DREAMLAND
It was winter. Mid-winter to be exact. It was warm, compared to how bitterly cold the previous few weeks had been. Wet, fluffy snowflakes fell quickly to the earth and melted like cotton candy from heaven. And yet… it smelled wrong. Oh, it felt right; the cool air against her exposed skin. The squish of the earth between hiking boots but the odor of winter was off—instead of smelling like frost and clean, or even thawing decay, it smelt like petrichor; of rain on dry earth. This was not real. It was a simulation. The aliens had her. Again.
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