been there.

"What… Where…" Klein started to say, but Lina cut him off.

"You stopped imagining her here, so she stopped being here," Lina said, turning to face him. "That's how she knew who I was when I entered your house. Everything here is a product of your mind—your very own dreamscape."

Klein's breath came ragged. His fingers clenched around the wooden table as though anchoring himself to something—anything—real. But it was gone. All of it.

The warmth of Elizabeth's touch. The laughter of his daughters. The sound of home.

His stomach twisted, a deep, gut-wrenching grief clawing at him.

"No…" His voice cracked. "Not again."

His hand shot forward, reaching—grasping— as he tried to imagine Elizabeth back in their kitchen, but there was nothing. Only empty air.

He squeezed his eyes shut, but it didn't matter. When he opened them, the house was still empty.

"W-what does this all mean?" Klein asked, his voice shaky as he braced himself against the wooden dining table.

Lina pondered for a moment before speaking. "Think of it like a separate space that you have full control over. Your own slice of reality. You can shape it, mold it, fill it with whatever—or whoever—you want. But it's not real. Not truly."

Klein's mind raced. "So… Elizabeth. The girls. They were never really here?"

"They were here because you imagined them," Lina said gently. "But the moment you stopped focusing on them, they vanished. That's how this place works. It's a reflection of your mind."

Klein's shoulders slumped, the weight of her words pressing down on him like an anchor. That thing had given him this—a place where he could hold them again, hear their laughter, feel their warmth.

But it was only an illusion.

His throat tightened. "And the pact… it gave me this ability?"

Lina's gaze didn't waver. "Yes," she said. "It's a gift. And a shackle."