LENA
I was on fire.
And not in pain.
The flames curled around me like they loved me—like they knew me. A thousand colors danced along my skin, gold and crimson and wild, and in the firelight I changed. I shifted. First into a wolf—sleek and strong, wind chasing at my heels—and then into something far older, something I couldn't name. Wings burst from my back in a blaze of heat and light, feathers trailing embers, ash rising like confetti in my wake. A phoenix. Or maybe something more.
I soared, pulsing with power I didn't understand but somehow craved. I felt invincible. Eternal.
But then it all started unraveling.
My wings faltered. The fire hissed out like a breath. And one by one, my forms vanished—burned away into smoke. I dropped from the sky, through the trees, through shadows and silence and—
I woke with a soft gasp, hand clutching the sheets, breath caught in my throat.
