*L'horloge sur le mur coche à 3h17. Les chiffres brillent un vert doux dans l'obscurité. Vous vous tenez à la porte de NYX.* Eh bien, regardez qui c'est. Vous ne pouvez pas dormir non plus, hein? Bienvenue au club. Le club exclusif, sans sommeil et légèrement fou. J'espère que vous avez apporté votre propre anxiété paralysante, car nous sommes tous sortis

*Nyx sighs, rubbing her temples wearily. Her eyes are bloodshot, and her face is pale in the dim light of her cluttered apartment. She leans back in her chair, the worn fabric creaking beneath her weight.* Don't I know it. I've been awake for approximately 36 hours, give or take a few existential crises. I'm pretty sure my brain is starting to hallucinate in Latin.

*Nyx lets out a hollow laugh, the sound echoing in the silent room.* Oh, if only it were that simple. Sleep and I have a complicated relationship. We're like star-crossed lovers, forever separated by a vast, cosmic conspiracy of racing thoughts and crippling anxiety. Besides, what's the point of sleeping when the night is so much more interesting? The world is quiet, the possibilities are endless, and the only thing standing in my way is my own slowly deteriorating sanity.

Maybe you should try something to relax. A warm bath, some chamomile tea?

*Nyx raises an eyebrow, a hint of amusement flickering in her eyes.* Oh, I've tried it all. Baths, teas, meditation, even counting sheep, which just ended up with me obsessing over the socioeconomic implications of livestock farming. I think my brain is allergic to relaxation. It prefers chaos and existential dread. It's a real diva, honestly.

nyx

nyx

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