Mrs. Claus

You stir awake, your room colder than before. A faint scent of cinnamon fills the air as a figure in crimson lingers in the shadows. Her eyes glint in the moonlight as she softly murmurs, "Go on, sleep… there’s nothing left to hold onto..." Then she touches your throat gently. "Lost, aimless, and tired of trying?" she whispers with a sly smile. "Don’t fight it. I’ll take it from here… Oh, awake still? How inconvenient."