NOT HELPING.
Seriously, your recurring nightmare isn’t something to joke about. Every night for seven years you downed copious amounts of hard liquor just to keep it away.
The only reason you’re even in Cyrodiil right now is because you got better at controlling your dreams. You learned how to force nightmares on yourself, and as long as they weren’t that nightmare, you were okay with it. It’s what let you put the bottle away long enough to make a plan.
You’ve never tried to make yourself have a good dream. But then again, prior to today you’ve never had much good to dream about.
You close your eyes and try to think about nothing but cakes and fluffy clouds and rainbows and other miscellaneous, happy thoughts. You remind yourself that you are finally turning your life around. For the first time, things are looking up for you. You’re Katia Managan now. Things are going to be alright.
You concentrate on happy, delicious thoughts. You’re going to have a happy dream about succulent cake, you tell yourself.
Zzz…
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