In any other circumstance, I would’ve never believed the letter I got from Gloria. “The dreams”, she said in her correspondence, “they speak of unknowable evil and have an undeniable vividness to them. I implore you to help.” Gloria was a writer, and in her work she often wrote of strange and off-putting things. We had shared a few experiences together in our fractured past and I rarely gave her ramblings more than a cursory glance, writing them off as fiction from a lonely soul.
I would’ve never believed her… had I not had the dreams myself.
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