Novelas y relatos de Dream Of Prison

I disregarded it and snuggled into the seats once more, ready to sail into another dream planet. The tugging continued, followed by a man's voice that sounded suspiciously like the driver. "Small oga, we don reach house. Shuo! You dey sleep like person wey don die. Abi you don die?" There was a long pause in which his last statement was enough to slip me out of dream land and into reality. A loud yawn slipped past my lips before I could stop it. The stretch that followed, released the tension from my shoulders and body. When I deigned to open my eyes, the driver was standing agape, looking at me with wide bulging eyes.

Slowing it down. Why did I dream about him? I tried to swallow but my mouth was dry and my lips were chapped. My head was pounding a bit, patting my forehead I noticed that my wounds were covered in bandages. And I'm changed into freshly cleaned clothes. Big grey T-shirts with red boxers. Narrowing my eyebrows in confusion I pull myself off the small bed and My body feels a bit weak as I become light-headed. I try to blink it away but I start seeing black dots appearing. A ringing sound is echoing in my ears and I start to feel dizzy.

“Yes, she is much more than what she seems. She is soft, sweet, smart, and dangerous as well. Alex, I found my match, and she is much more than she appears to be. I need to find out what is going on and why she appears back here and now. “ Alex chuckles while he cleans up the table and mess of blood bags, “Dom, you are a mess. Go take a shower at least, and please drink out of the glass. This isn’t like you! What is going on with you?” “If I knew, I would fix it. I can’t stop getting enough blood. I feel like a bus ran over me. Literally, I feel like I was hit by a bus. Those dreams were so real, so powerful, and I can’t shake them, Alex. I never, ever, have had anything feel like this befor

Layla’s POV In my dreams, I often imagined finding the exit door from hell , a quiet place where I could finally rest, truly rest. A haven filled with serenity, far from instruments of torture, violence, and screams. Unfortunately, that dream was all it would ever be. I would never escape my prison. No one would come to rescue me. Who would want a woman like me? Broken, scarred, and burdened with a past too heavy to bear.

My father’s name locked them behind me. Now, I stood trembling in a wet towel, the scent of soap clinging to my skin, my back pressed against the cold wall of a room I didn’t recognize as mine. Damian stood before me not the boy who once ruffled my hair when my brother wasn't looking, but a man with eyes like midnight and a mouth that curved only when cruelty whispered to him. A prisoner. A pawn. A girl clinging to the edges of a nightmare she couldn’t wake up from. He moved toward me with a predatory grace, each step unhurried, deliberate like he had all the time in the world to decide which part of me to break first.

Dream Realm “I didn’t want to betray him. They lied to me… they said my people were in danger,” Lu whispered. “Then why the hell am I the one suffering now?” I snapped. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t even know him, and now I’m stuck dealing with your mistakes.” “I want you to stay by his side,” she said, voice trembling. “They know Damien is a mistake in this world. They know he’s alive. He’s probably in danger… and because you carry my soul, you might be in danger too.”

I felt nothing for Jason a long time ago. Without love, what was there to hate? As soon as I finished speaking, I saw his expression change. His lips went pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead. I was just about to get up when my arms and legs went numb all at once. A numbing shock went through me, and the whole room started spinning. Jason's panicked shouting faded as everything faded to black. When I finally woke up, the first thing I saw was a cold white ceiling. The sharp smell of antiseptic stung my nose.

The Long Night and Private Terror The silence of the penthouse was a thin veneer over the chaos that lived inside Damien Black's skull. He was trapped in the recurring loop, a prisoner of a past he refused to acknowledge. He had not had a decent night's sleep in years, and the exhaustion was a deep, physical burden he carried, masking it with ruthlessly tailored perfection. He was caught in the blinding, intermittent white light of the trauma. He was small again, huddled in a corner, suffocated by the smell of dust and despair. Beside him, he heard her breathing—shallow, frantic—the woman who had taken him.

After that, Marcus stopped trying. Marcus had been convicted of fraud. Nothing violent. He was forty-one, with the tired face of a man who had spent his life avoiding trouble. Prison was supposed to be a brief stop, a lesson. But on his very first night, the nightmares began. From his very first day in prison, Marcus began having nightmares, always the same dream. He dreamed he was walking down a pitch-black alley. The walls were damp, the air thick with the smell of rotting fruit. Far ahead, a single streetlamp flickered, casting a weak yellow circle on the ground. Beneath that light stood a woman in a red dress. Her back was to him. Her hair was long and black, hanging like a curtain. And

POV: Dante The relapse came without warning. Dante had been drifting in a shallow, uneasy sleep, he was trapped in a heavy, repetitive nightmare about the ambush at the rail yard. In the dream, the loud screeching of train cars on the tracks echoed all around him, making it impossible to hear where the danger was coming from. The dark shadows of Victor’s men seemed to stretch out, closing in on him. He tried to run, to find cover or fight back, but his feet felt incredibly heavy and slow, as if he were sinking deep into the thick, wet mud near the old mill. No matter how hard he struggled to move, he couldn't get away.