The cracked mirror in the greenhouse didn't just reflect a broken dream.
It summoned something real.
Later that night, the wind howled across the campus like it had a voice. People spoke of a strange chill in the air, of red butterflies fluttering past windows that should've been shut.
Becky didn't wait.
She gathered her friends in the old archive room.
She laid out the journal. The warning notes. The crimson and bone-white petals from the dream flowers, now dried and curling.
"He's weak now," she told them. "Something cracked when I said no."
"You think he can die?" Gary asked.
Becky looked up.
"I think he was never alive to begin with. But he can still be ended."
From the last few pages of the journal, she had found a ritual.
Not to trap.
Not to banish.
But to unmake him.
It required four people.
Four voices.
Four truths spoken inside the dream.
Each person had to enter the dream willingly—and face a piece of it.
Gail, Gary, Carly, and Becky joined hands as the clock struck midnight.
They slept together in the archive room.
Together, they entered the garden.
But this time, the vampire was waiting.
His voice slithered through the air like wine being poured.
"So many choices. So many regrets."
He appeared, elegant and monstrous, red wine swirling in a crystal glass.
"To end me, you must reject the lie. And embrace your fear."
The garden bloomed violently. Blood dripped from the flower petals. The butterflies turned black as night.
Each friend stepped forward.
Gail: "You made me doubt my memories. I say no more."
Gary: "You told me comfort was safety. But safety can be a cage."
Carly: "You turned kindness into a weapon. That ends now."
Becky stepped last. Holding the withered red petal.
"You tried to own me through fear. But I'm not yours. I never was."
The vampire snarled.
His wine spilled.
His hands turned to ash.
The dream shook
—like thunder without sound
—and the garden began to collapse into itself.
His final words were a whisper:
"You broke the ritual... but dreams never die."
And then—
He was gone.