I saw her in my dream the other night, staring at me from a second-story window. She looked down on me as I wandered the fog-covered street in the early morning, looking for something I had lost, with little knowledge as to what it was. I pretended she was not there, much like I have done in real life, and continued to walk on. But her gaze kept me from leaving. No matter how desperately I tried to round the corner, I could not bring my feet to make the journey. Her eyes, soulless in their appearance, a product of my indifference, had captured and controlled me. I was now a slave to her stare.
The fog began to whirl about, my heart growing weaker with each click of my heel on the pavement. And I awoke with a start, desperate to go back to that dream, where I knew she could see me, even if I did not want to see her.
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