Wake up, you fool!
Blade exhaled a stream of cigarette smoke from his thin lips. He sat on the bed, completely bare, with a thin blanket draped over his intimate area.
One knee was bent, and his hand holding the cigarette rested casually against it.
The man's physique was striking—lean, yet muscular in a way that suggested strength and agility rather than sheer bulk.
His contours were masculine, beautifully sculpted, with each muscle and bone structure defined in a way that was almost artistic.
The smoothness of his skin under the soft lighting added a kind of ethereal quality to his appearance.
"He could have been a model," Beatrice mused silently, watching him move with a grace that belied his sturdy build.
His presence radiated a certain poise and confidence that was typically seen on runway models, yet there was something else, something deeper and more intense about him that a camera lens might never fully capture.
Yet, as much as he seemed suited for the glitz and glamour of the modeling world, Beatrice knew that his life was far removed from the one she inhabited.
His realm was one of shadows and danger, far different from the orderly, peaceful existence she was used to.
Outside the window, the cityscape unfolded in stark contrast to the quiet contemplation of her interior world.
Skyscrapers stretched up toward the sky, their metallic and glass surfaces reflecting the fading light of the day, creating a tapestry of harsh lines and cold, hard angles.
The architecture was predominantly industrial in style, showcasing the relentless push of progress, where functionality overshadowed any softer aesthetic considerations.
The streets below buzzed with activity; people moved like a fast-paced stream, each person absorbed in their own bubble, phones pressed to ears or eyes downcast to screens.
The atmosphere was one of stark individualism, where interactions were brief, transactional, and often devoid of genuine connection.
Neon signs flickered on as dusk deepened, advertising everything from the latest tech gadgets to luxury goods, their bright colors clashing with the steel gray of the urban environment.
The air was tinged with the scent of exhaust and the faint, underlying odor of concrete and metal that became more pronounced as the day cooled.
Sounds of traffic—honking horns, the distant wail of sirens, and the constant hum of engines—formed a continuous backdrop, city's ceaseless energy and its demand for constant movement and efficiency.
In Blade's world, every element was engineered for performance and endurance, mirroring the inhabitants' focus on personal achievement and success.
The city was a physical manifestation of survival of the fittest, a place where vulnerability seemed like a liability.
In this world, the pace of life was relentless and the pursuit of personal goals often left little room for the nuances of human emotion and connection.
Beside Blade, a man lay sleeping, his position prone and his body entirely bare, revealing a muscular frame.
"Who is he?" Beatrice murmured.
His hair was jet black, thick and tousled from sleep or perhaps the remnants of the previous night's activities. Unfortunately for Beatrice, his face was turned away, obscured from her view.
As Blade turned toward the mirror, the reflection revealed was none other than herself—Beatrice Carter Hawk.
"You are me, aren't you?"
The image was disorienting, blending her reality with the surreal, creating a moment of profound confusion.
Blade stared directly at her through the mirror and spoke, "What are you doing here?"
"Wait, you can see me?!" Beatrice asked, her voice filled with disbelief.
"Wake up, you fool!"
Beatrice shook her head in bewilderment. "What?"
"I said, wake up!!!"
The command echoed strangely, as if it was both within the room and far beyond it.
Beatrice felt a chill run through her as the boundaries between her dreams and reality began to blur.
Blade's voice in the mirror seemed to be pulling her from a deep slumber, urging her to return to her own reality.
…
…
…
Beatrice jolted awake, her heart pounding as she found herself back in the stark, clinical setting of the hospital room.
She was not alone; four individuals in uniform surrounded her bed, their presence imposing and unexpected.
"Who are you?" Beatrice demanded, her voice raspy and disoriented from sleep. "Who allowed you to enter my room?!"
The group exchanged brief looks, their expressions unreadable behind the masks they wore.
One of them, a man with a gentle voice, tried to soothe her rising panic.
"Calm down, Mrs. Hawk, please. We're just here to take you to a place where you can recover peacefully."
"Where? Where are you taking me?" Beatrice's voice escalated in anxiety. "The doctor said I was getting better, that I could go home today. Where are you taking me?!"
In a swift motion driven by her growing alarm, Beatrice reached out and grasped the nametag of the nearest team member.
Her eyes widened in horror as she read the name of the institution listed.
"A psychiatric hospital? You're taking me to a mental hospital?!" Her voice was a mixture of disbelief and fear.
No one responded immediately, the silence hanging heavy in the room.
The team members exchanged glances, their faces unreadable behind their masks. Finally, one of them, a woman with a stern face and authoritative posture, stepped forward slightly, holding up a badge.
"We are from the hospital security and psychiatric team," she explained calmly. "You were exhibiting signs of distress in your sleep, shouting and moving violently. The nursing staff became concerned for your safety and called us to evaluate the situation and ensure you were not a danger to yourself or others."
"No!!! I was just having a nightmare!"
"We're here to help, Ms. Hawk," the woman reassured her, her voice softening.
Beatrice's frustration grew as it became clear that her protests were falling on deaf ears.
"Mrs. Hawk, based on your recent behavior and the intensity of your reactions, the medical team has reassessed your condition. It's been determined that additional evaluation is necessary to ensure your safety and well-being. We're not here to harm you but to make sure you receive the appropriate care."
"Who signed off on my transfer to the psychiatric facility?"
*
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone