Kafka's eyes fluttered open.
He blinked once. Then again.
The sunlight streaming through the tall glass windows immediately hit him, the warm golden rays painting his room in a soft, tranquil hue. The familiar high ceiling above him, the polished marble floor beneath the silk carpet, the faint smell of stinky clothes he hadn't put in the laundry…
His bedroom.
He was lying comfortably under his blanket, tucked in snugly as if he hadn't just experienced the most soul-crushing revelation in cosmic history.
"…Hah…" A relieved breath escaped him as he slowly sat up, eyes squinting at the light.
"It was a dream." He muttered to himself. "Oh thank god...Thank the heavens. That ridiculous request, it had to be a dream. Something like that couldn't possibly be real. Something like...impregnating my own mother?"
He chuckled, nervous and light.
"Yeah. Right. No way. That was definitely—"
A calm voice interrupted him like a guillotine blade.
"Oh, you're finally awake, Kafka."
