Fever Dream Book Novels & Stories

The chill gradually spread, miraculously taking away the scorching heat, and she finally fell into a deep sleep. In the long nightmare, there were people of all shapes and sizes, roasting fires, cold eyes looking down from above, and cries of painful struggle. Through the haze, a coolness repeatedly calmed the maddening heat. In her dream, there was a pair of magical hands, soothing her meticulously like Nanny, feeding her a sweet soup brewed according to an ancient fever-reducing recipe.

June's Perspective As I move around my cramped room, shoving my heavy textbooks and laptop charger into my backpack, my mind is still racing. I am trying to focus, but I keep thinking about the weird, hazy fever dreams I've had concerning my father over the past few days. I pause, staring blankly at my desk. I'm so tempted to turn around and tell Fenris about them, about the strange feelings and the disjointed visions, but I bite my tongue. I'm terrified he'll think I'm completely crazy. Plus, they were probably just normal stress dreams fueled by whatever Jason drugged me with.

It was clear that whatever he was experiencing in his dream was causing him great distress. Feeling a sense of helplessness wash over me, I racked my brain for a solution. Then, it hit me. Remembering my mother’s remedy for fever-induced nightmares, I rushed to the kitchen and filled a bowl with cool water. Dipping a cloth into the water, I wrung it out before placing it gently on Declan’s chest, hoping the coolness would soothe his fevered skin.

Damien held me instead of Eva while she also cuddled with us, we all watched the movie while I yawned, even after my nap I was still sleepy, the blanket didn't do much, I was still cold. "Are you okay?" Damien asks me, I just shake my head no and keep on shivering with coldness. "You're burning up" Daddy says, touchingmy forehead, his hand was freezing, I flinched off from his touch. "I can't be burning, I'm cold," I tell him, he sounds ridiculous. "I mean you have a fever," Damien says with a shake of his head, oh, he means I'm sick, but I don't feel sick, just cold.

The book on the table fell to the floor. ❄️ Ivy and I both took our seats. I didn't even bothered to look at Alison. I've already faced a lot already in my crazy dream. Ivy turned and looked at me. “So what's this dream that made you cried”? “I don't even know where to start. It looks so real. The seven lords, immortal sect, Feiye”. “Feiye”. Ivy raised a brow at me. “It's....... just a guy in the dream”. I explained to her so that she wouldn't get the wrong idea.

Sonja and the others watched the old book curiously, the cover depicts a compass with a crescent moon covering one side while a greek ship at the bottom carrying the two, the words Liber Somniorum etched in gold seem to be the title of the book. "The Book of Dreams." Samantha whispered. Phil and his friends looked at Samantha. "That's what the title means, The Book of Dreams." Samantha explained shyly. After Samantha's explanation, they returned and curiously read the book again. Phil then flipped the book and stopped at the page which explains how to control your dreams and a set of practices on becoming a Lucid Dreamer. Eric and Sonja were intrigued and wanted to practice as well, while Sa

She turned back to the snow. “Then you’d better pray your body holds.” “I don’t pray,” I muttered. But gods, maybe I should’ve. --- Fever Dreams Sometime in the dead hours, Isabella stirred. Not gently, not soft—jerked like her body had been yanked by unseen hands. She thrashed weakly, her fever driving her into half-dreams, words spilling broken from her lips. “No—don’t—please—” Her voice cracked, guttural, dragging knives across my chest.

In fact, I admit that my dreams after a few nights away from the hospital were filled with macabre possibilities "I was always brutally murdered before I could ask for help. Unlike reality, there wasn't even a known face to save me. Gary got what he intended and left me bleeding, as if it were just an animal ready for slaughter. My throat burned the second time I woke up screaming, and sweat accumulated around the bandage on my shoulder. I tried to overcome the crying, but it crawled to me, and every tick of the clock on my jatobá nightstand was like a trigger for the tremors that spread through my body. Even after covering myself to the top of my head, I still felt cold. It took me a while

But the remnants of the dream still clung to me, haunting my thoughts and fueling my unease. I reached out for a glass of water on the nightstand, my hands trembling with the remnants of the dream's intensity. Sipping the cool liquid, I allowed it to soothe my parched throat and ground me in the present moment. But the fever still raged within me, a relentless reminder of the inner turmoil I had been experiencing. As I lay back down, my mind raced, attempting to dissect the meaning behind the unsettling dream. Was it a manifestation of my fears and anxieties? A reflection of the crumbling aspects of my life that felt beyond my control? Or was it a mere product of a fevered imagination?

"Now we're going to see how well you can multitask." He pulled his fingers out and brought them to my mouth. "Taste yourself. Suck them clean." I took his fingers into my mouth, tasting my own arousal, salty and musky. "Good girl." He pulled his fingers out and reached for his bag on the table. Pulled out a book—Discipline and Punish. "Open to page 195," he said. "The section on docile bodies." I stared at him. "What?" "You said you fantasize about reciting theory while I touch you. So that's what we're going to do. You're going to read Foucault out loud while I make you come again. And if you stop reading, I stop touching you. Understand?"