I’ve been walking the streets since three in the morning. My parents kicked me out of the house after they found the bloodstains on my sleeves and in my room. It’s not my fault that the stains wouldn’t come out. And it’s not my fault that I can’t get over this addiction. Although if my parents heard that again, they’d just pack me up and send me back to another mental hospital. I’m not crazy, just a genius. But my parents just can't see that. When they look at me, all they see is a muscular guy covered in scars and tattoos of archaic language and constellations. My parents look at me and see a freak.
It isn’t my fault that I’ve been having the exact same series of dreams for almost three months now. In my dreams, I keep seeing bloodlust and death, and huge creatures that shouldn’t exist. I also see constellations and the writing that’s carved into my skin.
There’s also this old woman that keeps coming up in my dreams. She’s very petite, with grey eyes and hair somewhere between grey and blonde. As I walk past a magic shop, I glance up at the window. Standing in the window with a python wrapped around her is the same woman I’ve been seeing in my dreams. She’s the one that knows why this is happening, she’s the one that can fix this.