SSS-Class MILFs And Their Yandere Daughters, I Want Them All!

Chapter 599: Charlotte’s Nightmare

The dream world, as Charlotte called it, was a place of infinite wonder.

When she closed her eyes and let her consciousness drift away from her body, she would find herself floating in a dark expanse that stretched endlessly in every direction.

And scattered throughout this darkness, like stars in the night sky, were the dreams of every sleeping person in the world.

They appeared as orbs of light, each one unique in color and intensity.

The orbs were anonymous, their contents hidden behind their glowing exteriors. Choosing a dream was always a gamble, a surprise waiting to be discovered.

Normally, Charlotte loved this. The randomness was part of the thrill.

Every night was a new adventure. Every dream was a story she had never heard before.

But tonight, something was different.

As she drifted through the dream world, scanning the countless orbs that surrounded her, one particular dream caught her attention.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Most dreams were bright and vibrant, their colors clear and distinct.

But this one was...wrong.

It glowed with a bluish-white light, but the glow was muted, sickly, almost gray.

And unlike the other orbs, which were smooth and spherical, this one seemed to have a strange cloudiness around it.

She drifted closer, her curiosity piqued. The orb was definitely strange. Definitely different.

But Charlotte had never been one to shy away from strange and different. In fact, those were the dreams she usually found most interesting.

’What’s this one about?’ She wondered, circling the orb with growing fascination. ’I’ve never seen a dream that looks like this before. Maybe it’s something special. Something rare.’

She should have recognized the warning signs—the sickly color, the hazy aura, the wrongness that seemed to emanate from every aspect of this particular dream.

But Charlotte had always been confident. Always been fearless.

So without a moment’s hesitation, she reached out and touched the orb.

And the world shattered.

—

The moment she entered the dream, the smile vanished from her face.

The world around her was fractured. That was the only word for it.

She stood in what appeared to be a dark bedroom, a simple room with wooden walls, a small bed in the corner, a fireplace that crackled with weak, fitful flames.

But everything was wrong.

Cracks ran through the air itself, as if reality had been shattered and hastily glued back together.

The walls didn’t quite meet the floor. The ceiling seemed to float inches above where it should have been.

Even the fire in the hearth flickered in ways that didn’t match the shadows it cast.

"What...What is this place?" Charlotte whispered.

She had seen strange dreams before. Dreams that defied logic and physics and common sense.

But those dreams had felt alive, organic, the natural chaos of a sleeping mind. This dream felt broken. Like something inside it had died a long time ago, and what remained was just the rotting shell.

She should have left. Every instinct she had screamed at her to wake herself up and flee.

But Charlotte had never been good at listening to her instincts.

Instead, she opened the door.

She expected to see a hallway. A corridor. Perhaps a bathroom or another bedroom.

What she found instead was a classroom.

It was old and gray and oppressively silent. Rows of wooden desks stretched before her, each one empty, each one covered in a fine layer of dust.

The windows looked out onto a dark forest that didn’t move—no wind in the trees, no rustling of leaves.

Just an endless cluster of shadows and bare branches.

The blackboard at the front of the room was covered in writing that Charlotte couldn’t quite read, the letters shifting and squirming whenever she tried to focus on them.

"Hello?" She called out. "Is anyone here?"

No response. The silence was so complete that she could hear her own heartbeat.

’This is weird.’ Charlotte thought. ’Like really, really weird. Maybe I should leave.’

But just as she was about to pull herself out of the dream, she noticed something in the corner of the room.

A boy.

He was standing in the corner, facing the wall, his back to her.

He wore a school uniform and his posture was rigid, his shoulders hunched, as if he had been put in detention and told not to move.

"Hey!" She walked toward him, her earlier unease temporarily forgotten. "Are you okay? Why are you standing in the corner? Did you get in trouble?"

The boy didn’t respond.

"Hello? Can you hear me?"

Still nothing. Charlotte frowned.

She had interacted with dream figures before—they were usually friendly, or at least responsive.

They would talk to her, play with her, sometimes even recognize her as the daughter of the Battle Angels.

But this boy acted as if she didn’t exist.

"Hey!" She reached out and tapped his shoulder. "I’m talking to you! What’s your name? What school is this? Why are you—"

The boy turned around.

Charlotte’s words died in her throat.

The boy had no face!

Where his eyes should have been, there was only smooth, blank skin. Where his nose should have been, the same.

And his mouth—there was no mouth at all!

Just an unbroken expanse of flesh where his lips should have parted.

He was a canvas that had never been painted, a sculpture that had never been finished.

"I...I’m sorry." She stammered. "I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll just...I’ll just go now."

She turned and ran for the door through which she had entered.

But when she grabbed the handle and pulled, the door wouldn’t open.

She pulled harder, her hands slick with sudden sweat, but the door remained firmly sealed.

"No, no, no." She whispered. "Open. Please open."

She turned around.

"...!"

The boy was walking toward her!

His movements were jerky and uncoordinated, as if his limbs were being controlled by strings held by an inexperienced puppeteer.

His arms swung with no rhythm or purpose.

And his blank, featureless face remained fixed on her, somehow seeing her despite having no eyes to see with.

"Stay back!" She shouted, still yanking at the door. "I’m warning you! I want nothing to do with you! Just leave me alone!"

The footsteps stopped.

Charlotte turned around.

"...!!!"

The boy was inches from her face.

