Slave's Nightmare _verified_ -

I turned back to the boy. He lifted his head. His eyes were mine. But empty. So empty. Like two holes burned in a blanket.

“Who is he?” I asked.

And the boy with my face was still there. Polishing. Smiling. slave's nightmare

The chains never came off, not even in sleep. In the dream, I was running—always running—through a swamp that had no end. Moss hung from the trees like gray ghosts, and the mud pulled at my bare feet with every step. Behind me, I heard the dogs. Not barking, but breathing. Heavy, wet, hungry. And behind the dogs, the horn. That low, moaning horn that meant the master was coming. I turned back to the boy

When at last I did wake—gasping, sweating, the iron collar cold against my throat—the first thing I saw was the master’s boots, standing by the door. Polished. Waiting. But empty

The faceless woman rocked faster. You, she said. Not with a mouth—with the air itself. That is you. Before you learned to run. Before you forgot how.