nightmare.
The woman was a tall and gangling smear of gray on Robyn’s wallpaper. She knew that it was impossible for a ghost to get into her room -- she had wards and enchantments all over -- which meant this had to be a dream. Ghosts only sent her dreams when things were really dire, so the thought wasn’t very comforting at all. When the ghost woman noticed that Robyn was looking, she held out her hands, begging for -- something. She opened her mouth, but instead of speaking, blood poured from her gray mouth in a shocking, vibrant red, mixed with another strange color (the color of magic -- the realization was there and gone). The woman’s already distorted form began to melt in on itself, eyes running like eggs, her mouth gaping wider and wider in an impossible, silent scream. The room around her began to melt, too -- familiar walls being replaced by tall shelves and the smell of old books, and then --
She was in her bedroom -- really in her bedroom -- tangled in her bedsheets, trapped. “No! No!” Jumbled thoughts -- she was a witch that was a witch and she was killed killed by by by -- were shocked out of her along with most of her breath as she rolled out of bed, landing heavily on the floor, still half in the melting dream world, still expecting to see the gray woman with blood and (magic) something pouring from her, leaving her empty (it was a warning).