A cool breeze blew by out of nowhere. The windows were shut tight, and no doors were open. It was that time of the year, when the leaves turned colour, matching shades of the golden red sunsets. The young girl twisted and turned restlessly in her bed, pulling the blanket close to her huddled body. Dark, mahogany  covered her face, which the intruder removed slowly, strand by strand.

It was an irritating sight, really. It seemed like hours before each hair was now on the pillow instead. The girl mumbled soundly in her sleep. The intruder, clad in the darkness that surrounded the room, moved smoothly across the room. It seemed to have no feet at all. It made no noise, no sound that may indicate its presence or it's kind.

A pale, delicate, feminine hand stretched out of the cloak, long slender finger brushing against the girl's forehead. The girl frowned and groaned slightly, as if the touch made her veins throb painfully. The hand retreated instantly, as one does when accidentally touched by the hot pan. But it didn't seem hurt. More like felt mercy towards her. It waved both it's pale, skeleton like hands gracefully, and the scene shifted.

As it twirled in what seemed to be glee, she appeared in a bedroom much darker than the previous one. Only shadows danced in the void of darkness. Pitch, black darkness. Not a single ray of light, that may lead you around. But it didn't really seem bothered. It moved around swiftly, smoothly, around what seemed to be the bed. Another peaceful young child, curled like a ball, snored softly.

The intruder moved, just as smooth and silently, casting itself over the girl. The girl, whimpering in her sleep, did not awake from slumber. The intruder turned with a knowing, satisfied look, and shifted to another room. The moon shone through the window, casting it's silvery glow over a young woman as she lay asleep. The being gave a moment, before giving her the touch. It almost seemed like it wanted to have mercy, to let them be. But it soon regained it's sinister posture, and caressed her cheek.

Disturbed, the woman shifted in her bed. The scene changed, once again.

A room, abandoned and forgotten, a glow with the silver ball shining in the sky. A single, old bed stood in a corner, the youngest of the girls sleeping on it. The quilt seemed old , but it was clear the child didn't really care. Books sprawled all over carpeted floor. Open notebooks, showing diagrams and illustrations and equations lay scattered around. The intruder didn't find it too hard to reach the child. It barely stayed on ground.

The intruder stared at her, the small, Asian looking child who snored tiredly. A frown was already drawn upon her cute, round face. It reconsidered, or maybe thought of something less troubling for her. Then, it wasted no time. A hasty, yet delicate touch on the nose and it dissipated into the little darkness in the room.

Again, we see darkness. It's evident how much the stranger prefers and uses the dark of the night to its advantage. To do things we do not know. To do things we barely wish to believe.

A faint, white light shines from above, illuminating the obsidian throne, topped with a pair of gleaming golden bull horns. The armrests were covered in beautiful, golden patterns, swirling in and out of each other, creating mesmerising illusions.

The stranger appeared, but now clearly visible. Her hood was now down, and one could only mistake her for a certain fair and snow skinned maiden. But her eyes would speak otherwise. Blood red eyes that sparkled with mischief and delight of suffering.

The woman twirled delightfully in the middle of the unknown place, graceful in each step. As she did, as sweet yet terrifying song escaped her seemingly blood red lips,

'Sleep dear ones,
Awake you shall be afraid,
For in the night your dreams come true,
While horrors walk through the day.

Sweet as much sleep maybe,
And the beauty that dreams are,
How real they do feel,
To touch and to see.

So are nightmares, for they are dreams!
We create our horrors, too real to feel!
Escape the horrors of our world,
We make our own horrors in our sleep .

So real to touch,
So real to see,
These are the horrors of our own,
Meant to live,
Meant to feel,'.

A bolt of lightning struck the woman, but she stood unharmed, and rooted to her spot as her melody ended. As the sizzling smoke faded into the air, the woman now held something delicate in her hands. Something black. She held it forward, to see the fragile little thing that was known to bring doom to many.

The dreamcatcher in her hands began to glow, from the bottom feathers turning a bright red, and turning to gold as it reached the top. The string of web became like transparent glass that had cracked it's surface to form its shape.

She couldn't help but smile. She'd done this so many times. But tonight was different. Tonight, would finally change things for the good. The dreamcatcher projected a swirl or white in front of it, creating an unstable seeming portal. It was time.

The portal was ready.

It was ready to bring them all to Spectre.