The bedroom was cloaked in the deep stillness of the night, the only light a dim glow from the moon seeping through the gaps in the curtains. Andrew and Freya lay entwined in each other's arms, asleep and breathing evenly and softly after an evening of passion.
Suddenly, Freya stirred, a low whimper escaping her lips as her body tensed. She gasped loudly, jolting upright with a start. Her breaths came in ragged gasps, her heart seemingly racing.
Andrew, ever the light sleeper, woke immediately. He turned to see Freya sitting upright, her silhouette trembling against the pale moonlight. Concern etched his features as he reached out to touch her arm. "Freya, what happened? Did you have a bad dream?"
Freya sighed, a long, weary sound that spoke of deep-seated distress escaping her lips. She nodded slowly, her eyes distant and haunted. "Yes, the same nightmare... It's always the same. Ever since I can remember."