As easily as she had slipped into unconsciousness, her dream slipped into a nightmare.

No. Not again. Please, not again.

A cold hand found hers. Shadowy, ownerless fingers slid smoothly into the gaps between her fingers like liquid and slowly tightened their grip. She could feel their skin, their hands moulding together, as if they were one.

Then, a spark, and her arm went numb.

She could hear shouting. "Move along, move along! We don't have all day!" It was night time, though! She was dreaming. She had to be, because this happened every night.

Or was it daytime? She didn't know any more. It was always so real.

Soon, something to the side became more focused. She could see it. It again. Whether it was him or her, she did not know. Nor did she need to care, seeing as these people followed her every night. This time, though, it seemed as if It was a boy – it's (his, she corrected) slicked back hair could never have belonged to a girl. Besides, he was wearing a tuxedo.

It was always hard to tell whether these people were male or female, because their faces always seemed to be blurred out, erased. However in this person, she could see the outline of a nose, and striking blue eyes. It was just so hard to focus on it that she had to look away again.

He pulled her along, resting another cold hand on her waist. She could feel his hand through the fabric, resting on her bare skin. Another shock. The sharp jolt from his cold, almost lifeless hand, travelled through her, severing the contact between her mind and her body.

She watched as he guided her along, stepping them forwards and back, then twirling her to land gracefully in his arms.

It seemed though she were a separate being, a ghost, an angel, watching from above, that she was not herself.

She could still feel, though. She could feel her silk dress against her body, the ache of her feet from dancing in those shoes, and his cool skin.

Suddenly, he sat down, and pulled her so she was sitting on his lap. She could hear giggling, presumably from her classmates. But how could they be here? It was them, though, for sure. The one thing which stood out was a distinct laugh. It sounded…different.

Him, she realised. He was laughing.

No, she thought. He can't laugh. It's happening again.

Then, she felt it.

He was invading her. She could feel the slick, damp feeling of something slipping through her. It started in two places – her waist and her hand. She felt it moving through, sliding, slithering through her body, and taking over.

She fought it, she really did. She tried pushing it outwards, through her skin. For a moment, she thought it wouldn't work, but like every other night, she eventually pushed it out. There. The plasma-like substance seeping through her pores, forming a coat, before dripping off.

The one difference though, was that it was moving. Usually, the substance soaked through the white ground, leaving her to sleep in peace, but this time it wasn't.

It was moving. The gelatine-like substance moved together, shaping upwards, growing. It made what looked like feet, then built upwards, legs, then soon, the navel, and torso, arms, neck, head.

No eyes, no lips, eyebrows, lashes, nails, or clothes. Nothing. Just a transparent, dripping wet figure.

There was something off about it.

The boy had collapsed long before – she could see his body, and his face, clearly now, just a little further away. All that was left was that figure, and herself.

She couldn't let it touch her.

She ran, as fast as she could, as far as she could, into the blinding white. Every step hurt – her feet banged against the white ground, sending an ache up her body. But further. She had to run further. Get as far away as possible.

As soon as she started running, though, she noticed something. The figure was running too. Every step she took was mirrored by it. They were running side by side.

Abruptly, she stopped. So did the figure.

They faced each other.

She took a step forward. So did it. She took a step to her left. It took a step to its right. She stepped backwards. So did it.

So she began running backwards.

That was until she felt something approaching her. She could feel a chill in the air behind her, and it was only when she turned around that she realised that she was running straight for the figure.

So this wasn't endless.

She gave up. There was no use fighting a losing battle.

She faced the figure. It faced her.

Slowly, gently, she walked towards it, reaching a hand out at it. A chill spread through her fingers, biting through them, taking over her veins.

Soon, their fingers touched. She suddenly felt as if she were surrounded by gelatine, in gelatine.

The figure shrunk a little.

She could see what was happening now. She was sucking the life out of the figure.

She pulled.

It shrunk more.

She pulled harder. She pulled with all of her will, her strength. She needed to get rid of the figure. Harder. She plunged her hand into his chest, and pulled harder.

Suddenly, it gave way. The figurine reduced to a puddle on the floor.

She felt weaker and slightly colder.

The whiteness surrounding her flashed, and she could see no more.