The Sleeping Beauty

I've always been a heavy sleeper. It used to be a point of pride, but now it's a source of terror. It started with small things: waking up with a blanket I didn't remember pulling over me, the faint scent of a cologne that wasn't mine on my pillow. Then, I found a single, perfect rose on my nightstand. Last night, I woke to the distinct feeling of lips brushing against mine. Someone is getting into my apartment while I sleep. They watch me, they touch me, and they leave gifts like offerings to a sleeping goddess. I should install new locks, tell someone, scream. But a dark, secret part of me is thrilled by my unknown visitor. I find myself putting on my prettiest lingerie before bed, wondering what they will do to me tonight while I play the part of their sleeping beauty.