She accepted the cookie, unaware of the darkness laced within its sweet exterior. Her friend, eyes glinting with mischief, passed her a bottle of absinthe. “Here, wash it down with this,” he urged. Trusting, she obliged. The drink burned as it slipped down her throat, and before long, a heavy drowsiness swept over her, pulling her under like a rising tide.

She had just begun dating someone from her past—a boy she’d known in high school, now a man she barely recognized. Their reconnection was recent, fragile with hope, but as she drifted to sleep, uncertainty crept in.

Her sleep fractured into a kaleidoscope of vivid, restless dreams. Each vision bled into the next: faces shifting and rooms melting. She awoke with a jolt, sweat chilling her skin. There in the room sat her new boyfriend—or was it?

“Is this real?!” The question screamed in her mind. His figure was wrong—taller, heavier, hunched in a way that echoed the devil stalking her nightmares. A grotesque familiarity froze her veins.

Crushed by terror, she slipped from the bed and wandered the hallway. The walls glowed with an unnatural, molten red, like hell’s own arteries. Reality unraveled. She clung to fragments of logic while her senses betrayed her.

At the bathroom sink, she steadied herself, cold water splashing on her face. Her reflection flickered—once her own, once something else. “Am I dreaming? Am I high? Or am I trapped somewhere in between?” she whispered, voice trembling.

She returned to the room. The figure still waited—now with her boyfriend’s voice, speaking as if nothing were amiss. He tried to explain, to comfort, but every word scraped at reality’s thin veneer. Fear and exhaustion warred within her.

Finally, she surrendered. “I’m going back to sleep. Do what you want,” she muttered, letting darkness reclaim her. Her dreams spiraled, revealing vivid scenes from a future life—visions so sharp they cut deeper than any nightmare.

When she finally awoke, the world seemed normal again. The devil, gone. The boyfriend, ordinary. She convinced herself it was just a bad trip, nothing more, and pushed the memory away.

But the darkness lingered, festering. Years passed, and the relationship grew twisted. The experience clung to her. Danger lurked around each corner, each time pulling her closer to oblivion. More than once, she barely escaped with her life.

At last, battered and hollow, she fled. She took with her only what she could carry, leaving the rest—and him—behind, vowing never to return. Somewhere in the distance, the echo of the devil’s laughter haunted her steps, and she realized: some doors, once opened, never truly close.