These are not gentle visions. They come with teeth— the memory of a wound that hasn’t happened yet, the scent of rain soaked into battle leather, a heart torn from its cage and still beating in his palm.

Carne y sangre. Flesh remembers what the mind tries to forget: the way his shadow fits hers, the way loving him feels like swallowing a blade and calling it mercy.

She sees him before he arrives— not in dreams softened by distance, but in the marrow, the sinew, the ache.

She wakes with his name on her tongue, copper-sweet, and knows— some visions are warnings. Others are promises dressed in thorns. Would you like a more narrative-style scene or a poem in Spanish as well?