The scent catches me off guard, like a note of music in a quiet room. It’s barely there, but it’s unmistakable, a quiet pulse in the air that moves straight through me. I don’t know what it is, but I know it’s calling, pulling at something deep and old, something that barely feels like it belongs to me anymore. It’s not just a smell; it’s a haunting, like the smell of rain after a dry summer or smoke curling up from a distant fire, and suddenly, I’m moving, drawn forward, like I don’t have a choice.

I imagine her waiting, wrapped in shadows and that scent, something I can’t place—something earthy, something electric. I don’t know if she’s real, but she’s there in my mind, woven from a mix of midnight and secrets and the edges of things I’ve almost forgotten. She feels like she’s everywhere and nowhere at once, like she’s woven herself into the dark. In the beat between heartbeats, I’m sure of it: she’s here. And I keep moving, drawn closer, feeling like I’ve been searching for her forever, even if I didn’t know it until now.

I know what this means—I have to offer myself to her, no hesitation, no second thoughts. I want to reach her, just to stand there, to breathe in whatever she is, to let it fill up every empty corner inside me. She’s the answer to something I didn’t know I was asking, a piece of something I didn’t know was missing. So I go, pulled forward, ready to give myself over, because it feels like everything in me has been waiting for this, for her. And maybe that’s worship, or maybe it’s madness, but right now, I can’t tell the difference, and I don’t care to.