NIGHT TWO

THE MASK. HER GAZE.

He’s closer now. Close enough to see. Close enough to remember what she asked to forget.

She opened her eyes into the velvet again. No waking. No transition. Just there, draped in crimson, wrapped in memory that pressed like hands beneath her skin.

But something was different tonight.

The light was lower, shadows dripping from the mirrors. The air heavier, warmer, as if it had already touched her. And the mirrors themselves hummed - a choir too low for human ears.

Not a sound, exactly. More like a pressure. A thrum in the bones.

The gallery wanted her back.

She stepped forward, bare feet sinking against marble that no longer chilled, but welcomed, as though it had learned the shape of her last time.

The second arch loomed ahead - taller than she remembered. Draped now in black velvet instead of red. And beyond it: candlelight, golden and flickering. A warmth that promised something… dangerous.

She crossed beneath -

and the corridor dissolved.

A chamber swallowed her whole. Circular. Infinite. Mirrors climbing from floor to ceiling, reflecting her into eternity.

And in the center -

Him.

He stood inches from her now.

Close enough to touch. Though he still didn’t. Not yet.

The obsidian mask caught the candlelight - smooth, sharp around the eyes, designed to reveal only what tortured.

But below it - her gaze caught on the angle of his jaw. Unforgiving. And his lips… parted. Just barely. Twitching when her attention lingered, as if he tasted her gaze. As if he liked it.

Her breath hitched. And his head tilted - just a little. Not arrogance. Anticipation. Like he was daring her to look closer.

She did.

A strand of dark hair had slipped loose, falling against the pale curve of his throat. Her fingers ached to catch it, to feel if his skin was as warm as memory said. But her hand trembled at her side.

Because she remembered now - what touching him had cost her last time.

He didn’t move. Didn’t offer relief. Only let her look, as if the patience itself was punishment.

Until she whispered, broken and breathless,

“I dream of you,” though it sounded like a confession.

His head lifted. The mask tilted. Just enough to catch the candlelight - just enough to reveal a hint of lips behind it.

“You dreamed of me before you ever asked to forget,” he said.

Her knees nearly gave way.

His voice was the same as last night. But richer. Like it had settled into her bones. Like her body recognized it first.

She opened her mouth to speak - but he stepped closer.

Close enough her chest rose in the mirror’s reflection behind him. Close enough that the faint flare of his breath shivered through the mask. Close enough for her body to remember all the ways he had once touched her.

But he didn’t.

Instead - he leaned in. Slow. Controlled. Mouth hovering beside her cheek, close enough to let her nerves unravel into the space between.

Not touching. Just breathing.

Her lashes fluttered. Every nerve in her skin reached toward that empty space.

And then -

He exhaled.

Warm. Controlled. A slow, silken draft of heat, spilling across her cheekbone, sliding down to her ear, lingering along her jaw.

Her whimper slipped free. It wasn't fear. It was recognition. The exquisite cruelty of being seen.

Still he withheld touch. But her body betrayed memory: The heat of him. The way his mouth had once lingered at her throat. The way he’d once dragged his tongue across her lower lip before.

No.

She swayed.

And that’s when he whispered it.

Her name.

Not her first name. The name only lovers used. The one she hadn’t heard in years. The one no one should remember.

Except him.

“Darling girl…”

She froze.

Her eyes flew open - she hadn’t realized they were closed.

He was still there. But the chamber was darkening. The mirrors dimming. The dream beginning to slip.

“No,” she gasped. “Not yet - please…”

His hand lifted. Gloved fingers hovered over her lips. Still not touching.

“Soon,” he murmured, so soft it brushed her lips like another breath.

And then -

She woke.

Alone. Sheets twisted, body trembling.

The mirror above her dresser -

fogged with a single word, drawn in nothing but breath:

“Soon.”

Want to know when the next dream arrives?
Join readers inside the Cathedral:

← VELVET GALLERY  |  NIGHT THREE →