His blank visage stared into her eyes, and even though he had no expression, she could feel the hunger radiating from him.

The need.

The emptiness.

And then the door finally opened.

Charlotte fell through it, slamming it shut behind her, gasping for breath.

"Haaah...Haaaah...Haaaaah..." She leaned against the wood, her chest heaving, her mind racing.

That had been too close. Far too close. She needed to wake up. She needed to—

She looked around.

She wasn’t in the bedroom anymore.

She was standing on a massive plate!

Or rather, it was a normal plate, but she was tiny.

She had been shrunk to the size of a french fry, and she was standing on fine china in the middle of a dining table.

Around her, other tiny humans huddled together, their faces pale with fear.

And sitting at the table, looming over them like giants, were the diners.

But they weren’t human.

A massive pizza sat in the head chair, its cheese forming something that might have been a face, its pepperoni arranged like the buttons of a suit.

Beside it, a bowl of noodles wore a flowing gown, its broth shimmering like expensive fabric.

A taco in a top hat.

A burrito in a business suit.

An entire family of food items, dressed in formal attire, chatting and laughing as they enjoyed their meal.

And their meal was people.

Charlotte watched in horror as the pizza reached out with a cheese-like appendage, grabbed one of the tiny humans from a nearby plate, and popped it into what might have been its mouth.

The human screamed as it disappeared, and the pizza chewed with evident satisfaction.

"Mmm." The pizza said, its voice a deep, rumbling thing. "Delicious. Simply delicious."

"This batch is particularly good." The bowl of noodles agreed, slurping up several humans who had been swimming in its broth. "So tender. So flavorful."

Charlotte couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She could only watch as the food-family continued their grotesque meal, consuming humans the way humans consumed food.

The roles were reversed. The natural order was inverted. And she was next on the menu!

"Well, well." A new voice spoke from directly above her. "What do we have here?"

Charlotte looked up.

A piece of celery was staring down at her. It didn’t have a face, but it had a mouth, and that mouth was curved into something that might have been a smile.

"A lively one." The celery observed. "I like them lively. They taste better that way."

It raised its fork.

Charlotte threw herself to the side just as the tines stabbed down where she had been standing.

The fork embedded itself in the plate with a sound like shattering glass, and Charlotte scrambled away, her heart pounding.

"Hold still, little nugget." The celery said, pulling its fork free. "This will only hurt for a moment."

"I’m not a nugget!" Charlotte shouted, dodging another stab. "I’m Charlotte! Daughter of the Blade Maiden! You can’t eat me!"

"On the contrary." The celery replied, stabbing again. "You look perfectly edible to me."

Charlotte ran. She ran across the plate, dodging fork strikes, weaving between the other tiny humans who were too paralyzed with fear to move.

She reached the edge of the plate and, without hesitation, jumped.

"Nooo!" Several of the food-family shouted in unison.

But Charlotte was already falling. The floor rushed up to meet her, and she squeezed her eyes shut, bracing for impact—

—which never came.

When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else entirely.

—

A football field.

The grass was brown and dead, crunching beneath her feet. The sky above was a burning crimson, as if the sun itself had been wounded and was bleeding light across the horizon.

Crows circled overhead, their harsh cries the only sound in the oppressive silence.

But it was what lay on the grass that made Charlotte’s blood run cold.

Bodies. Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds.

Each one covered with a thin white sheet, their forms visible beneath the fabric like sculptures in a museum of horrors.

And standing among them, weeping and wailing, were the parents.

They wore simple clothes from some dark, medieval era that Charlotte didn’t recognize and their faces were ravaged with grief.

"My son! My precious son!"

"How could this happen? How could she do this!?"

"We’ll find her. We’ll make her pay. We’ll definitely get our revenge!"

Charlotte stumbled backward and she decided she was done with this dream.

She closed her eyes and concentrated, reaching for the power that had always allowed her to leave any dream at will.

But...nothing happened.

She tried again. Concentrated harder. Poured every ounce of her will into the command to leave—

Still nothing.

"No." She whispered. Her voice was small and frightened now. "No, this can’t...this isn’t..."

She tried again. And again. And again.

But her blessing, the power that had never failed her—it simply didn’t work. She was trapped!

"No..." She said, her voice rising with panic. "There’s something wrong. There has to be something wrong."

"I’ve always been able to leave. I’ve always—"

She felt a change in the atmosphere.

The wailing of the parents, which had been a constant background noise, had stopped.

Charlotte slowly turned around.

Every single parent was staring at her!

Their eyes were wide and unblinking. Their faces were masks of grief and rage and accusation.

"It’s her." One of them said, pointing a trembling finger. "She’s the one who killed our children."

"What?" Charlotte’s voice came out as a squeak. "No. No, I didn’t. I’ve never—"

"She’s the one." Another parent stepped forward, her eyes burning with hatred. "I remember her face. She’s the one who stabbed my son to death!"

"I didn’t! I’ve never stabbed anyone!"

"She pushed my daughter down the stairs." A third parent joined the chorus. "I saw her do it. I saw her smile while my little girl fell!"

"Please, you have to believe me—I’ve never done any of those things!"

"She burned my son alive. She locked him in his room and set the house on fire and watched him burn!"

"She’s the one!"

"She’s the one!"

"She’s the one!"

The chant spread through the crowd like wildfire.

Every parent joined in, their voices rising in a terrible harmony of accusation.

And then, as one, they began to run toward her like they wanted to put her under a blanket just like their children!