September Reign - ToughLove

September's mind was a runaway engine. Everything was smeared, colors bleeding into fog. She staggered down a path that led nowhere and everywhere at once. Nightmares do that—strip you bare, keep you guessing. But in the black she saw a shape she recognized, something slick and promising, and she cranked the wheel hard, gunning toward it. You see, sweet dreams are made of me.