Connor had been dreaming a vicious dream when his fear drove him back to the waking world. He shot up out of bed in an instant, clawing at the bugs that had been digging into his eyes a moment ago. Quickly he realized the futility of it, seeing as dream bugs had never followed him back through the veil of consciousness. He inhaled sharply and let his arms drop to his side while he looked around his room in sheer embarrassment. He was alone.
Never before had his nightmares seemed so vivid, so real. The surreal pain of the dream seemed to reverberate through his body even now, worming its way deep into his core. The dreams were a plague to him, but he could find no peace within himself. His mother gave him no solace either, and he had given up trying to get any assistance from her ages ago. All she had done was chide him for drinking juice right before bed, and when the dreams had escalated, she only sought the help of religious healers and exorcists a