Ophelia saw herself sitting at the dining table, sunlight streaming through the large windows, her mother smiling as she placed fresh pancakes onto her plate."Eat, sweetheart," her mother said gently, brushing a stray hair from Ophelia’s forehead. "You always forget to take care of yourself."Her father sat across from her, reading the newspaper, his usual stern face softened with the smallest hint of a smile.Her younger brother, always full of energy, was chattering about something about his girlfriend, waving his fork in excitement.It was so…peaceful and so warm.And so cruel. Because she knew it wasn’t real.In the dream, she tried to hold onto the moment, gripping the edges of the table, trying to make it last."No…just a little longer."But the scene started to flicker.Her mother’s smile faded. Her father’s presence vanished. Her brother’s voice grew distant.And then—The warmth turned to ice. The scent of pancakes was gone. Instead, the thick, suffocating stench of antiseptic
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