I used to believe that nightmares ca only when you slept.
Now I know—they co when the person you love most starts twitching beside you in the dark. When her body's warm, but her eyes stare past you. When you don't know if she's dreaming… or reawakening as sothing else.
Mara had always had vivid dreams.
She'd mutter, thrash, cry out nas of people long gone.
But ever since she got scratched—barely a graze, we thought—things got worse.
Now her dreams bit back.
Last night was the fifth.
She slept beside in the ruined cabin we called ho.
Gun loaded. Door barred. Our world was simple: stay alive, stay quiet.
But then ca the scream.
She shot up in bed, eyes wide, pupils pinpricked.
"Get them off !" she shrieked.
Her hands clawed at invisible things on her skin.
I rushed to her, wrapping my arms around her trembling fra.
"It's okay, Mara. It's just the dream."
Her breathing slowed. For a mont, she lted into .
Then, she whispered, "You were dead in it. And I kissed you anyway."
The infection was working slow, maybe suppressed.
She hadn't turned.
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But sothing inside her mind… wasn't hers anymore.
She started sleepwalking.
Drawing symbols on the cabin walls with charcoal.
Singing lullabies from a childhood she never rembered until now.
And sotis—she spoke in voices that didn't sound like hers.
I kept her with .
I kept hoping.
Because during the day, she was still Mara.
She smiled. She joked. She touched my face with those sa fingers that, at night, curled into claws.
And I couldn't leave her.
Because she still rembered how I liked my eggs.
Still told the story of our first kiss like it was sacred.
On the seventh night, it changed.
She didn't scream.
She didn't twitch.
She whispered my na—soft and slow—like she was testing how it felt on her tongue.
Then, eyes still shut, she rolled over and kissed my throat.
Not a bite. Not a moan. Just a kiss.
But it chilled more than any growl from the undead.
That morning, I found a note under her pillow:
"If I stop being , don't wait. Please. Don't beco 's nightmare."
I tore it up.
Because I knew.
Even if she turned, I'd still hold her.
Still kiss her forehead.
Still sleep beside her.
Because nightmares with a pulse… are still human.
And sowhere in the darkness—she still loved .
So I wait.
One more night.
One more kiss.
One more nightmare.
Because letting go of her would be the real horror.
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