>A faithful spring night, Wendy is laying in bed with a fever.
>She's tired but restless.
>She's received her medication, but her raving thoughts are not subsiding.
>It's like her subconcious is trying to communicate with her.
>Wendy finally lays flat on her bed, starring at the ceiling, tired from the inner turmoil within her mind.
>She let's go and drifts to a state of half-sleep.
>Her ego flows within the fragmantery dreamscape of her mind.
>But as she flows within the streams of her inner thought process, she feels like her id is yelling at her.
>Like it's trying to communicate something important.
>Wendy usually fears her id as it is her most feral and basal self, but she can't quake the feeling that something is wrong.
>She lets the stream carry her further as she reaches the outer edges of her pure id.
>There within a fountain she sees an image, an image she couldn't believe at first.
>But further looking at it, she pieced together what she was witnessing.
>"I-Is that me?", she uttered under her breath.
>The image stood still, holding itself in a shadowy embrace, its thin toned muscles relaxed.
>But as Wendy further looked at the peculiar supposed her, with a sickly green and purple scale coloration, a visibly messy long hair, wearing her distinct horned cap.
>The image suddenly turns, Wendy's eyes widen in shock.
>That isn't her, or at least it's not supposed to be her, It's a distinctly male figure but has all her known hallmarks.
>The image looks at her covered in shadow, It's face indescribable but she recognizes the long compy like snoot.
>"You’re watching me, aren’t you?", the image speaks in a distinct soft baritone voice.
>Wendy stammers back from the fountain. Her dreamscape creaking and cracking as her id yells out in pure terror. The inner flow of her thoughts turn into a raging cataclysm as her ego is swept away.
>Wendy wakes up and yells out in pure terror, she holds her head with both arms, her tail coling around her leg, curled up on her bed.