Every night, the dream came. Not in a rush or with urgency, but always at the same time—just after midnight, when the world seemed to hold its breath. It began with a soft hum, like the wind passing through hollow trees, and then the feeling of being pulled through something thick and silent. When she opened her eyes, she was standing in a place that wasn’t anywhere she had ever seen before. It was a field of glass, stretching endlessly in all directions. The ground was smooth and clear, reflecting the sky above, which was neither day nor night, but a deep, endless blue. Stars blinked slowly, as if they were tired of waiting for something to happen. She could hear her own footsteps echoing, though the sound didn’t quite match the way her feet moved. It was as if the ground itself was listening. In the distance, there was a structure—a tower made of mirrors, each one tilted at an angle that defied logic. It stood alone, surrounded by nothing but the glassy plains. She walked toward it, not out of fear, but because she felt drawn, like a moth to a flame she couldn’t see. The closer she got, the more the reflections changed. Some showed her face, others showed strangers, and some showed nothing at all. One mirror showed a version of herself that smiled without moving her mouth. She reached out to touch the nearest mirror, and the surface rippled like water. Her reflection stared back, but its eyes were different—older, wiser, and full of sorrow. “You’re not supposed to be here,” it whispered, though the lips didn’t move. She stumbled back, heart pounding, but the tower still called to her. When she woke up, the dream lingered. The air in her room felt heavier, the shadows deeper. She tried to ignore it, but the dreams kept coming. Each time, the field was slightly different. Sometimes there were trees made of smoke, sometimes buildings that melted into the horizon. The tower remained, though, always there, always watching. One night, she decided to stay awake until the dream came. She sat by the window, sipping tea and reading old books about dreams and the subconscious. At 12:07 AM, the hum returned, and the pull began again. This time, she didn’t resist. She let the dream take her, and found herself standing before the tower once more. This time, the door was open. A narrow path led to it, lined with small, glowing stones that pulsed like heartbeats. She stepped inside, and the air changed. It was colder, quieter, and smelled like forgotten things. The walls were covered in mirrors, each one showing a different memory—some of her childhood, others of places she had never been. In one, she saw herself walking through a city that no longer existed. In another, she watched a version of herself disappear into the dark. At the center of the tower was a single chair. A woman sat in it, facing away from her. Her back was hunched, her hands folded in her lap. The woman turned slowly, and it was her. Or rather, it was her, but older, with eyes that held centuries of silence. “You’ve come back,” the woman said, her voice soft and distant. “I thought you wouldn’t.” “I don’t understand,” she said, stepping forward. “What is this place?” “This is where dreams go when they forget who they are,” the woman replied. “And where people go when they stop believing in themselves.” The words sent a chill through her. She wanted to ask more, but the woman stood and walked toward her, her reflection shifting with every step. “You’re not meant to stay here,” the woman said. “You’re meant to wake up. But if you stay too long, you might not remember how.” The tower began to shake, the mirrors cracking and splintering. The woman’s form blurred, and the dream started to unravel. She tried to run, but the ground beneath her cracked and fell away. She woke up gasping, her sheets soaked with sweat. From that night on, the dreams stopped. Or at least, she thought they did. But sometimes, in the quiet moments, she would catch a glimpse of something out of the corner of her eye—a flicker of light, a whisper of a voice. And she wondered if the tower was still there, waiting for someone else to find it.